Shameless (24 page)

His mom never smiled anymore. Neither did he, for that matter. There was nothing to smile about. Her drug free moments were few and far between these days. Brian despised her when she was high, even hated her. But she was still his mom. She was all he had.

Somehow, he’d get the money for Earl. He didn’t want his mom whoring on the streets again and he couldn’t face another foster home. Earl wasn’t so bad. At least he didn’t try to diddle with him in the middle of the night like his mom’s last boyfriend. Life could be worse.

He lay back against his mattress and closed his eyes as his mom tucked the thin blanket around his shoulders, reminding him of happier times, and he let himself think, just for a minute, life would get better. His mom would see he needed her and would clean up her act. Because she loved him. He even let himself smile at that thought.

When she left his room a few moments later, he was still grinning. Through the paper thin walls, he heard her rustling through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. His smile faded. He knew what was in that medicine cabinet and it wasn’t Bayer aspirin. He heard the toilet lid close and pictured his mom sitting on it and shoving up the sleeve of her night gown to reveal blue veins under pale skin that bore the pin-prick scars from years of drug abuse.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Life was shit.

And the week had barely begun.

It was Friday before Brian went back to school. The bruises on his face were still dark purple, but they’d yellowed around the edges. His nose, having been broken before, didn’t look much different except for the cut across the bridge. And the swelling around his eyes had lessened enough so he could see clearly again.

As expected, no one paid much attention to his beat-up state. Only his second period teacher, Mr. Ritzer, questioned him. “You look like you got into a fight with a pit bull and lost,” he said.

Brian stared at his shoes. “Car accident.” Excuse number three. Numbers one and two were, in order,
got into a fist fight with a friend
, and
I’m in a boxing class after school
. None of those pathetic, “I walked into a door” or “I fell down the stairs” kinds of excuses.

“Was anyone seriously hurt?” Ritzer asked.

“No.”

And that was that. No one noticed he used the same excuses every time. They must all think he was accident prone. Either that or they didn’t care enough to question it.

He was glad he’d missed yesterday’s weight workout. He knew Mr. Everest and Mr. Drake wouldn’t have bought his excuse and then they would’ve asked too many damn questions, and then Mr. E would’ve offered him a ride home and maybe even wanted to meet his mom or something.

Yeah, he was glad he’d missed that session. He didn’t need nobody fussin’ over him, making a big deal out of nothing. The only reason he was taking that class was for something to do. An excuse not to go home. Not because he needed someone fussin’ over him over anything.

That afternoon, he decided to walk straight home — no dashing down alleys, no darting behind garbage cans, no jumping fences. To hell with that maroon car. What could they do to him, break his other nose? Maybe he’d be lucky and they’d put him out of his misery with a quick blast of an AK-47.
BOOM
and it’d be over. He could think of worse ways to go.

He hadn’t taken ten steps off school grounds before he heard the familiar rev of engine behind him. He didn’t bother turning around or hurrying his step. The car kept pace with him for one block then two, staying right behind him, just beyond his peripheral vision.

His palms sweated. Although a brisk March wind seeped through his lightweight jacket and should’ve chilled him, perspiration trickled down his shoulder blades. He was tired of running scared. Let ‘em shoot him in the back. No big loss.

After three blocks, the car sped up and turned the next corner. He breathed a sigh of relief and upped his pace to get home faster. He hadn’t gone half a block when he heard the growl of the engine behind him again. A car door slammed and then another. Then the sound of footsteps behind him.

Shit.

With a deep breath, he stopped in his tracks and whirled to face his followers.

“What do you want?” he said, his newly-adolescent voice squeaking. He almost crapped his pants when he saw who they were.

Shit and goddamn.

Friday afternoon, John pulled into the SCHS parking lot and scanned the area. Kids streamed out of the school building, laughing and yelling, and rock music blared from souped-up cars in the lot. He double parked next to a dented blue Volkswagen Bug and searched for Brian.

He finally spotted the boy standing several feet away from the maroon sedan that had followed them last week. Brian’s arms crossed over his chest.

John’s jaw clenched as he drove over. When he was behind the other car, he stopped and got out. “Hey, Brian. What’s up?”

Brian’s head whipped his way. “Oh, uh, hey, Mr. E. We’re just, um — I mean, I’m just—” He cleared his throat, his gaze shooting back and forth between John and the car like an observer at a tennis tournament. Then in an instant, his demeanor changed from nervous kid to a tough, I-don’t-give-a-shit one. His shoulders slumped, not in defeat or self-consciousness, but indifference. “We’re just hangin’, you know what I mean?”

John squinted his eyes at the sedan, trying to see through the dark windows. Slowly, the car drove off, revving the engine once or twice for effect. He glanced back at Brian. “Everything okay?”

Brian’s shrug was careless through his flimsy coat, the material far too thin for this time of year. John wondered if it wasn’t cool to wear a heavier coat or if this one was all Brian possessed. That would be his guess. “Want a ride home?”

The boy’s gaze went to the street, where the car had disappeared. “I guess.”

The first block passed in silence. John glanced at Brian’s face, frowning at the ugly purple bruises and the remnants of swelling around his nose and eyes. “So, what’s with the bruises, sport?”

“Car accident,” Brian mumbled.

Right. And my middle name is Stupid
. “Sure you didn’t walk into a door or fall down some stairs or something?”

Brian’s head jerked his direction.

John shrugged and said, “I mean,
I
never used such lame excuses when I was your age, but…”

The kid slumped in his seat.

John tried again. “Aren’t you curious as to why I’m in your neck of the woods on a Friday afternoon?”

“It’s a free country.”

Damn, the kid reminded him of himself at that age. Frightening. “Your school called me.”

“So.”

“Apparently you’d given them my name as an emergency contact.”

Brian shifted in his seat and stared out the passenger side window. “I had to put down someone.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did.” In fact, he was pleased. The kid wouldn’t have put down his name unless he felt somewhat comfortable with him. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. He noticed how Brian’s hands were clenched together in his lap as he peered outside.

“Don’t worry,” John told him. “It’s bulletproof glass.”

This had Brian straightening in the seat and spinning toward John, his eyes wide. “You shittin’ me?”

John grinned. “Yeah.”

The corner of Brian’s mouth tugged upwards. Almost a smile. “Thought so,” he said, then sagged back into the seat.

John glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping they weren’t being followed today. The street behind them was clear. Good. “You know, your school didn’t buy the car accident story any more than I do.”

Brian’s shoulders swiveled away further. “It’s what happened. Not my fault if you don’t believe me.”

“Who beat you up, Brian? Those guys in that car? They pressuring you to join their gang, is that it?” If the gangs around here didn’t have the tendency to carry AK-47s, John would track that car down and beat the shit out of those kids himself.

Brian was silent a few moments. “Nah. They didn’t touch me. And I’m not in no gang.”

Yet
, John mused glumly. This poor kid was a prime target.

They pulled in front of Brian’s house. The boy opened the door and was getting out before the BMW had reached a complete stop. “Thanks for the ride. See ya around.” He shut the door and headed across the cracked sidewalk. The chained pit bull barked and lunged at the kid. John leapt out of the car, looking for a weapon, then Brian reached out and scratched the dog’s head before heading toward the house.

“Hey there, sport,” John called out. “Hold on a sec, will you?” He gave the dog a wide berth despite its wagging tail.

Brian spun around. “Wh-what are you doing?”

John caught up to him. “Since I’m here, I might as well meet your mom.”

“Why?”

John shrugged. “Why not?” He glanced at the house. “She’s home, isn’t she?”

Brian followed his gaze and cleared his throat, hitching his baggy jeans self-consciously. “Maybe. I guess. I don’t know.”

John headed up the path toward the house. “Well, Mr. Decisive, let’s go see.” Reluctantly, Brian fell into step behind him.

After meeting with Brian’s mother, John drove to Sam’s place, his BMW going fifteen miles over the speed limit in his agitation. Brian’s home life was a nightmare. No wonder the kid was messed up.

When he had entered the house, the combined stench of stale beer, stale air and stale sex had his gag reflexes working overtime. Brian’s mom had been sitting on a threadbare couch at the far end of a filthy living room strewn with empty beer cans and food wrappers. One look at her told John she was dead drunk, or high, or both. Her bloodshot eyes were slits in a pale face that might have been attractive once. Stringy, dishwater blond hair that obviously hadn’t seen the receiving end of a shower in recent memory hung limply over her face and onto bony shoulders. The woman made a paper doll look obese.

“Mrs. Carsten?” John asked when the woman didn’t acknowledge them.

“Who wants to know?” Her raspy voice was weak from the drugs. Her eyes rotated slowly toward the two males in the doorway. She straightened against the flat cushions. “Well, lookie here. Who’s the hunk, Brian?”

She stood, swayed, and for a moment John was worried he’d have to race over and catch her before she fell, but she regained some semblance of balance and walked toward him in what she probably thought was a sexy gait.

Brian looked horrified. “Mom, this is Mr. E — um, Mr. Everest.” His expression pleaded with his mom to not make a fool out of herself.

John cleared his throat. “Mrs. Carsten, I’m John Everest. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

She stopped about a foot in front of him. Her foul odor made his stomach pucker. “You have, have ya?” She gave a lopsided grin that was probably supposed to look “come hither.”

John didn’t glance at the boy to spare him the embarrassment. “I don’t know if Brian has told you about the program he’s been attending after school each week, the weight-training program?” He waited for her response.

She continued to sway slightly as she eyed him up and down like a stray cat in heat. “What program is that?”

“Come on, Mom. Don’t you remember?” Brian urged, his eyes beseeching. “I’ve told you all about it.”