Relief, which had washed over him at the sight of Cam, was now hardening into anger. Who the fuck did he think he was? Was this his idea of a joke?
“Heyyyy, Waits, you been shopping at Pioneer?” bellowed the conquering hero, gesturing toward the bag of money. “Get any good deals in the drug aisle?”
Waits could feel his face turning red.
Keep cool.
“It’s good to see you, Cam,” he said.
“Look, dude, I got into a little mess up in Disturbia. I couldn’t do the job I set out to do, you know?”
Waits nodded. “That’s no problem, Cam. I’m not expecting—”
“But I’ve had some time to think, with my homey J, and I feel really bad about what we did to him. Deception is bad. And that’s partially my bad, but yours too. In fact, I feel bad about this whole thing, Waits.”
Before Waits could answer, a hand came flying out of nowhere, connecting with the left side of his face.
“You son of a bitch!”
He spun around, grabbing his ear. The club was going around in circles. It was Reina’s friend, the one in the bathroom. “What the fuck?”
“Whoa,” came Cam’s voice.
The girl was a blaze of sinew and white-and-floral pattern. She moved like a guy, knocking Waits to the floor and straddling him as if he were a roped steer.
It hurt like hell.
“Get off me!” Waits shouted. “What is wrong with you?”
A group was gathering about them, cheering.
The girl rose to her feet, pulling Waits up by his shirt collar. With her other hand, she was pulling an envelope out of her dress. “Here’s what’s wrong,” she said, holding the envelope out and turning it over.
A small sea of white fell out of the envelope. Little pills clattered to the floor, rolling away.
Byron was racing toward her now. “No! What the fuck are you doing, MC?”
“Is that her name—MC?” Cam was asking. “Dang, she’s hot. Does she know who I am?”
“You think she’s hot?” Reina asked.
“Don’t bother picking them up, Byron, unless you have a really big headache,” MC said. “Because they’re aspirin!”
52
BYRON
October 18, 2:24 A.M.
“Aspirin?” Byron watched in amazement as the pills rolled away.
Reina shook her head. “Aspirin…”
Cam smiled at MC. “Unbuffered. They’re cheaper.”
“Those drugs you gave me, Byron, the ones you hid in the deer?” MC said. “This son of a bitch had given you aspirin!”
“You hid it in the deer?” Jimmy said.
“It’s a long story,” Byron said.
“Someone inside recognized the pills, after I sold some to her,” MC said. “I mean, him. She… he showed them to the bartender, who had a whole bottle full of them—same exact markings.”
Cam nodded. “I knew that. I bought those pills. At Rite Aid.”
“Whaat?” Jimmy, Reina, and MC said at the same time.
“I owed Waits,” Cam said. “He needed cash. I told him I could fool these suburban kids—I could sell them aspirin. I was bragging on my own ass. He just took me up on it.”
“Holy shit,” Byron said. “What if someone at the party would have figured it out?”
Jimmy was staring at him, head cocked to one side. “I can’t believe you hid aspirin in the deer.”
“If they’d figured it out,” Waits said, grimacing from the pressure MC was applying to his arm, “you would split. No harm done. They wouldn’t miss the cash. You don’t know them, you’ll never see them again.”
“There’s a word for that,” Byron said. “I think it’s called stealing.”
He felt light-headed. This entire night—this whole ordeal… He had chased a dead deer on a pickup, spent a whole night driving people around to raise money, nearly got himself killed… for aspirin?
“Will you let me go!” Waits said, trying to pry himself loose from MC. “You’re a fucking animal.”
MC grinned, turning to the others. “What should I do?”
“Smash his head!” cried someone from the crowd.
Byron noticed Waits reaching backward for his Pioneer bag, which had fallen in the tumble.
“Yo, Reina!” a voice cried from the crowd, which had now gathered around them in a circle. A burly guy with a receding hairline and a gold chain around his massive neck burst through the people and stopped. “Jesus. Do you know these people?”
“Hi, Gino,” Reina said. “I do. This is kind of my fault. In a way.”
“The place is trashed, there are cops all over the street, cars totaled, including one in the river…. Do you know how much this is going to cost us?” Gino said.
Byron picked up the green bag and handed it to him. “This ought to help.”
“Noooo!” Waits yelled, lunging toward him.
“You ripped my dress!” MC shouted. “I can’t believe you ripped my dress.”
Now the crowd was parting again, and two men stepped through. The younger guy had the toughness of an ex-jock not yet gone to seed. The other guy, though, looked like he’d just stepped out of a Popeye cartoon. “I am Officer Timothy Scranton, and this is Officer Bruno Barnes,” the old guy said to Gino.
“Do you see who I see, Scrotum?” said Bruno.
“Use my real name in mixed company, will you please, you candy-ass bastard?” Scrotum shot back, then turned to Waits. “We thought you would like to know that you will not be seeing us again.”
“All good things come to pass, Duncan,” Bruno said.
Reina smiled at Waits. “Your name is Duncan?”
“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Waits asked.
“Perhaps you would like to join us,” Scrotum said, gesturing to the front door.
MC released Waits with one final sadistic arm twist.
The two undercover cops began moving to the front door. Byron followed close behind with Jimmy and Cam, as Reina and MC pulled Waits along behind them.
Floodlights had been set up along West Street, shining out toward the river. All traffic had been stopped, a squadron of police cars parked every which way, lights flashing.
A crane was lifting a black Hummer out of the river, as a team of medics strapped three men to gurneys.
“Ianuzzi…,” Waits murmured. “And Feets.”
“Fine gentlemen, purveyors of controlled substances,” Bruno said.
“Fuckheads,” Scrotum added. “They been hiding out for a long time, but the DA’s got a rap sheet they’ll never break. He’s the last of that family to fall.”
Byron glanced at Waits. He looked about ten years younger. Almost like a normal person. “You mean, that’s it? I don’t have to—”
“Pay up?” Bruno said. “Well, let’s put it this way. You could take your chances. We could put you in Witness Protection, but if I were you, I’d just make sure you build a little nest egg. For your own safety.”
“I can live with that,” Waits said.
MC wiped off his shoulder. “Sorry about that, dude. I got carried away.”
“I don’t feel a thing,” Waits replied.
Reina smiled at Cam. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said, her eyes growing moist as she rested her head on his chest.
Cam slowly, tentatively wrapped his arms around her. “Yowza,” he murmured under his breath.
Byron glanced at Jimmy, who still looked angry. “Dude. This will never, ever happen again.”
Jimmy took a foil-wrapped Wet-Nap out of his pocket. “Take this. Clean your ugly face.”
A horn blew, from the area just beyond the ring of cop cars, and a voice called out, “Are we going to be here all night? I have to eat too!”
“Chill, Ripley!” Cam said. “Can’t you see we’re having a moment?”
The younger cop turned to his partner. “You know, I think the view of the river is exquisite on an October night, don’t you, Officer Scranton?”
r />
“Yes, indeed,” the old guy answered as they both turned their backs to MC. “Esi… exik… esqui… really fucking beautiful, Officer Barnes.”
53
JIMMY
October 18, 3:49 A.M.
A huge projection flashed across the Blowback ceiling. The DJ was a video geek with a rig, a recent Olmsted grad who did a killer light show on late late Friday nights.
Reina was screaming, her hair falling in front of her face as she danced. Jimmy hadn’t seen her this happy in a long time. Byron was grooving on the new girl, MC. Cam was into Reina, and she was into him back. For now everyone seemed just totally pumped.
He had no idea what time it was, but the events of the night already felt like days away. Not that they had really ended. They wouldn’t for a long time. He had a court date to explain why he was driving. He’d probably not be able to get his license until he was thirty. Byron’s “borrowed” car was on the way to the AAA auto body shop on West Fifty-fourth Street, courtesy of a long, involved call with a guy in Westchester named Frazer. Cam’s mom was calling him every few minutes but he kept putting her off. He was also still running up a bill on the hired limo—but at least Ripley had finally stopped bugging him about it and had joined them in the club, dancing with a very large-boned girl who resembled Amy Winehouse.
Waits was headed for the police station. Some questions about past dealings. Bruno and Scrotum weren’t going to let him off too easy. Byron knew he should have felt happy about this, but he had a feeling Waits had some good in him and would figure out something constructive to do with his life. It probably would not involve hanging outside Olmsted.
“Dance with me, Jimmy!” Reina said, turning her back to him and swaying violently back and forth, eyeing him over her shoulder.
Jimmy felt a knot in his stomach. He loved to dance. It was the one thing he was good at, outside of school. Reina seemed to be noticing it too.
Suddenly the driver’s license problem didn’t seem to matter very much.
He danced with Reina, the two of them winding their way around the vast floor. Above them the images washed over everything, changing the club’s color schemes every few minutes—there was a supernova, there a toothless guy smiling by a rice paddy. An abandoned circus, a tie-dyed tractor, a deer head on a mantel with a smile painted on it.
Jimmy had to stop to look at that. The eyes, even in the photo, were beautiful.
“Wow,” Reina said. “Those eyes are huge.”
“Anime-hero huge,” Jimmy said.
He smiled.
Deer were like that.
Epilogue
Jimmy Capitalupo, after winning a national forensics trophy for his original oratory entitled wtf, turned down a scholarship to Princeton University to attend Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., partly attracted by the city’s efficient subway system. He still does not have a driver’s license. Or a girlfriend. But he’s looking.
Byron Durgin put himself through MIT on revenues from a student-run car service he founded, which had a spotless record for safety and fair prices. He is now CEO of Durgin Rent-a-Car of New York City. He pines for love, and has a particular penchant for short-haired girls in flower-print dresses.
After graduating NYU, Reina Sanchez teamed with club owner/restaurateur Gino Sclafani to buy a newly bankrupted Brooklyn coffee shop and develop it into the lucrative nationwide chain Smitté. She broke up with Cam after a long relationship and is considering moving to Washington, D.C., after hearing from Jimmy on Facebook.
Cam Hong left college after his breakup with Reina Sanchez, joined the Peace Corps, and became a practicing Buddhist. He plans to study to become a nuclear physicist or, if that doesn’t work out, a weathercaster. At last contact, he owed his father $653.23 for unpaid damages to his car on the night of October 17.
Duncan Waits and Barbara “MC” Reemer were married in a civil ceremony in New York City, where he sells title insurance and she is studying taxidermy. They hope one day to move in with her father, the beloved ex-caretaker of a Westchester mansion inherited by him after the untimely death of the owners in a hunting accident. In the meantime they live in Brooklyn and have seventeen pets. Their neighbors hate them.
About the Author
Peter Lerangis lives in New York City. Really.
HERE’S A LOOK AT A NOVEL THAT’S
SURE TO MAKE YOU SAY, “WTF!”—
“Now wake up, mate. I’m comin’.”
I awoke slowly, the dream lingering like an afterimage. I clung to it, trying to pull myself back in, but it slipped away into the darkness of reality….
Another few seconds and I was wide awake. The dream already seemed like a distant memory. It had been a good dream, I remembered that much. Something about the Island…
The clock on my nightstand read 11:38 p.m. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to remember more of the dream, but as always, the details drifted tantalizingly just beyond my conscious reach. Finally I gave up and, yawning, rolled onto my side and closed my eyes.
It came from outside, behind me—a faint crunch of dry leaves.
My eyes snapped open. Automatically I drew my covers tighter around my shoulders, hairs prickling all over my body. I listened intently but didn’t dare roll over to look out the window behind me.
It was your imagination, I told myself. You were practically asleep, so—
Another crunch.
And another.
It wasn’t my imagination.
Panic and adrenaline shot through me like electricity, and I frantically scrambled out of bed and lunged for the stairs—then saw the closed door. The memory of slamming it flashed behind my eyes, and I froze while reaching for the doorknob. What the hell was I going to do, run scared to my mommy? I couldn’t do that, especially not now.
Another crunch—leaves being stepped on, I was almost certain.
Suddenly feeling courageous—or perhaps just reckless—I spun around and peered out the window.
Nothing.
From across the room, in the darkness, I couldn’t see much of anything. Still, I let out a breath of relief. I listened another five or ten seconds, but heard nothing more.
It was probably just an animal. A raccoon, maybe a squirrel.
But what if it wasn’t? What if it was a robber? Or worse…?
Hell, maybe it’s Santa Claus getting a head start.
I snorted, smiling, and my anxiety abated a bit. I decided I was being ridiculous. Scaring myself. Totally overreacting.
Nevertheless, I knew I probably wouldn’t sleep again tonight unless I investigated a bit.
I slowly tiptoed up to the window and scanned the roof of the garage, which my room sat on top of. Nothing. From inside the window, though, I could see little to either side. Trying to pretend to myself that I wasn’t afraid in the slightest, I unlocked the window, slid it open, and—
The cheerful voice of a boy, seemingly right in my ear: “Boo.”
I yelped, leapt back, and tumbled backward over my bed, crashing to the carpet behind it. I quickly peeked over the mattress, my heart going crazy, just as a dark, humanlike figure swung down from the roof of my room and perched on the windowsill.
After some careful consideration, I decided I’d seen enough. I scrambled to my feet and lunged for the door—but never reached it. Something grabbed my collar (How the fuck did it move so fast?!) and yanked me backward. I landed on the bed on my back, and before I could move, the figure was standing astride my waist. A boy’s shadowy face loomed over me, eerily backlit by the moonlight, and for one heart-stopping moment, I was certain I was about to die.
Then the boy grinned broadly and said in a cheerful, Australian accent, “G’day, Ricky.”
Hearing my name in his voice, I realized instantly:
This boy seemed somehow… familiar…
The boy backflipped off the bed—yeah, back-flipped—and landed lightly on the floor in front of me. “No worries, mate,” he said. “I’m na her
e to hurt ya.”
I sat up slowly, my heart still freaking out, and glanced at the door. Common sense was advising me, DON’T JUST SIT THERE, YOU DUMBASS, RUUUUNNNN!!! But the boy’s casual friendliness and distinct familiarity won me over.
I eyed him up and down. Seeing my inspection, the boy did a dainty pirouette, like a girl showing off a dress. He looked about my age, sixteen. He was lean and deeply tanned, and had a friendly face, twinkling blue eyes, and scruffy blond hair. He wore only a pair of dirty, tan shorts that looked like something an American Indian might have worn.
And for just an instant, I thought it looked like his right hand and wrist were glowing very faintly—as if his skin had absorbed a mist of pale light. It was just barely perceptible, though, and the next instant my mind had dismissed it as a trick of the moonlight.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice slightly shaky.
“My name is Peter,” the boy said, and he bowed theatrically, “… and I’m from the Island.”
My breath caught.
After a moment, I said, “Which island?”
Peter grinned. “The Island.”
“There’s a lot of islands in the world.”
His grin widened. “In this world, yeah.”
That sentence seemed to whirl around the inside of my skull for a good five seconds, gathering momentum, before it slammed into my brain.
Then I said, “Holy shit.”
I dashed into my bathroom and locked the door. I filled a cup to the brim with cold water from the sink and dumped it over my head. In movies, getting doused with cold water makes you more lucid and alert; in reality, I now discovered, it makes you more wet and cold. In the mirror, my eyes were puffy and bloodshot with dark circles underneath, my hair was sticking up in all directions, and my face was dripping wet.
So at least I looked perfectly sane.
I ripped the door open.
Peter was gone.
I carefully scanned the room three times, leaned out the doorway and looked to either side, and peered under my bed.
Nothing.