“I’m not playing.” Tino shook his head, and since Nova was far enough ahead to be out of earshot, he said, “My brother thinks I’m gay now. I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
“I wish.” Bobby laughed. “I’d be the first one to buy you off the back pages. I’d save my money.”
“Bullshit, you’d save your money.” Tino snorted. “How was your week?”
“Mostly crappy. How was yours?”
“It was okay,” Tino said, though he had Mary bug him twice, so maybe not. “On the shit end of okay.”
“Do you fuck those housewives in the ass?”
“I’m not playing. I already said I’m not playing,” Tino told him with a laugh.
“’Cause, you know—”
“No.” Tino laughed harder. “I don’t fuck recreationally.”
“That makes party boys and girls everywhere very sad,” Bobby said sullenly. “I would do so many nice things for you.”
“I’m sure you would.” Tino was still laughing, because Bobby was hard not to like. “You matter, Bobby, but no.”
“I matter,” Bobby agreed, though his voice became a little lost, a little mournful, as if he didn’t believe it. “I matter to you, right?”
“Yup.” Tino pulled him off his back. Bobby’s wheat-blond hair was styled and spiked with gel. He wore a tight blue shirt and tighter jeans to show off his thin, twinky body that made the Brambinos so much money. Since they were indebted to the same family, Tino knew Bobby’s mother had sold him to Carmine when he was ten. He’d been working for them for six years, and it was starting to show, which scared the shit out of Tino. Bad things happened in the underground sex market to slaves who didn’t keep themselves up. Their gig wasn’t great, but it could get so much worse. There were so many others without bands, ones who were just used day and night, and there were plenty of dealers willing to take damaged goods off the Brambinos’ hands. “You need to take care of yourself, Bobby. You need to work out a little.”
Bobby grinned, showing off even white teeth because he really was strikingly handsome, just so small and rentable to men who liked them young. “Okay, Daddy.”
“Have you eaten today?” Tino asked in concern.
“The roll,” Bobby reminded him.
“The roll.” Tino sighed and wrapped an arm around Bobby’s neck. He leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “The fucking roll.”
“Can I have a few extra?” Bobby asked him as they walked around the corner of the warehouse. “I’ll owe you.”
“I’ll give ’em to you.”
“I love you, Tino.” Bobby said it like he meant it. “Really, you matter. To me you matter.”
“Okay.” Tino pulled a pen out of his pocket and pushed up the sleeve of his jacket. He hashed out five lines on the inside of his wrist to keep track of how many he had to pay for later. “I’ll give you five. Save ’em. You’re not seeing me until next week. If you parachute them all tonight, I’ll never do it again.”
“I’ll only take two tonight,” Bobby promised him.
Tino rolled his eyes. He had a strange sort of impatience for people who didn’t ration out their drugs and use them right. Tino had run out of his initial stash of pain pills a long time ago, but Dr. Acciai was always good for another prescription, especially because Tino made them last.
Since Dr. Acciai was the one of the doctors who took care of Tino in the don’s basement after Tino’s father almost beat him to death, the doctor never asked why. He knew why, and Tino usually had a few marks on his back to show him if he needed to see.
Tino considered using ecstasy like Bobby did, but he was pretty sure women weren’t going to appreciate him being mindless for pleasure and sweating all over them. These weren’t party girls like Nova spent time with.
Pain pills worked much better.
They made him euphoric enough that it all sort of felt okay, but kept him clear enough that he could do what he had to do.
With Mary, he had to take two.
’Cause, yeah, there just wasn’t enough synthetic euphoria in one pill.
Nova held out Tino’s backpack to him when he walked up to the warehouse with Bobby in tow. Nova had been talking to the bouncers, both Moretti muscle provided by the Borgata.
Again, as far as drug dealing went, Tino didn’t have it so bad. They liked to have someone young selling. What party girl wanted to buy ecstasy off some thirty-year-old creeper? It seemed to go a lot faster coming out of Tino’s hands, but at least his father had the place guarded.
Chances were they’d make sure Tino and Nova got away, ’cause that was what button men did. They took the fall. They took the bullet. They were the walls to protect the family, even secondhand Lost Boys from the family like Tino and Nova.
Tino opened the bag as the music from inside drifted out to the street.
He handed Bobby one bottle of water, one glow stick that had the ecstasy taped to the side, and then dug a large plastic bag out of the bottom and fished for four more individually bagged pills.
“Are you giving those to him?” Nova barked at him.