Changes, p.35
Changes, page 35
Oh, God. The sensations rushed over him, the desperate shaking of the knife hilt in his hand, grabbing for the gun, grabbing Turov, the wild, desperate, wrestling heave, and the shot that went past his cheek and the way the boat thumped and crunched as it hit Turov and drove him underwater. I killed him. He turned and puked, right there on the floor, the bread and jam and acid and regret pouring out of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and heaved.
He heard Lori say, “Bry! Jesus, Damon, that was dumb.”
A warm grip on his upper arm had to be Nick. “Hey, easy. Shh.”
He managed to stop, swallow despite his raw throat, and open his eyes. Nick knelt beside his chair, hand on his arm, dark gaze steady.
“Sorry.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll clean that up in a second.”
Damon hadn’t moved, and his expression hadn’t changed. “As I was saying…”
“Fuck you!” Nick stood in a rush. “Who used Brian for his dirty work for years? You’ve got no right to call him out the one time it was self-defense.”
Brian grabbed a handful of sweatpants-fleece at Nick’s thigh. “Nick. It’s okay.”
“Fuck.” Nick tugged free and turned to the sink, then tossed a big wad of wet paper towels at him. “Right. Clean up and just go on, huh?”
Lori said, “I think a new start sounds good. But where? And I’m not kidding. This kid’s going to be born an American, whatever it takes.” She laid a hand on her stomach.
“That’s still my call,” Damon said, but he sounded exhausted. “Our cash is too low to leave the country now, anyway. I’ll find a safe city for you and Bry.”
Brian had slid out of his chair to do cleanup, but something hot and angry rose up in him, and he straightened his shoulders. Saying each word clearly, he snapped out, “Fuck. You. Damon.” They all stared, and he couldn’t stop the heat that flooded his face, but he did manage to say, “I am done with letting you tell me what to do. Leave me alone.”
Damon tilted his chair back, and his lips twisted. “Or what? You’ll throw me under a boat?”
Nick launched himself at Damon, knocking him and the chair backward to the floor. Nick landed on top, and Brian screamed, “Stop! Both of you!” When neither one reacted, he hefted the wet towels and flung them right into their faces. They both grunted, and turned to him, momentarily distracted.
“Stop!” Brian saw Nick’s hands around Damon’s throat, and Damon holding one of his little blades right below Nick’s ear.
Lori had shoved her chair back from them with her feet, without bothering to get up. “Yeah, how old are you two?”
“I’ll decide what I do next,” Brian said as firmly as his shaking nerves would let him.
Holding the knife steady, Damon muttered, “Right.” Then louder, “All right, Bry. What’s your brilliant plan?”
Which was a problem because he didn’t have a plan, just hopes and maybes. And a determination to make his own damned decisions. A sound in the doorway made him glance over. Charlie stood there silently, watching. But when Brian tried to shoot him a look of appeal, he shook his head. Brian took a fast breath. “First I plan for you guys not to kill each other. Could we maybe start with that?”
Nick looked down at his hands and seemed to take a minute to think about it. Damon grinned in his face and made the knife disappear. Slowly, Nick eased back and let go. In a smooth move, he surged to his feet and strode out into the hall. Brian heard a loud thump and didn’t let himself react. After a moment Nick reappeared, running a hand over his hair. He gave Brian a nod and leaned against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. The stiff lines of his neck and jaw made the casual pose a lie.
They’re all looking at me. I wish I’d thought this out in advance. There was nothing to be done but keep going. He turned to face Nick, ignoring the others for now. “Damon’s probably right about not going back to Minnesota.”
“Yeah, he’s fucked that up good for you now. Caught between the cops and the mob.”
“I wouldn’t go back anyway. I’m done with trying to tell Petrosian no.”
“Ah. And… Luger?” Brian was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who heard the silent “and me?” because a hint of red showed on Nick’s cheeks.
“I don’t want to lose anything. Well, the important stuff.” A pang of regret hit him at the memory of the little house, the fence he’d painted, the doghouse for Luger, his room under the eaves. I was happy there. I’ll never go back. He shoved the thought away. “I need something different, though.” He was blanking on what came next.
“Doc’s mama’s farm?” Nick asked.
Oh! In all that had happened, he’d forgotten Doc’s offer. He tried to sound like that was his plan all along. “Yes, I think so. For now, anyway. I think that’d be cool, don’t you?”
Damon leaned back on his elbows, still sprawled on the floor. “So you’re ditching Lori and me?”
He tried to be logical. “Well, Doc didn’t sound like he wanted you there. But he might be okay if Lori came with, and… maybe the new ID might still be good. I’d appreciate help with that. You think?”
“Oh really?” Damon’s drawl was back. “So I should go to hell, but not before I get you new paperwork? Anything else? A fat bank account maybe? A kidney?”
Brian bit his lip and was silent.
Damon frowned. “Nick’s not gonna take care of you like I always did.”
“I don’t need Nick like that. I don’t need anyone like that now.” He tried to sound as competent as possible. “I held down a job. I negotiated a contract by myself, mostly. I had a bank account, a house, a new health plan for next year.” Maybe he’d lost it all now, but he’d gotten that far without Damon.
Damon nodded slowly. He looked harder and angrier, not better. He stood, his motions stiff and painful, ignoring the hand Lori stretched out to him. “How long?”
“How long what?” Brian hugged his arms across his chest.
“How long have you been using me while you laughed behind my back? How long have you been faking half the Bry stuff to keep your free ride? Letting me clean up puke and run interference with Marston and keep you safe, while you said and did whatever you wanted, knowing I’d cover for you?”
“I wasn’t!”
Nick rode over his words. “It wasn’t fake, you bastard. He’s gonna be in therapy for years, thanks to you.”
Brian threw Nick a glance that probably came off more angry than grateful, then focused on Damon. Big brother. His throat hurt. “Bry was still… me. In a way. Necessary.”
“Because it was handy to let me do all the work? Take all the heat? While you cruised along like you hadn’t a worry in the world?”
“I didn’t cruise!”
“I did all the hard shit. For years.” Damon took two short steps toward him, and stared up into his face with ancient ice-cold eyes. “At least Lori helped me. She even married Marston. We took care of you and protected you. Our dumb, innocent brother. While all the time you knew what the stakes were?”
“I knew…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. You let Marston use me over and over, to Find and kill Stan. And the rest. I knew that.”
“So? You’d rather what? Lori turning tricks? Me selling smack?”
“You did sell drugs!” He knew that would sting, couldn’t help saying it. “You’re no better than the pushers who kept stringing Mom along. Marston wasn’t a damned smuggler. All that nice money came from drugs.”
“Half of it.” Damon’s eyes dulled, like shutters coming down. “And no smack, no addictive shit. No one was hooked on what we sold. If people were dumb enough to do that designer crap, that’s their problem. Anything we dealt, they could walk away from.”
“Except the ones it killed,” Nick said.
Damon whirled to face him, although he clapped a hand to his ribs in pain. “Fuck. You. If Bry is really so messed up, that makes you what? A pervert? Pedophile?”
“I’m not a child!” Brian shouted, louder than he meant to.
Charlie echoed him quietly. “He’s definitely not.”
Damon turned back slowly. “No. That’s right. I’m the bad guy in the room, huh? The drug dealer. The killer. The monster who scared my little brother so bad you had to act like an idiot for twenty years. Thief. Kidnapper. Hit-man. Should I add pimp for letting Lori marry Marston? You tell me.”
Brian’s “No!” and Lori’s sounded together.
Damon hitched his left shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. I’m done.”
“What?”
“With this. With you. Both of you. You’re adults? Okay, you run your own fucking lives. If you get into trouble, don’t bother to look for me. I won’t be here.”
“Damon—” Lori began painfully.
“Forget it!” He glanced at her. “You know what? You go have that American baby somewhere. And you, Bry, you play with goats and fuck your hot cop boyfriend. Happy ever after. Right? I’m gone.” He strode out past Charlie, although his gait was more one-sided and slow than he’d probably have liked.
Lori yelped, “Wait!” and struggled up out of her chair. She hurried after Damon.
Brian listened to footsteps, to loud voices, to the slam of the door. After a minute Lori came slowly back to the kitchen and right up to him. He looked down as her eyes blazed into his. Then she hauled off and slapped him. “Damn you! Damon’s worth three of you.”
When she raised her hand again, Nick caught her arm. “Oh, no you don’t.”
“You!” Her eyes filled with tears as she yanked free. “Damon’s worth ten of you.”
“What about you?”
“Yeah. Ten of me too.” She seemed to deflate, becoming small and tired and ungainly as she sat back in her chair. “Fuck. I’m such a whale right now, no wonder he ditched me.”
Brian said, “I think he’ll come back. Eventually. He wouldn’t desert you, anyway.” He might not want to see me anymore, though. What was Damon thinking, looking back now? Did he believe all his care and kindnesses were wasted? Was he only going to remember that his little brother lied, over and over, through all those years?
Did I just taint every moment we were really brothers, making him think it was all fake? His eyes stung worse than the burn of his cheek.
Lori tipped her head to look up at him. “And you. How long have you really been stringing us along? Living off my husband’s money?”
That was worse than the slap. “How long has Damon been pimping out my talent for murder?”
“Yeah, except your too-stupid-to-know-better shit started long before that. Back in school. Way back.” She raised her tones. “‘Oh, Bry doesn’t need to help out. He’d just screw it up. Leave him alone.’ You fucking lived off Damon and me when Mom was too fucked up to pay rent!”
“I didn’t… I couldn’t…”
“Yeeeaaah. You were too good for it, weren’t you? Too pure? Too sweet? ‘Bry’s not like us. He doesn’t live in the real world.’ We stole the money in the fucking real world, for you to have your easy fantasy life.”
“It wasn’t easy!” he burst out. “How would you like to always be the dumb one? The big, fat, stupid, slob one?”
She rode over him. “Can you actually read? Was that all a fake from the start too?”
Tears prickled in his eyes. “No! I can’t.”
“So you are that dumb.”
Nick grabbed him around the shoulders, half-turning him as he struggled for an answer. “Don’t. Brian. Come on. Let’s go, um, somewhere.”
“I’m dyslexic.” He stared at Lori over Nick’s shoulder. “I’m screwed up. Maybe schizo. But I’m not dumb.”
“You chased Damon off. You’re one stupid son of a bitch.”
“And you.” Nick turned on her. “Shut your fat, ugly mouth.”
“Who’re you calling ugly, pig?”
“Stop!” He suddenly lost it. Lost his temper and his breath and his self, shaking, shouting, “Stop! Stop, stop. Stopstopstopstopstopstop…” He kept crying it, sobbing it, until Nick manhandled him out of the kitchen, past Charlie, standing silent in the doorway, and on down the hall into their room. His Bry voice wailed the whole way, out of control, unwanted. “Stopstopstop. Stopstopstop.”
Nick finally kicked the door shut and shook him, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “Shut up, Brian. Seriously! I mean it. You’re making me crazy.”
“Oh!” He looked at Nick’s flat angry mouth, his glaring eyes. If I lose him I have nothing. He tried to rein back Bry’s babble, biting his lip hard, huffing rough breaths through his nose. His eyes flooded, and he squeezed them shut, feeling the tears spill over, down his cheeks. “Sorry, sorry, don’t go away. Don’t don’t. Please.”
“Jesus.” Nick pushed him, and he went with it, letting go, not caring where he landed. It was almost a surprise when he hit the bed with his thighs. A moment later the bed bounced as Nick sat beside him. Then, glory be, Nick’s warm arms wrapped tightly around him. “Not going anywhere, ever. Hush up. Take a breath.”
He dragged in a fast, shaky one, then a slower sigh.
“Better. Come on. It’ll be okay. Breathe.”
He needed a bunch more breaths before he could say, “I chased Da-a-amon away.”
“Since when can you make Damon do anything he doesn’t want to?”
He choked a laugh, and Nick gave him a quick squeeze. “I’m betting he’ll be back. When he cools off.”
“If he ever does.”
“When. Which, yeah, might take a while, but he’s part of the reason you had to hide for so long.”
“He took care of me.”
“Some fucking care.”
“No. It was. You don’t know.” He tried to shrug off Nick’s arm. It’s my fault. I don’t deserve comfort.
Nick just hung on tight. “All right. Jesus. Whatever. Nothing you can do now to change things. Shush.”
That felt true. Nothing he could do to bring Damon back. Nothing he could do to make Lori happy. But, thank God, apparently nothing he could do to make Nick leave him, either. He leaned into Nick’s hold, laid his head on Nick’s shoulder, and let his breathing shudder down to silence. If tears trickled from his eyes and wet the warm bare skin under his cheek, well, Nick said nothing about it.
****
The unfamiliar doorbell of the little house jolted Nick out of a doze late that afternoon. He shoved himself up from one of the armchairs in the dingy front room, where he must’ve drifted off. Brian and Lori had hidden in their rooms hours ago, supposedly to catch up on sleep. Also in theory, he and Charlie had been on watch but… Charlie sat up on the couch, blinking at the second, longer ring of the bell, and they exchanged glances.
Charlie struggled to get up, his good arm braced on the cushions. “I’m right behind you.”
Fuck it. “Stay put. I’ve got it.” It was probably just religious fundies with their pamphlets, or a siding salesman, or here in muggy Florida, maybe timeshares in Antarctica for sale, but he still wished he had a gun. Unfortunately, Damon hadn’t provided a replacement for the murder weapon— self-defense weapon— that he’d insisted on getting rid of.
Nick only beat Charlie, who never did as he was told, to the door by a small margin. Brian came up behind him. Nick told them both, “Stay back,” and moved to one side of the door. Lori called from her room, “Who is it?”
“No clue.” There was no peephole. He opened the door carefully, glanced out, then dropped his gaze to the scruffy preteen boy on the step. “Yeah?”
“You got a blond guy and a fat chick here?” the kid asked.
“What?” Nick gave the street a quick scan past the kid, waving behind him for the others to back up. Nothing seemed out of place, though.
The boy held up both hands, a manila envelope in each. “Got stuff for ’em. The guy who gave it to me said you’d pay twenty bucks for ’em.”
“He did? What did this guy look like?”
“Ordinary. With mean eyes.”
Damon? If one of Turov’s people had located them, they wouldn’t be playing games with love notes. It had to be Damon. “I can give them the envelopes.”
“Nope. He said don’t give it to no one but them. Or he’d kill me real slow.”
Brian pulled the door wider, looking past Charlie. “One’s probably for me.” He held out his hand.
The boy looked him up and down. “Yeah. Got the cash?”
Nick dug out his wallet and found a twenty. He held it up out of reach. “Pass the envelope over.”
The kid did, then jumped and swiped the bill casually out of Nick’s grip. “What about the chick? She here?”
Brian called behind him, “Lori?”
Nick took the opportunity of Brian’s distraction to take the envelope out of his hand and slide a finger under the flap. He peered into it, long enough to make out some paper documents, and a card or two, and handed it back. He shrugged when Brian frowned at him. “It might’ve been something else.”
“Like what?”
“A cut-off finger?”
Lori actually laughed from behind Charlie. “Damon has more class.”
How do you know it’s from Damon? Might’ve been some goon sending us Damon’s finger. He didn’t say it, though, since it would upset Brian more than it would piss off Lori.
“Got another twenty?” the kid asked.
“I paid you.” Nick made a grab for the other envelope, but missed.
The kid danced backward, holding it behind him. “Nah. Gotta pay to play. Twenty each.”
“Twenty total.”
Lori said, “Just give the kid the money.”
Nick almost, almost, told her to buy her own crap. But he was trying to be better than that. He dug out another twenty, and traded it for her package.
The kid gave him a big-toothed grin and held out a folded note. “This one’s for the angry guy. No charge.”
Nick surveyed the area as the kid stuffed his money in a pocket and dashed off down the sidewalk. Then he opened his note. On the back of a folded gas receipt, scrawled handwriting said Let either of them get hurt, and I’ll rip your liver out through your nose. No signature, but it wasn’t as if he needed one.
