Under the Bridge (26 page)

Shooting across the deck after the varial five-forty, I barely pulled out a gymnast handplant, to the astonishment of the announcer. The only thing I heard over the muffled noise was “THIS YOUNG MAN WANTS IT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!”

I was completely in the zone. Outside of myself. Not
seeing, not hearing, just feeling it. Feeling the roll of the board and the flow of the dance and the feeling in my chest that no person could explain and that I loved so much. I carved the vert twice, gaining speed and pulling a Stalefish seven-twenty. The crowd went crazy when I landed it, and I glanced at the clock ticking down the seconds I had left. Twenty seconds, Tate. You can do it. One chance. One chance. I kept my speed, building it faster and faster.

I’d tried it. Practiced it for hours, but only landed it once. One single time. You can do it. I flew, gaining speed back and forth, the ticker on the board winding the seconds down as I hit the coping and launched. Then I was in the air. I was spinning. Once, twice, then the last half. My deck came down straight and true, and I grinned as I sped down the vert. The nine hundred. I’d landed the nine hundred. I’d just knocked on heaven’s gate, and it had opened.

I kicked the board out from under me and slid on my knees to the center of the vert, overcome, raising my arms as the crowd went nuts. Shit, they didn’t go nuts, they ROARED. The whole place shook.

I looked up to my family’s section, and Mom was bawling her head off and Indy was spasming wildly as my dad leaned toward him, no doubt asking what in the hell I’d just done to cause a commotion. I glanced to the side of the vert, and every pro skater stood there, some looking at me like I was a freak while others clapped. A replay of it rolled on the big screen.

The announcer screamed disbelief at an amateur pulling
a run like that, then corrected himself, calling me a pro. Corey Norton stood on the platform staring daggers at me. I stood, and Sid and Pipe slid down the vert, hugging me and clapping my shoulders. Piper screamed in my ear that I’d outdone every pro on the circuit. “None of them yanked a nine hundred, man!!! None! HOLY SHIT!”

I looked at the screen, watching the slow-motion replay. I had done it. I’d done it all. And as I walked from the deck, Corey Norton left his board on the platform—his run still yet to be announced—and walked down the stairs and left the arena. Some things, I thought with a smile, were better than punching a guy out. I looked up at Stick, who grinned, and gave him the thumbs-up.

Fifteen minutes later, after the scores of the pros were announced, all three crews, minus Corey, stood on the platform with the vice president of Flying Gecko Skateboards while the announcer declared Team Hole in the Wall the winners of the amateur competition. With Corey bailing on his crew, they’d had no chance of winning
.

I won the Individual, too. The VP of Flying Gecko Skateboards leaned over to me as the crowd thundered. “Keep that up and you’ll be a star, young man. We’ll be seeing each other soon.”

Then it was over. We met Mom, Dad, Indy, Mitch, and Badger at the access door, and Mom slung her arms around me, almost strangling me. Dad clapped me on the shoulder, and Indy grinned. “You did it, dude. You really did it.”

I looked at him. “You could have, too.”

He shook his head. “No, Tate, I couldn’t have. Maybe the nine hundred on a great day, but to pull a line like that without a flaw, no. Not a chance.”

I smiled. I’d done it, and if I kept at it, I knew I could do it again. I had a chance now. “Flying Gecko, Indy. I can’t believe it.”

He smiled. “I can believe it. You’re going to hook me up with some swag, right?”

“You got it.” We walked out to the concourse, and there, at the top of the landing, stood Kimberly and her parents. She ran down the hall, and as she threw her arms around me, I glanced over her shoulder at her parents. Her dad shuffled uncomfortably and smiled, waving at me. Her mom, with her arms crossed over her chest, clenched her jaw and looked away, ignoring the fact that her daughter was a human being.

Kim kissed my cheek, her eyes shining. “You were
awesome
, Tate. You should have heard the people around us! They went crazy! And now you’re a pro! A real pro! That trick thing you did was sooooo cool!”

I grinned, introducing her to Mom and Dad as Mr. Lawson grabbed Mrs. Lawson’s hand and yanked her forward. I nodded to him as they reached us, shaking his hand. “I’m Tate. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lawson.”

He smiled, nodding to my board. “It looks like you’ve got quite a career on your hands. And it’s nice to meet you, too.” Then he shook hands with my dad and said hello to Mom.

Mrs. Lawson gave an utterly insincere smile, shook hands with my mother, and completely ignored me. I stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lawson, and I promise, I won’t beat you up and steal your wallet.”

Her eyes widened in shock, and Mr. Lawson stifled a smile. Indy laughed outright, and Kimberly giggled, taking my
hand. I knew I had a rough road ahead with her pinch-faced mom, but I had a feeling it would be worth it. Back on track, I thought as we walked from the arena. Everything was the way it should be.

Except for one thing.

Mist, just the lightest sprinkle gently coating my face as I skated under the streetlights, sent chills down my spine. It would turn to rain later, I thought, trying to keep my mind from where I was going and what I was about to do. Will. I wouldn’t be confronting a guy who wanted to bust it up with me; I’d be confronting a guy who needed my brother dead
.

Will thought he’d be seeing Indy. Wrong. He’d be seeing me.

You’re an idiot, Tate. You’ve gone too far this time. Leave it alone for once. It’s not your responsibility. I couldn’t, though, because he wouldn’t go away. This wouldn’t fade into nothingness, like when someone was pissed off about some guy dissing him in the cafeteria or knocking him in the hall. There was no anger involved with Will. He needed Indy dead to save his own skin, and it changed things. The hammer would hit harder tonight than it ever had.

And although my dad told me that some things are better talked about than fought over, there was no talking to Will.
There was only action. At least he and I saw things the same way in that respect. Action. Put up or shut up.

Two blocks away from the Monster, I rounded the corner, deep in my thoughts. “Two blocks away. Almost there,” I mumbled. “Almost time.” I kicked my board up and started walking, and as I did, Will stepped from a doorway, his figure cast in shadow.

He held a pistol, studying me. “You’re a pain in my ass. Where is he?”

Panic swept through me. No. This wasn’t the place. Not here. I wasn’t ready. I looked at Will, clearing my throat and looking at his face, still bruised by my board. “Nice face, asshole. I hope it hurt as much as I enjoyed doing it.”

He shrugged. “Two for one, then. You know I’m going to get him after I’m done with you.”

I glanced at the store we stood in front of. The China Doll Shop. I nodded my head toward it. “So after all this, I’m going to get smoked in front of a Chinese doll shop. Somehow that fits a pussy like you.”

He smiled, enjoying himself. “You always had a mouth.”

I sneered. “Did Lucius have a mouth, tough guy?”

He laughed. “Lucius was in the way. Just like you.”

“You liked it, didn’t you? You got off when you were killing him, huh?”

“The weak die. He was weak,” he said, his eyes tightening on me.

I chuckled. “Your uncle told you to scare him away. You killed him for fun.”

He shrugged, keeping the pistol on me. “So what if I did? He’s gone, and how I got him gone doesn’t matter.” Then he smiled again. “But yeah, it felt good to cave his head in. Just like it’s going to feel good to kill you.”

I nodded, the sweat on my forehead mixing with the mist. I braced myself, tensing, then dropped my board, opening my arms. “You’re a chickenshit coward, Will. A spineless bitch with a gun to make you look tough.”

He smiled, raising the pistol and cocking it.

“You can’t take me and you know it. The only reason you need it is because you know I’d kick your ass.” I forced a smile. “You’re the weak one.”

His eyes flashed, and I knew I’d gotten to him. Please. Please let it work. Let there be enough time. He lowered the pistol, uncocking it and putting it in his back pocket. “Tell you what, Tater. You get this gun away from me and we’ll see who the pussy is,” he said, raising his fists in a fighting stance.

I had my chance, so I took it. I rushed him. I came in swinging like I’d never swung before. Not to win a fight or not get hurt, but to live. To put him down. My fists were pistons.

My first left caught him in the ribs, and my right, with my entire upper body pivoting to put as much force behind it as possible, nailed him square on the eye socket. He flew back, falling to one knee.

Blood seeped from his eye, and in a flash, he flew into me, catching me on the ear with a solid right. I couldn’t believe it. The guy could take a punch like nobody I’d seen, and he hit
just as hard. Stars flashed in front of my eyes, and then I was being pummeled, his fists hammering me.

I tasted blood and we stood toe to toe, beating the living shit out of each other. No dancing, no jabbing, no dodging, just whaling on each other like we were meat-filled punching bags. Ribs, kidneys, ears, eyes, over and over again we went at each other, each refusing to back off. And it hurt. God did it hurt. I actually felt one of my ribs crack.

Desperate, I lunged in and landed a huge forearm to his eye again, this time accompanied by the sick crunch of his cheekbone fracturing, and he reeled, falling to his knees and reaching for his pistol. I lunged after him. “HURRY UP!” I screamed, grappling with him, trying to keep him from the pistol as pain and fatigue coursed through my body. My face was a bloody mess, the front of my shirt plastered with blood.

On his hands and knees with me on top of him, my arm pinioned around his neck as I tried to pull him back, he twisted, driving his elbow into my cracked rib. I howled, paralyzed, unable to breathe as I fell to the side. The pain was so piercing I almost blacked out, and the next thing I knew, he had the gun in his hands. On his knees, panting, half his face covered in blood, his broken cheekbone grotesquely swollen under the glow of the streetlights, he raised the pistol.

No words, just insanity. I groaned, lying on the ground, huge steel pincers jabbing over and over again into my lung as I breathed. I knew I was dead. Detective Connelly and the police had been waiting on the other side of the park. I wheezed into the hidden wire taped to my chest, wondering if
they even knew where I was. I’d hinted about the China Doll Shop when Will had stepped from the shadows, and I hoped to God they’d heard it.
“Hurry. Please.”

Five feet away, Will cocked the pistol, aiming it at my head. His eyes drove into mine like red-hot irons, with no feeling, no anger, just an indifferent and rock-hard intensity that shot straight through me like a knife. I watched as his fingers tightened on the grip. I groaned, looking away, the last tendril of fear spiraling through my gut only to be replaced with resignation. I would die here.

The shot rang out, echoing against the buildings, and my eyes flew open. Blood blossomed on Will’s shoulder, and he crumpled, the gun clattering to the pavement. I lay back, staring at the blackness of the sky. I heard running footsteps. A police officer kicked Will’s pistol away, then knelt at his side, spinning him on his back, smashing a knee between his shoulder blades, and cuffing him.

Then I passed out.