Under the Bridge (23 page)

I rounded the corner, trying not to look down, and slid my way along, going as fast as I could. Ten minutes later, we were there. With the shades closed, I risked peeking down at the window latch. Relief spread through me. It was unlocked. No cars rolled down the street, and only a few people wandered down the sidewalks, so I unclipped the radio. “We’re here, Sid. Tell Piper to do his thing,” I whispered.

Closing my eyes, I counted. Piper should be skating down the street right now, hammer in hand. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
CRASH. The sound of Piper smashing the windshield of Will’s uncle’s car reached us, and a second later, the car alarm screeched.

A light flipped on in the apartment, and we heard rustling inside, then cussing. Half a minute later, we heard a door slam shut. I pushed the button on the radio. “He should be out in a minute.”

“Roger dodger. Piper’s long gone.”

We waited. I looked at Indy. “We have to find it quick. Real quick.”

He nodded, his face pale in the shadows.

Sid’s voice crackled through the radio. “He’s out. Go.”

I held my breath, hooked my fingers on the frame of the window, and lifted gently. It slid up. In another few seconds I had it wide open, so I crouched, moving the curtain to the side and peeking into the living room. Empty. I twisted on the ledge, sliding a leg inside, and a moment later I was standing on the carpet. Indy followed. I shut the curtain. “You take the kitchen. Look everywhere, but try not to make it look like we were here.”

The first thing I noticed was that the nondescript, plain apartment was clean. Immaculate. No signs of living in it besides a pillow on a couch. No dirty dishes, cigarette butts littering ashtrays, empty burger wrappers, nothing. I unclipped the radio from my belt and whispered into it, “We’re in.”

Tension laced Sid’s voice, which was strange. “Hurry. You should see him. He’s sooo pissed. Cussing and yelling and shit.”

I swept through the living room, knowing the last thing a drug dealer would do would be to call the cops. I heard the alarm shut off, then glanced at Indy ripping through the cupboards, my pulse rising once again. We had minutes. I ran to the bedroom.

A single T-shirt on the crumpled bed and scattered change on the nightstand were the only signs of life. After a minute of going through the clothes in the drawers, I checked the closet and under the bed. No bat. Nothing.

Back in the living room, I checked under the couches, threw the pillow on the floor, and found nothing but dust and a few pennies. My heart sank. Either it wasn’t here or it was in the kitchen, so I padded over, joining Indy. He frantically searched. We’d been in the apartment for less than five minutes.

He opened the oven, checked it, then shut the door. “Fuck. It’s not here.”

I looked around. “You checked everything? Under the sink?”

He nodded, and Sid’s voice crackled through the radio. “He just went back inside. Get out.”

I pressed the button. “We didn’t find it.”

“Dude, get out. Now. You’ve got, like, three minutes.”

My heart caught in my throat, and as I turned back toward the living room to bolt for the window, my eye caught the only place I hadn’t checked. The refrigerator. I grabbed the sides. “Help. Hurry.”

Indy grabbed the sides, too, and we worked the box away
from the wall. After a minute, I was able to reach behind it, and as I did, my fingers hit something. Angling my arm further back, I wrapped my fingers around it. “I got it,” I said, pulling the plastic-wrapped bat out. I handed it to him. “Let’s go.”

Indy ran for the window as I shoved the refrigerator back. Just then, the doorknob squeaked as it turned. I was in direct sight of the door. I motioned at Indy, who had one leg out the window. “Go, man. Get out!” I whispered frantically.

He stared at the door as it swung open, then lifted his leg back inside, staring at me. “I’m not leaving.”

There was only one solution. It was football time. I looked at Indy. “Follow me.” As the door opened, I ran, sprinting down the short hall toward it. Just as Will’s uncle stepped inside, I hit him high and hard like a linebacker going in for the kill: elbows up, forearms crossed. I nailed him solid in the chest and he flew back, his feet in the air as he slammed against the wall of the hall outside.

I didn’t stop, and we ran. Just as we hit the stairwell at the end of the hall, I glanced back. Vernon was on his feet, pulling a pistol from his waistband. He staggered after us. I grabbed Indy. “Come on.”

We took the stairs three at a time, grabbing the railing for balance as we ran and jumped and scrabbled downward. I could hear Vernon following, and was surprised he’d even gotten up after a hit like that. As we reached the first floor, Indy let out a yelp and I stopped, turning around as he tumbled ass-over-head to my feet. He groaned. I grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. He still held the bat. “You okay?”

He grimaced, gasping in pain, then looked down. “Fuck.”

I looked down. His foot was angled sideways. Completely destroyed. “It’s broken.”

“Fuck. We’re dead,” he said, clenching his teeth.

With the sound of Vernon running down the staircase behind us, I took a breath, then picked Indy up. “Nothing to do but try. Put your arm around my neck, and don’t let go of the bat,” I said, then ran through the lobby of the building, carrying him.

We hit the doors and I took a sharp right, hoping to get around the corner to the alley before Vernon saw which way we went. It was no use, though. Just as we rounded the corner, I heard the doors slam open, then running feet coming our way. I looked around in the dark, and there was nothing but the alley. Nowhere to hide. We were screwed.

“Why are you carrying your brother?”

Startled, I turned to the other side of the alley. “What the fu—?”

Dad stood there, his work clothes still on. “Your mother told me you were meeting with Indy. I followed you, then lost you, then saw Piper skating.…” Then he whipped his head around as Vernon, pistol in hand, charged around the corner. Dad stepped between us and him, facing the man.

Vernon came to a halt, raising the pistol.

My dad lifted his hands to him. “Whoa. Slow down there, buddy. Put the weapon down.”

Confusion spread over Vernon’s face, but he didn’t waver. “Who’re you?”

“I’m these boys’ father. Put the weapon down.”

Vernon shook his head. “Give me the bat and everything will be fine.”

Dad glanced back at us, confusion on his face. He looked at the packaged bat. “Indy, throw him the bat.”

My heart raced, and my mind reeled. “Will used it to kill Lucius, then made Indy hold it. His prints are on it for insurance. They’ll think Indy did it. He was the kid in the video,” I blurted out.

It took a second for my words to register in his head, but the picture was there. He took a great breath, his chest and shoulders expanding. He stared at Vernon. “Let’s talk about this. Find a solution.”

Vernon smiled. “Your kid has been nothing but a pain in my ass. Give me the bat.”

Silence followed in the darkness. Then Dad spoke. “You’re not hurting my boys.”

Vernon cocked the pistol. Dad rushed him. I dropped Indy.

The shot rang out as Dad closed in, but he didn’t stop. A look of surprise crossed Vernon’s face when Dad didn’t go down, and the next thing he knew, Dad plowed into him.

They both went down in a heap, Dad’s huge fists digging into Vernon’s rib cage as he struggled to get away. As I ran toward them, another shot rang out, this one muffled. Blood pooled beneath them. Then I saw my dad’s hand wrap around Vernon’s, pinning the pistol against the ground. I saw my dad’s elbow jacking into Vernon’s face furiously. The drug dealer’s body went limp. Then I was there.

I scrambled around them, grabbing the pistol and yanking it from Vernon’s hand, then throwing it across the alley. Dad lay on top of the man, his chest heaving. I touched his shoulder, fear ripping through me. “Dad.”

He put his palm on the ground for support, then rolled from the unconscious Vernon, whose face was a mess from the elbow hits. Both men were covered in blood. Panic swept through me as I knelt. Indy, his ankle mangled, hopped to us, then fell to his knees beside me. Dad stared at the darkened sky, breathing heavily. We heard sirens in the distance. Dad grunted. “Bastard got me good.”

Indy leaned over him. “Jesus, Tate. He’s shot.”

Dad looked at Indy, his eyes glassy. “You clean that bat handle off and give it to the police when they get here. You hear me? Do it right, Indy. Do the right thing. You’re my son.”

Tears slid down Indy’s face. “Dad, no. You can’t go. I fucked up so bad. You can’t.”

Dad closed his eyes. “Go home tonight, son. Be with your mother.”

“He’s in critical but stable condition. The surgery is done, and your mother is with him.” Detective Connelly sat behind the table. Indy and I sat facing him. We were waiting for an attorney to show up. He went on, looking at me, “When you told me that you would ‘turn in’ the murder weapon, you didn’t tell me how you’d do it.”

I shrugged. “I want to see my dad.”

“You will. We just need a statement, and to make it legal, you need an attorney present because you’re minors. Your mother gave consent at the hospital.”

Indy shook his head. “I told you. Will murdered Lucius with the bat. I saw it. I’ll testify.”

The detective nodded. “I appreciate that, but we have to make it legal. I know you boys want to see your father, but until we get your statement, I have to detain you. Policy.”

I cleared my throat. “What about Will’s uncle?”

“He’s being charged with attempted first-degree murder
for shooting your father. With his record, and the charges that will follow, he won’t see daylight again.”

“And Will?”

“Based on testimony from Indy, he’ll be charged with murder in the first degree.” He looked at us. “That is, when we find him.”

I furrowed my brow. “You can’t find him?”

“He disappeared. Don’t worry, though, we’ll get him.”

I shook my head. “He’ll be after Indy.”

“He probably fled the area,” he said. Then the door opened.

A fat, balding man, disheveled and angry-looking, walked in. “It’s three-thirty in the morning. What am I doing here?”

Detective Connelly looked at us. “Indy, start talking.”

Indy wouldn’t leave the hospital, and every time I looked at him, I could see what he was feeling. Guilt, pain, relief, sadness. He and Dad talked privately for long hours, and I could tell that something had changed in my brother. Maybe he had learned that life could be for keeps and that sometimes it could turn out for the worst
.

As usual, Mom was the rock of the family. My dad had always gotten the credit for being the tough guy, and she had always stood in the shadows, but I realized that she was something altogether different. Something that I’d always taken advantage of without knowing it. She held everything together. When there was no reasoning, she was the reasonable one. When tempers flared, she was the voice that kept us together. She was the one who made our family function, and I looked at her in a new way.

Two days after the incident, school let out and I skated three blocks to the hospital. Indy was just leaving Dad’s room,
awkwardly working his crutches. He smiled. “He’s coming home tomorrow.”

I slapped him five. “Cool.” I looked at him. “You coming back to school?”

He leaned against the wall. “Eventually. Mom is talking to them, and it looks like I’ll be able to be in Mr. Halvorson’s English class. But the police told her that I should stay home until they find Will.”

“They’ll find him,” I said.

He shook his head. “I know Will, Tate. He didn’t leave town.”

I clenched my teeth. “Then we’ll deal with it as it comes, but they’ll find him. They will.”

He looked down, shook his head, then smiled. “Whatever, dude, but I heard something else.”

“What?”

He looked at me. “The skate Invitational. Piper told me you guys are in it. Badger’s sponsoring?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”