“What? What’s the thing?” I had no idea there was a thing.
“Last night, he was asleep in his cardboard house near the bonfire, and this morning, he was gone. So was his house, and the rest of the group that was here last night.”
“And you were where?”
“I found a warmer spot in that building.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you call me first thing, kid?”
“I─”
“You know what?” I raise a hand. “Never mind. I don’t have time, and you don’t have a good enough excuse. Let’s go.”
If I ever needed a fucking cigarette…
It’s not long before I notice the shit-eating grin on his face. “What the hell are you smiling at?”
“You called me Stix back there.” He’s absolutely fucking ridiculous.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I mentioned his grin is irritating as shit, right?
“All right then.” I’m not being defensive. More like, I’m giving a kid a lesson on stating the fucking obvious.
As I drive along and zone out on the lane dividers, I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not to tell the kid who I think might be responsible for his brother’s death.
What makes my mind up for me is when I ask myself if he was any other client, what would I do?
“Kid.”
He looks over at me. Happy go luckless bleeding through his expression. This is my last chance to spare him the bullshit Green and I have been coming up with.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
If this was some other kid, I might think twice about sharing what the two of us realized earlier, but Stix is different. He might be hurting over his brother’s death but my gut tells me he can take it. He’s not gonna go blabbing to any “friends” any time soon. He’s smarter than that.
So I spill it.
All of it.
When I’m done getting him up to speed, I keep my eyes on the road, but I’m aware of what’s going on next to me. Stix is quiet, like he’s letting it all sink in. He doesn’t say a word for a good ten minutes or so.
“So you think maybe these cops…” He can’t, or won’t, finish his thought. I don’t force it either.
“Maybe.”
I mean, let’s face it. They were shady from the get-go. But there’s a difference between conspiracy theory and fact. Stix was most likely still harboring some hope that there’s some good in the police force.
Pretty much everyone is.
And no, not me.
Okay. Fine. Maybe me too. But I evolved.
The kid shakes his head a little and glances out toward the sky. It kills me inside, the way he reminds me of Mikey when we were younger after Dad was having a particularly bad day and decided to take all his aggressions out on the youngest of the Stiles boys.
He didn’t understand then, and Stix doesn’t understand now.
I can’t fucking blame either of them.
Life sucks.
“Why would they do that?” The mixed emotions of anger and helplessness resonate in his voice.
“I don’t know, kid. Maybe to cover their asses. Maybe he knew too much. It could be a number of things.”
“Don’t all drug dealers know too much?” he asks like it’s that simple. He’s frustrated. I get it. “I mean, if Donnie was dealing for ’em, what could he have possibly done to deserve to die?”
Skimmed some money?
Sold on the side?
Lost a deal?
Truth is, it could have been anything or nothing. Hell if I’m telling Stix that, though. He doesn’t really want an answer anyway. He’s simply asking the same thing everyone does when they lose someone so fucking senselessly.
Why?
It’s the same thing I’ve asked myself about a thousand goddamn times: Why didn’t I stop Mike from signing up for the academy in the first place? Why couldn’t I stand up to Dad when my little brother needed me to? Why did he die? But more importantly, why him and not me?
Damn, I do stupid shit every fucking day of my life. Ask my father. And I’m sure as hell that Mikey had a lot more to offer the world than my sorry ass.
Stix sits there, waiting for an answer I can’t give him. Once again, I’m failing at something that to some people is probably the simplest thing in the world.
“You’re too smart for your own good. You know that, kid?”
“Yay me,” he says. He huffs out like he’s trying to blow it off. All I hear in his voice now is sadness.
Then he goes back to counting trees.
X X X
I leave Stix at my office this time. There’s an alarm that alerts an entirely different police force than at my apartment and a couch he can sleep on.
“Here’s the key.” I take mine off of its ring. “I’ll bring some blankets and shit over later. And here.”
I pull out a twenty and hand it to him. “Order somethin’ to eat. You look like death warmed over.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I’ll get more groceries later.”
It’s completely feasible that I might actually be a manny at this point.