Under the Bridge Page 6

  “No. Never heard of him.”

  “What about Porkchop?”

  He nodded. “Porkchop Jones. Went to school with him back when, and he gets me my smoke. Dope dealer.”

  “Where does he live.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t answer questions that get me involved in family issues, dude. Sorry. I’m like Sweden and Guatemala. Neutral.”

  I stared at him. “It wasn’t a question.”

  He held his hands up. “Whoa. No need to beat the crap out of me. I’m just a fat dude eating candy, man. Calm down.”

  “He’s my brother, Badger. Tell me.”

  He looked at me and knew I was serious. “Cascade Creek Trailer Park. Taylor Avenue. Space twenty-seven. And if you don’t mind me elaborating a tad bit, I would offer that you might have a slight issue with visiting violence on people for reasons not usually condoned as worthy. That and killing small animals sometimes precipitate becoming a serial killer. Does your mother know you are a pre–serial killer?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You didn’t hear it from me, man. Just don’t sneak in my room one night and jab my eyeballs out with an ice pick.”

  “No sweat.” I turned to the door.

  “Hey, Tate?” Badger called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Porkchop is … odd.”

  I looked at him for a moment, then nodded. I’d start with Porkchop, because I knew that Indy, after what had happened at home, would be looking for weed. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Peeled paint and a crooked sign reading CASCADE CREEK TRAILER PARK let me know I had the right place, and from the look of the trailers as I skated down the lane, a dealer named Porkchop would fit right in. This wasn’t Grandma and Grandpa’s peaceful retirement community where they bought their double-wide and strolled down to the community center for a good game of rummy. This was the back hills of Alabama on crack.

  I counted three pit bulls and two Rottweilers chained outside rickety trailers by the time I found the slot, and I stood in the road for a minute studying the place. Three bald tires lay stacked next to a chewed-up garden hose; rust-colored water stains streamed down the sides of the dirty white trailer where the rain gutters were broken; three fifty-five-gallon oil drums filled with broken appliances, car parts, trash, and beer cans stood sentry in front of a broken-down shed at the rear of the parking place; and an old Ford Escort with a coat hanger stuck in the antenna hole sat on the gravel parking pad, like a half-dead dog with open sores covering its hide.

  I walked up the way and knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so I knocked again.

  “Who’s there?” The yell came from inside, muffled, frenetic, high-pitched, and irritated.

  I knocked harder, and a second later, the window curtain next to the door flashed open and I saw half a gaunt and hard-living face peek out. The door flew open, and a guy in his early thirties, dressed in dirty jeans and a ripped flannel shirt and with long straggly hair, craned his neck out at me. His eyes bulged from his ruddy face. “You got the wrong place, buddy.” Then the door slammed shut.

  I knocked again. The door flew open, and the guy craned his neck at me again, his tendons straining. “I don’t buy Avon, don’t know how to read, don’t wear cologne, don’t want no insurance, and sure as hell ain’t going to buy nothing from you, so you might as well just turn your ass around and go knockin’ somewhere else.”

  I looked him up and down, noticing the butt of a pistol stuck in his waistband. “Are you Porkchop?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. One of the bloodshot orbs wandered just a little bit. He jutted his chin out. “What are you staring at?”

  I looked at his regular eye. “I’m looking for my brother. Indy.”

  He narrowed his eyes even more, barely slits. “You a cop?”

  There is nothing more dangerous in this world than a really dumb guy with a gun, and I wasn’t about to get shot. “Is he here?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Indy, there’s a guy out here says he’s your brother, but he looks like a cop. You here?”

  Indy came to the door. His eyes were glazed. “Hey, bro.”

  Porkchop smiled at me. “Hell, boy, you shoulda told me you was his brother. Come on in. We can get high.” He stepped back, opening a space for me.

  I stayed on the porch. “Come home, Indy.”

  He was so high he was floating. “I’m fine right here, Taterbaby.”

  I looked at Porkchop, then glanced at the pistol again. “Would you mind giving us a minute, sir?”

  He nodded, gesticulating wildly. “Shit yeah, man. I got me some Spam cookin’ anyway. Nothin’ worse than burning your damn Spam, huh?” Then he disappeared into the trailer, cackling about burned Spam.

  I looked at Indy. His lip was swollen. “Did Dad do that?”

  He smirked. “Yeah. He broke my board, so I shoved him. Did you know Dad doesn’t like being shoved?”

  I knew Dad hadn’t hit him with a closed fist. If he had, Indy’s head would have been half caved in. “Pretty bad situation?”

  He smiled. “He’s tired of Indy not being like Tate.”

  I ignored it. “Are you suspended?”

  He nodded. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going back.”

  “Come home.”

  “Dad kicked me out until I learn how to be a good little boy.”

  “He said you left.”

  He shrugged.

  “You’re staying here?”

  He laughed. “It’s actually quite palatial. Would you like to join us for dinner? Spam. I think the wine selection this evening is Mad Dog 20/20. Fine by any dining standard.”

  “If I talk to Dad, will you come home?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s an asshole.”

  “Indy …”

  “Hey, man, I went to school. I did what he said.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Now who’s being the asshole? You know exactly what you did.” I looked at him. “He’s not against you, Indy. He’s not. Neither is the school. LC might have a few bad teachers, but it’s the coolest school in the city.”

  “Are you done yet?”

  “You shouldn’t stay here. You know that.”

  He laughed. “Why not? This is my future, right? This is what they all see when they look at me, right? Fuck ’em, Tate, I don’t care. I’ll give ’em all what they want.”

  “He doesn’t see that. The school might and other people might, but Dad doesn’t. I don’t.”

  He smiled, the glaze in his eyes still heavy. “You’ve always been the favorite, Tate. Always, man. Ever since we were little, you were always the one.” He paused, looking away. “You’re the one.”

  “Please, man. Come home. You know what this is, right?”

  “What? My crappy life?”

  “No. Things are totally out of control. And if it goes any further, neither of you will be able to make things better. It’ll be the end.”

  He spit. “It was the end a long time ago. You just didn’t see it.”

  I stared at my feet. “He just doesn’t understand you, Indy. You’re different than him, you know? And you go out of your way to prove it all the time. It’s like you live for it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I am soooo tired of hearing that shit. From you and Mom and everybody else besides him. Nothing but shit from him. That’s what I get. I can’t even wipe my ass without him telling me I did it wrong.”

  My pissed-off meter was rising, and I didn’t want to get into it with him. “You’re not coming home?”

  “No. And I’m done with school.”

  “Fine. Fuck you, then.”

  He shrugged. “Oh well.” Then he shut the door, and I stood alone on the stairs as the sun set and the dogs barked.

  CHAPTER TEN

  We sat at the dinner table, the three of us, and we might as well have been deaf-mutes. Dad rested his forearms on either side of his plate as he chewed, his fork clutche
d in his fist as he stared at his plate like some rain forest King Kong gorilla man. He’d stopped drinking, which was good, but the tension in the air made me think he was on the verge of exploding.

  There was one person in the world who controlled my dad, and it was my mom. She knew how to talk to him and when to talk to him and when not to talk to him, and now she was silent. I couldn’t be silent. I pictured Indy lying on Porkchop’s couch, baked out of his mind and hating the world, and I couldn’t stand it. It made me mad. “Can Indy come home?”

  Dad the gorilla man kept his eyes on his plate. Mom looked at me and shook her head. “Not now, honey. Let’s just eat our dinner.”

  My neck flushed. “No.”

  Dad’s eyes rose from his plate. I swear to God his ears laid back and his neck swelled. He stared white-hot rivets into me. “Your mother asked that we not talk about this now.”

  “Dad, I just—”

  His voice came low and dangerous. “Shut your mouth, Tate.”

  “I’m sorry.” I paused. “I just don’t think—”

  Mom cut in. “Tate, please. We’re all upset, and I think a little bit of time would do everybody some good.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Does that include Indy?”

  Dad dropped his fork on his plate, leaned back, and ran his fingers through his hair. “What are you saying?”

  I took a breath, then looked at my dad. “We can’t talk about it because you’ll get pissed, and since everything revolves around you, I’m supposed to shut up,” I said. I sat at the table, feeling like my words were coming from somebody else’s mouth. Part of me screamed to shut up because this didn’t happen in our house. We didn’t talk like this to each other. Nobody did. But he didn’t get it, and Indy was in trouble because of it.

  Dad’s jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth. “Go to your room.”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “I said go to your room.”

  “Or what? You’ll hit me? I saw his face, Dad. Nice job.”

  Dad took a deep breath, his chest expanding. He put his elbows on the table, his fists under his chin. His knuckles were white. “You’re taking this too far, son.”

  There was a warning in his eyes that I’d never seen until recently, but I couldn’t stop myself from going on. “No, Dad, you took it too far.”

  Silence. Absolute silence.

  Then he spoke. “You’re right. But this isn’t just about me. It’s a struggle for your mother and me just like it’s a struggle for you. And for Indy. I love him and care about him, but he needs to learn.”

  For some reason, I didn’t accept what he said. Even though I knew it was true, I knew my dad’s kind of love wasn’t right for my brother. I looked at him, then stood up from the table. “That doesn’t really matter right now, Dad.”

  He looked at me. “Where is he?”

  I set my napkin on the table. “Baked out of his head trying to forget you,” I said, then went to my room.

  Mom came to my room an hour later. I could tell she’d been crying, and the stress lines on her face were tight. She leaned against the doorjamb. “Are you all right?”

  “No. Are you?”

  She sat on the end of my bed. “No. But I know everything will be all right.”

  I blinked, looking into her eyes. “You and Dad have no idea, do you?”

  “About what?”

  “About life. About Indy.” I shook my head, frustrated. “You guys think that sitting at a table every night eating dinner makes us some kind of all-American family. Yeah, you aren’t divorced. Dad isn’t a drunk. He doesn’t beat you. You don’t shoot meth. Great. But that doesn’t change anything. Indy is in trouble, Mom, and Dad just doesn’t get it.”

  She studied me for a moment. “Your father is holding things together the best way he knows.”

  “And you agree?” I said, shaking my head again.

  A moment passed. “Yes, I do. And that may be hard for you to take. But Indy needs a strong hand. He’s out of control.” She smoothed the bedspread. “His school, the drugs, his attitude, everything, Tate.”

  I looked away. “I know, but I just don’t get how kicking him out makes things better.”

  “He’s not kicked out.”

  I looked at her. “Mom, Dad hit him.”

  “I know. And if he ever does again, he’ll be alone.”

  I blinked. “You’d really leave him?”

  She nodded. “You are my children.”

  I shrugged. “Why is he such a dick?”

  She pursed her lips, thinking, and then she stood. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Tate. But we’re doing everything we can,” she said, leaning over and kissing the top of my head. “Tell your brother to come home. And tell him that I love him.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I hate deadlines. But as I skated to school the next morning, I had a deadline. Three days. If I didn’t get Indy back home and back to school within three days, nothing would ever be the same again. He’d be expelled, the courts would come in, and Indy would never come home. Things would be too bad.

  As I stuffed my board in my locker, a voice came from behind me.

  “Tell me why I wouldn’t understand.”

  I turned, and Kimberly Lawson stood there. I looked her up and down. “What?”

  “You said that I wouldn’t understand why beating somebody up and stealing could be good. Tell me why.”

  I grabbed my books. “Why should I?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “Keep on wanting to know, then.” I walked down the hall.

  She fell in beside me. “That’s not fair. You brought it up.”

  “And you blew me off.”

  “I want you to tell me.”

  I stopped, facing her. “You want to know why I beat that guy up and took his money?”

  She shook her head. “No. I want to know why you don’t think I’d understand the reason you did it.”

  She had a few faint freckles on her nose. I shrugged. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, fine. Because you’re a rich-girl superstar who does everything the world tells her to do without thinking about it. Bad is bad and good is good, and good means following all the rules no matter what. You don’t understand anything else.”

  Her face cracked, and she looked to her feet. “You don’t even know me.”

  “The only thing I need to know is how you looked at me yesterday.” I hesitated, feeling a tiny bit guilty, but not that guilty. “So don’t stand there and act like you’re all high-and-mighty, because you don’t know jack about why I do what I do.”

  She took a breath. “Okay, then. Tell me why there would ever be a good reason to beat up a guy and take his money.”

  I looked at the clock at the end of the hall. Two minutes until class. “He broke a little kid’s board because he thinks his shit doesn’t stink, so I made him pay for a new one. I even gave him his change. There. Happy?” Then I walked into class.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sid and Piper sat on the concrete wall Under the Bridge smoking cigarettes after school, their boards on the ground beneath their feet. I hopped up next to Piper. “Seen Indy?”

  Sid spit. “Are you ever not looking for Indy?”

  “Bad stuff, guys. Indy’s out of the house.”

  Piper nodded. “We know.”

  I looked across the park. “Three days suspended. Dad broke Indy’s board and whacked him.”

  Sid grunted. “I might be the world’s most pessimistic person, but I never figured your old man would do that.”

  I shrugged. “Things are messed up.”

  Piper frowned. “So, what do we do about it? Last two times I saw him, he was smashed.”

  “When did you see him?”

  Sid hopped from the ledge. “Five minutes ago. He split. Said he didn’t want to see you.”

  Piper hitched his thumb back to the skate park. “He’s talking to Angie and her
friend.”

  “Will?”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh. Guy freaks me out. Never talks.”

  I shrugged. “Probably a raver like Angie.”

  Piper grunted. “She gives bad girls a good name, man. Nothing but trouble.”

  Sid shook his head. “She’s got to be an alien.”

  Piper rolled his eyes. “Of course. That explains it.”

  Sid, his voice deadpan and serious, shrugged. “One of the genetically deficient alien species.”

  Piper laughed. “I forgot Earth was colonized by aliens.”

  Sid spit. “Whatever, man. I know, though.”

  Piper flicked his cigarette into the street, watching the butt smoke on the pavement. A car passed and crushed it. He glanced at me. “Indy told me he’s not going back after the suspension.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  Sid grunted. “Dude, did you see him carve the halls? That was so cool.”

  Piper took a swig of Gatorade, ignoring Sid. He knew Sid pushed my buttons sometimes. “Your dad really kicked him out, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but he can come back now. My mom busted his nuts about it.”

  Sid smirked. “I would like to see the day anybody busts your dad’s nuts.”

  “My mom is tough when she’s pissed.”

  Piper shook his head. “Remember that time in fifth grade when he got mad at us for ruining your mom’s roses? I pissed my bed every night for three months afterward.”

  I laughed, remembering. We’d pretended the roses were baseballs and whacked them with bats. “Yeah, but he was also the one who made us the mini-pipe three years ago. Spent, like, four days on the thing.”

  Sid almost smiled. “I learned more cusswords from him while he was building that than anybody else in the whole world. I owe him.”

  Piper nodded. “Once you get used to the scarier-than-shit thing, he’s pretty cool.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the skate park, spotting Indy, then hopped down. “Be right back, huh?”

  Sid whistled under his breath. I turned. “What, Sid?”

  “Watch yourself, Tate.”