Tap Out (33 page)

“Something like that.”

I watch the door and keep my ears open and feel Violet stand. “Charity was with Johnny.”

“You said that.” I turn to her.

Her face is twisted, and she's secured her robe. “I know, but Johnny's a sick fuck. I should know.” She looks away. “Just thought you'd like to. Seems like you care. It's not her fault, however she is now. Whatever he did.”

The door opens in the next room and then slams shut. Violet continues. “He's got some weird games, and he likes his girls to be tooted up so they'll play along.”

I want to ask her to be specific, but in the same instant, don't.

“Good luck.” Violet smiles, and she really is a beautiful girl. “Huh, I never got your name.”

I open my mouth but hesitate. Should I be honest? Is this another angle? “Tony. I'm Tony. Johnny B's calling me Pinocchio.”

Violet laughs. “Well, your nose didn't grow, so I guess I can believe you.”

I smile and turn back to the door. If I could save her, I would. If I could have saved Charity, I would. Fuck, if I
can
save my mother, I will. But as of right now, I'm not even sure I can save myself. I turn the handle and walk into the hall.

It's empty but filled with the sound of muffled sex and the noise of the party below. The guard is back at the door
and nods to me before I descend the stairs.

Dave's at the bar, drinking another vodka tonic, a smile plastered all the way to his neck. “There you are! Damn, son, you outlasted me.” He grabs me and laughs and then turns to the bartender. “Another.”

I feel like cracking him upside the head with a bottle, but instead tell myself to go dead inside. It's the only way through.

Soon I have a drink in hand and we clink glasses. “To Johnny B.” Dave gulps and I take a long swallow. The crowd has thinned and is now mostly made up of bored-looking girls and too drunk men wrapped up in their own stories. I down the rest of my drink.

“Let's go. You don't want to get pulled over with the care packages.”

He laughs. “You got it, Tone. Truly on top of it, son.”

Dave's stopped asking about how I scored, what position I used, how hot the chick was. He's stopped telling me all the minute details of what he did with Indigo. Now we're just driving in silence, him concentrating on the road, and me, everything else beyond.

The lights to the park blossom and Dave pulls in. He parks near my trailer and reaches into a section of his door, pulls out a stack of cash. “Good work, Antioch.” I take the money and stick it inside my waistband. “You ain't gonna count it.”

I give him as hard a look as I can. “I trust you.”

He recoils, but only slightly. “Right.”

I get out and close my door before he can say any more. Dave pulls away and even though it's twenty degrees and I'm
filthy and want nothing more than a hot shower, I sit on my bottom step and just breathe.

I've got two more days to figure out just what the fuck I need to do. Two days before the deal and I know I should be scared, but I'm not. It's not the alcohol or exhaustion dulling the edges, either. I know, just know that there's no point in being afraid. If something goes wrong, if the deal turns ugly, if whatever I decide with Cameron doesn't work, what have I lost? Nothing. Can't lose anything when you've got nothing.

But if it works, if I can come out the other side of this free, at least from them, well . . . I laugh and it echoes off the trailers. I try to hold it in, but can't. I laugh until I cry. And then just cry.

I
head out the door and into the dark. I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights, in spite of my exhaustion. There's just too much to sift through, but in the end it's pointless. I feel the same as I did when I got home from Johnny B's, empty.

I pull up my hoodie and it feels too thin for this cold, but I'll stand at the bus stop and Rob will roll up and who the fuck knows? We haven't spoken about the other night. I don't know if I can.

Rob walks up and looks everywhere but at me. Then he does and seems like he's about to cry. “Tone, we need to talk.”

“Yeah? I was just thinking the same. What's up?”

He opens his mouth but the brakes on the bus squeal and Hack-Face opens the door. I watch Rob and it's obvious he's relieved. That's fine. I understand. So I hop on and grab a seat in the middle and bury my head into the notch between the window and seat. Whatever he has to say will wait. It's not like it will change anything. My eyes drift shut as the bus chugs on.

I slide into my seat in Lance's class and prop my head on my arm for the movie. He's got
Gladiator
locked and loaded, the
DVD paused and screen filled with the opening credits. A newspaper is spread on his desk. His coffee mug is filled. And he looks hungover.

The movie rolls and I grow increasingly uncomfortable with every fight scene. Nothing in real life ever goes down so smoothly. I was already on edge but now I can't stop thinking about whatever I'm going to walk into tonight. The bell rings and I head to the bathroom.

Cold water on my face helps. I stay close to the sink and cup my hands and bathe my eyes. Kids look at me, open their mouths to say something, but I stop each with a hard-ass look. It's not even difficult. In fact, they look so fucking scared that I bet I could climb into this sink naked and no one would say a fucking word.

I splash again and rub my eyes.

“'Sup, Tone? Water busted at your house?”

I glare at Dave.

“Fuck, look at you, pumped already.” He steps to a urinal and unzips. “Better maintain, though; it's gonna be a long night.”

I stare into the sink, watch the water spin down the drain. “Where we getting started?” My voice sounds as lifeless as my mother's.

“Chaz's. Be there around 9:00.”

I dry my face. Dave zips up and crosses to the sink.

“Man, I could go back to Johnny B's right now. That girl, Indigo, I can't get her outta my head. You know?”

I grunt.

“Fuck, man, you really are in a zone. Can't even talk to you about pussy.” Dave dries his hands and then puts an arm around my shoulder. “Fucking glad we got you, Antioch. I think I was wrong about you. You're one bad-ass motherfucker.” Dave lets go and leaves.

I don't bother to look at myself in the mirror to see what he sees, because he doesn't know the first thing about me. There was a time when a compliment might have made me all excited, like with Coach Dan. But that shit's over. Dave thinks I'm amped because of the deal. Sure, that's part of it, but not in the way he thinks.

The bell rings and I'm off to clean and it will blow. Kids are eating candy canes and chocolates and tossing the wrappers on the ground, shredding open presents and leaving the paper, ribbon, and bows for someone else to clean up.

I turn into the janitors' office, and Mr. Franks is wearing a Santa hat. He is the most psychotic Santa I've ever seen.

“Mr. Antioch, Merry Christmas.” He's leaning against the Zamboni machine they use to buff the floors. I try to respond, but it just feels like too much effort. He smiles, though and leans more of his weight against the machine. I grab a sweeper. “That won't be necessary.”

I set the broom back.

“Once again, Mr. Ostrander would like to see you.”

Fuck, I'd rather clean up all the goddamn wrapping paper and candy wrappers in the entire fucking school with only my hands than talk with Big O. I know what he wants.

“It's all right, Tony. I'm sure you'll screw up and we'll end up spending more time together.” He laughs and his face reddens and if I weren't so fucked up right now I'd say something, bust his balls about looking like a juiced mall Santa, but I simply can't. Besides, he'd probably take it as a compliment. I turn and walk out, head down the hall to Big O's.

His secretary points to his office when I walk in. She's got Christmas music pumping out of her computer, but by the look on her face, it isn't doing much to elevate her mood. I walk into the big man's and he looks up from a stack of papers.

“Have a seat, Tony.” I do and Big O turns to his computer, clicks the mouse a few times and then returns to me. “So, do you know why you're here?”

I nod. It's because of Amy, and I don't need to say it.

“So you can explain, right?” I nod again and his face darkens. “Let's see.” He turns his monitor toward me and he's paused the surveillance video on the screen. It's so much like Johnny B's that my heart races and I have to shift in my seat. Amy and I are in still frame, and I know as soon as he presses play, she's going down.

The kick is solid and I'm sure Coach Dan would be proud, under different circumstances. Or, would have been. Amy falls like a clubbed seal and I look prepared to drop her ass again if she gets back up. Big O stops the footage and turns to me. He links his fingers, as if praying and watches my face. I don't look away, and up close to him I notice how dark the bags are beneath his eyes, as well as the small white scars around the corners of his mouth and eyebrows, and on his cheeks. No shit? He's been through it.

“She was drunk.” The words tumble out of me.

“I know. And you weren't.”

I look away. “You don't understand.”

“No, I don't, so please enlighten me.”

The fuck do I say? She was spilling about our deal, so she deserved it? That's gonna help. “I can't.”

“Excuse me?”

I look up and his face is crawling with confusion. He's got no clue if I'm being honest or just being the trash fuck I always am. Really, it's the same. “She was . . . Amy was just a mess and talking shit—I mean smack, and, well, she needed to stop.” It sounds terrible, even to me.

“What was she saying?” Big O's voice has dropped to
that comforting level he likes to use to trick you. I'm not falling for it.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You just said she was talking ‘smack.' That's not nothing, so what was it?”

I shake my head. No. I can't. I won't.

Big O leans back in his chair and gives me a moment to consider, but I'm not budging. “Who are you protecting? I've heard what the other kids said she was talking about. A couple showed it to me on their phones. Is this about Rob?”

I grab the escape. “Kinda.”

Big O's face softens. “Thought so. That I can understand, but there's more.” His face goes cold again. “What else?”

Motherfucker, he's good. “That's it.”

He stares at me, fingertips planted beneath his nose, thinking. “You're lying.”

I shrug.

“Don't, Tony. Don't do this. I know where you're headed. Remember I told you I helped someone before? Well, that was Mr. Franks.”

This brings me up short. I stare at Big O and try to comprehend, but can't.

“He was in your same position. Fighting, bad home. We lost touch after I went to college. But once I got set up here, I found him. He needed the help, too.” Big O pauses. “I wish I could have done more. The life he has isn't what he deserves. You understand?”

I nod, but I'm not Franks.

“I know Amy was talking about Jensen, and don't think for one second that I don't know what that means.”

I'm shocked by his knowledge and try to keep my face smooth, but he must see something, because his eyebrows lift.

“Tell me you're not dealing.”

I bite my tongue.

His eyes narrow. “Tell me you're not messed up with Dave and that gang.”

I keep eye contact and grind my back teeth.