“YES! Got him!” Stix lets the Wii remote drop to the floor then throws his hands up into the air in victory.
I should have taken the necessary precautions to ensure the kid wouldn’t get into anything he shouldn’t be getting into.
I’m the idiot here.
Only, I’m not. Because I did take the fucking precautions. The same ones I take every other goddamn day.
“How’d you get into my closet, Jimmy?” The one with the lock on it. The one I always keep locked.
“Oh. That reminds me.” He pulls out of his pocket a contraption that suspiciously looks like it used to be my door knob. “You really should upgrade your locks. That stuff you’ve got on your doors is at least fifteen years old.”
“You’re fifteen years old.” Little shit.
“Seventeen.”
Smartass.
I pick up an empty diet Dr. Pepper can on my way to the hall closet.
“Use a fucking coaster next time.” I wipe the sweat from his drink off the table with my sleeve and toss the can, free throw style, into the recycle bin before grabbing a pillow and blanket for the kid.
He mumbles an apology.
“And lights out in T-minus thirty minutes.” I mighta said sixty had he not put a water ring on my coffee table. Or broke my goddamn door.
“Come on, really?”
The bedding I pull out of the hall closet hits the couch like a three-pointer lands the net.
Swish, motherfucker.
“I’m finding you a place to stay tomorrow until we can get you outta Dodge.”
“But-”
“End of story, kid. I have shit to do. I can’t be distracted with your pubescent-like tendencies at all hours of the goddamn night.” His shoes look like they’ve been kicked off mid-stride. I amend that problem immediately and set them side by side at the door.
“And why in the hell haven’t you changed into something dry, yet?” I grab the bag of clothes I brought in and throw it to him. “There’s what might be construed as PJs in there.” He opens it up and starts rummaging through it. “Otherwise known as sweats.”
He pulls out the jeans I purchased and gives them a pointedly disgusted look.
“What are these?”
“Isn’t that what all the kids are wearing these days?”
His face scrunches up.
“What?”
He drops the jeans that the saleslady specifically fucking told me was a hot ticket item this year.
I should have known.
Skinny-legged kids don’t actually want their legs to be seen as skinny.
“It’s gonna have to suffice for now.”
Or at least until tomorrow.
It has to.
As Stix continues to judge every item I bought him, I grab the laptop, the mouse, some folders, and a certain bottle of alcoholic beverage I need before heading to the bedroom. I turn the lights out as I go, hearing Stix huff and puff and curse my name all the while.
Poor kid. I’m the least of his problems.
X X X
Angry, empty eyes jolt me out of a deep sleep. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve woken up in my bed, and as a strange added twist, I kinda miss seeing the old hand-drawn superhero hanging on my wall, first thing.
Morning, Mikey.
The fact that the side of my face is stuck to my laptop keyboard tells me I dozed off in the middle of searching for articles relating to Donnie Leary’s death, and henceforth, relatives that might be looking for his brother. The blinding light that’s sneaking in through the window suggests it’s morning.
I check the time.
And I’m fucking late. Again.
“Shit.”
Kill me now.
No time to figure out where to put the kid. I completely fucking forgot about the court required appointment that awaits me halfway across Redemption.
I swap my boxers for a clean pair and slip some jeans on that haven’t made it into the washing machine yet. Don’t worry. They smell fine.
On my way out the door, I start to wake up the kid but think better of it at the last minute. Instead, I write my cell number down onto a sticky note and mention not to call unless it’s an absolute emergency.
You never know who’s watching the cell tower pings.
I also mention there’s some bread on the counter and some peanut butter in the cabinet. You know, in case he’s hungry when he wakes up.
I’m considerate like that.
On the way downtown, I ask myself, why would the Redemption police attend Donnie Leary’s funeral? And what in the hell would they want with his brother? Typically, once a gangbanger is dead, he’s no more than an afterthought to the cops. They aren’t really big on offering condolences to next of kin. They’re just glad to be rid of one more street thug.
So why the interest now?
Remorse, meanwhile, eats away at me as I mull it all over.
Don’t leave me with these guys.
I can’t shake the thought that had I not left Donnie with those dicks in the first place, I wouldn’t have his delinquent little brother making a mess of my apartment right now.
Shake it off, Stiles.
He’ll be gone tonight. I’ll get a hit on some relatives and send him off, and we can get back to the status quo immediately thereafter.