Michael pulled out a chemical cooling pack. Twisted and folded it until it got cold, leaned back, and put it over his swollen eye.
“I went to a bar with my stepbrother. A dive. We’d just dropped off Cyndra and her mom for their trip to Paris last summer. Mark was on break from college. He said, ‘Let’s light this town up.’ This was a couple weeks before school started back.” He sighed, shifted in the bucket seat and hissed in pain. “Damnit. I’m not used to this.”
He shifted again. “Mark and I, we drove to this dive he’d heard about. And there were these trashy girls there. We picked them up. And the next thing, we’re drinking, and there’s drugs. And this girl says, ‘Two high rollers like you, you should meet Alonzo.’ Just like in a movie.”
A tiny blue car parked next to us. An old lady got out, glaring at the Mustang parked so close to the door.
“So we say, ‘Who’s that?’ And of course she gets him. He says call him Cesare. And he’s got more drugs. And he’s getting the girls to come over. Then we go to the back, this private party room, like. Gambling there. Card games. Track bets on a big screen. And we start playing. We won. We won everything. It was like we were unbeatable.”
His busted lip stretched into a smile at the memory. “And that was it. Mark went back to college, and I went back to the bar. Kept gambling. It seemed so easy. I was a dumbass.”
He didn’t have to finish the story. I already knew how it ended.
The house always wins—especially after they lure you in.
So that was it. What put Michael, and now me, in danger. A spike of adrenaline dumped in my veins as I cut my eyes around the parking lot.
“I thought I was smarter than him. I thought, you know, I could keep ahead of it. I could get it back. Instead I kept getting deeper and deeper in debt. More money. So much money.” Michael’s busted lip stretched in a tortured smile. He leaned forward and spit into the cup again. Shifted the cool pack from his eye to his lip.
“This morning he was waiting for me. Said he wanted to talk. I didn’t think he’d get violent, though.” He sighed and repositioned the pack. “But it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got a week. And I’ve got you. And a plan.”
“I won’t be able to protect you from him. Even if I wanted to. I’m not much of an insurance policy. And neither is my dad, especially when it’s not for him.”
“That’s why we’re going to get a gun.”
My eyes tightened and my mouth went flat. I reached for the door.
Michael grabbed my arm with clawed fingers. “Wait!”
“I won’t shoot anyone for you. And I don’t want to hear any more of your plan.” I wrenched my arm out of his desperate vise. Michael gasped at the jostling movement, hugged his arm across his stomach.
“I don’t want you to kill anyone! The gun is for protection. It’s like me hiring you. A message. He thinks I’m a punk-ass kid he can just bully. He won’t stop until I show him I’m not. The gun will buy me safety for just a little while longer. Not one week, two. That’s all I’ll need.”
“You shouldn’t even be paying me, then. You need every cent you can get, right?”
“You idiot.” His eyes cut with his tone. “You work for dimes. I owe him an entire bank. Let me worry about how I’m going to get his money.”
He sighed and leaned back. His curling lip shifted to a pressure-flat line. “Lonzo Cesare is a vicious, evil bastard. But he’s not more than that. I can beat him.”
Moments ago he sounded like the name was demonic. Now he stroked his own ego to fight back. The football player needing the pep squad.
“I’m smarter than him,” Michael said. “I can beat him.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I’ll still pay you. Nothing has changed. I just need you to hang out with me. Act like we’re friends. Come to the party tomorrow.”
“What’s going to happen there?”
An acid-edged laugh cut out of Michael’s chest. “It’s a party. You’ve heard of them, right?”
He reached for the steering wheel, squeezed like it was a throat. “I don’t have to tell you jack, Ice. I didn’t have to tell you any of this. You either want the money, or not. So are you in or out?”
Maybe even he didn’t know if he was bluffing or not.
I didn’t answer. Imagined Lonzo Cesare, a violent but small-time gangster milking a high schooler for his daddy’s cash.
I remembered giving the money to Janie last night. Her little claps and how she counted the pathetic roll of bills before hiding the can again.
“Fine,” I said.
CHAPTER NINE
On the way back to school, Michael said he’d explain his face to the others by saying he and I had decided to ditch and go to a convenience store that would sell us beer. But when we got there, some kids I knew from Lincoln Green picked a fight. They’d jumped Michael while I was inside, but then I came out in hero mode, and kicked their asses.
The secretary in the office heard a similar story, except we hadn’t decided to ditch, we were running late, and we weren’t after beer, but soda.
She gave us tardy slips and told us to wait for the bell, which was only a few minutes away.
“Why even show up? We should have ditched the whole day,” I mumbled.
Michael gingerly sank into a seat by the plate glass. “And miss the chance to show off this shiner and brag about the fight? Never.”
We waited. I stood next to him, trying to enjoy the jumpy eyes of office staff and student aides. Trying to ignore the appraising glances at both my clothes and Michael’s face.
The bell finally rang, and we headed into the throng of students. Muffled exclamations greeted Michael’s face. He smiled and walked on like their gossip would be nothing but pure adoration.
He turned at the courtyard door and stretched an arm out to me, making sure everyone saw as he flaunted my presence along with his face.
We pushed through the double doors and walked into the prep throng. It wasn’t like the talking stopped completely, but it sure got quieter.