One Shot Away (22 page)

“I don't know.” He's breathing hard. “Not a lot.” He's heard stories about hookers getting guys naked, then stealing their wallets.

“What's not a lot?” She releases him. “I could do something for you, for say, fifty bucks.” She sits on the edge of the bed and supports herself with her arms behind her. Her legs are long and shapely. “You
do
know what I'm talking about?”

Trevor nods.

“Would you like that?” She crosses and uncrosses her legs.

“I suppose.”

“Let's see the moolah.”

He rifles through his dresser and finds the blue felt Crown Royal bag where he keeps his money. Thirty-five dollars.

“Let me see.” She extends her fingers and wiggles them. She wears a silver ring on each finger, including her thumb.

He hands her the bills. She pulls them apart, straightens them, turns them over so they all face the same way, then folds them. “Come over here.” She pats the bed. “Are you a virgin?” she asks, smiling. “Or are you the mack daddy of this motel?”

Trevor remembers his school's STD poster of a bee strolling along with a hooker on his arm.
It's up to you to BEE on guard!
Crabs, gonorrhea, syphilis, AIDS go through his mind like a ticker tape.
Crow has the crabs! Crow has the clap, stand by for an update
. “Do you have condoms?” he asks.

“What do you think?” she winks.

He peeks out the side of the curtain at the motel's office window. His mother is behind the check-in desk.

“You were expecting someone?”

“No, no, I just don't want my mother coming in here.”

“Your mother?”

“She works here.”

“Camille? The lady at the desk?” She crinkles her eyes and stands. “You're her son?”

“It doesn't make any difference.”

“I don't know. I come here a lot.” She opens the door, looks around, then shuts the door. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Almost eighteen.”

“See that, you're too honest. You could have said you were nineteen, and I would have believed you.”

“I'm going to be eighteen next month,” he says.

She hooks the back of his neck and kisses him on the mouth. Her other hand goes down his back and squeezes his ass. “You're a cutie,” she says. She unfolds a twenty from his money roll and gives the bill to him. “I'm charging fifteen for the kiss.”

Trevor shoves the bill in his pocket. He's breathing easier, but still has a raging hard-on.

She opens the door and looks out. “Now, how about your phone?”

He hands it to her.

She dials quickly. “It's me,” she says. “Asshole, I didn't know!” She hands him his cell. “Like I'm supposed to know they're already here.”

From the doorway, Trevor watches a black town car drive around the horseshoe and stop. “By the way, my name is Molly, like in Molly Pitcher,” she says. “See you around.” She hands him the rest of his money, then crosses the lot to the car and gets into the back seat.

Trevor's phone vibrates in his pocket. It reads “private number.” He answers it.

“Diggy found your dog,” says someone in a whisper.

“Who is this?” Trevor steps back inside his room.

“He'll be in his yard tonight. Just open the gate and take him.”

“Gino?” asks Trevor, trying to recognize the voice. “Gino is that you? Is this a joke?”

The call disconnects.

T
HE TOOLS IN THE BACK OF
L
ONDON'S TRUCK RATTLE AND
pound on the truck bed. Trevor speeds through the streets of Puny Town with Jimmy riding shotgun. Could Diggy have found Whizzer! How? Where? If he did, why didn't he call me? None of it makes sense, it's insane. Maybe what makes sense is Diggy found Whizzer and has been holding him. But if Diggy has any part in it, Trevor's going to show him how it feels, how he's felt. Trevor may have no house to live in and no father, but no one can steal his dog and get away with it. A teammate, his own lousy teammate!

“Slow down,” yells Jimmy. “How am I going to find it if we're going seventy miles per hour?”

Trevor completes a sweeping turn around a cul-de-sac and guns the truck along a dark road past sprawling mansions.

Jimmy peers into the night. “Why would Diggy have your dog? It doesn't make sense. Diggy's solid. Give him a fair shot.”

“Jimmy, don't be so stupid. Nothing's fair! Do you think my father thought his ride home on the turnpike would be his last day on this earth? And now, I'm living in a slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am motel? Is that fair?”

“But the team is different.”

Trevor swallows. “It's not.”

At the bottom of another cul-de-sac, Diggy's Mustang is parked in a driveway. Trevor circles, then stops up the block. He kills the engine.

“What are you going to do?” asks Jimmy.

“I'm going to look in the yard.”

They walk the wide driveway toward the white-brick façade and a giant foyer window. Inside, a crystal chandelier twinkles in front of a winding staircase.

“Man,” says Jimmy. “Diggy's father could have bought him a pedigree.”

A Minute Men Wresting sticker is peeling off the bumper of the Mustang. Trevor cups his hands against the rear window. An antler from the deer in his front yard sits on the space behind the back seat under the rear window. “Look at this,” says Trevor, pointing at it. “Remember, someone ripped the head off that deer in my yard?”

Jimmy cups his hands on the window. “What is that?”

“An antler.”

Trevor, heart thumping, passes the garage doors. Jimmy tails him, looking back and forth like they're escaping from prison. They cut the corner of the house and follow a path to a white gate. “Stay here,” says Trevor. “Let me look around.” His armpits are soaked. He unlatches the gate, then enters the backyard. A redwood deck steps down to a large patio, then a pool with a twisted tree branch rising from the water. Light shines from the rear windows of the house. He has to think. He has to be ready. He may have to fight. He feels the rush of blood go through his body.

Calm down. Breathe. He imagines Whizzer racing across the yard, but it's empty; there's only the cold, damp night. A shadow crosses the patch of light on the deck. Trevor stays close to the house. He doesn't want to be spotted from the windows. He inches toward the deck as if he's in a minefield. Jimmy waits next to the gate with his hands jammed in his pockets, still looking back and forth.

The rear slider door opens. Diggy walks onto the deck. Trevor's breathing stops. Any minute Diggy will turn and spot him—then what? Trevor hasn't thought it through.

Diggy clomps down the deck steps and jogs across the patio to the pool house. He pushes the door open. A dog yelps. “Hey, Mr. Burly, what are you doing? Are you hungry?” asks Diggy.

Trevor crouches, watching in amazement, still holding his breath.

A moment later, Diggy runs past the pool to the patio with Whizzer trotting ahead of him. Whizzer leaps up on the deck, his black eyes anxiously waiting to go into the house.

Trevor's throat, then his lungs, release. “Whizzer!” He storms across the deck, stopping inches from Diggy. “You're pathetic!” Trevor shoves Diggy in the shoulder.

Diggy's eyes grow round as marbles and his face pales. “Trevor, I found him.”

“No, you didn't!”

“I swear, I found him,” Diggy pleads.

“Don't lie about it!” shouts Trevor, shoving him again.

Jimmy comes up. “How long have you had him?” he asks.

“Jimmy, I know what you're thinking, but I found him.” Diggy lifts his hands like it's a stickup. “I swear on my grandmother's grave.”

“Found him when, where?” Jimmy glances at Trevor.

“He's lying,” says Trevor.

“Did you take him?” Jimmy waits for an answer.

Diggy grabs the door handle. His eyes narrow into angry slits. “I can make you wish you never came into my yard,” he sneers. “And Jimmy, don't play the angel with me. Didn't the cops pay you a visit at school? So get the dog and get off my property. You're both trespassing.”

Jimmy rips Diggy's hand off the door. “You either took him or you didn't take him!”

“Jimmy, come on,” says Diggy, annoyed. “Trevor had the dog chained in the cold.”

Trevor barely hears the words, everything's gone white. He rushes Diggy, howling, his cry filling the yard. Trevor clocks Diggy in the chin, the head, the chest, again and again. Diggy tries to block his fists, but it's a blizzard of punches. Trevor feels only rage, white-hot rage. Diggy's legs cave and he crashes into the deck rail. His head thuds on the boards and Trevor's on him like a wild animal.

Trevor feels Jimmy pulling at his shoulder, but with his knee on Diggy's chest and his hand on Diggy's throat, Trevor continues punching, his arm firing like a piston. Trevor beats the words into Diggy's face, “You. Stole. My. Dog. You. Stole. Him!” Bam, bam, once, twice, again, then again into Diggy's jaw. Trevor wants to stop but can't. “You've always been riding me, calling me names, trying to make me feel like I'm shit!” he yells. “You were pissing on my dad! And then you stole my dog!”

Jimmy bear-hugs Trevor around the chest and drags him off the deck. “Stop it, stop, you're going to kill him.”

Diggy curls into a ball, holding his head with both hands.

Tears streak Trevor's cheeks. He's breathing hard and struggling. “Jimmy, damn it, let go of me.”

Jimmy releases him.

Trevor wants it to be over. He wants to go home. He bends, trying to lift Whizzer, but the puppy is spooked and backs up.

The kitchen slider opens. Nick looks confused, then casts his eyes on Diggy.

“Crow came for his dog,” croaks Diggy.

“You did this?” Nick comes down the deck stairs with his eyes nailed on Trevor.

“He asked for it!” Trevor's panting, trying to catch his breath.

“He stole Trevor's dog,” says Jimmy.

“You could have just taken your dog back.” Nick's voice drips with disappointment. “You didn't have to attack him.”

Trevor recognizes the voice from the phone call. “You called me, didn't you?”

“Just get your dog and leave,” says Nick.

Diggy pushes up to his feet. He wipes his face on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, smearing blood across his chin.

Nick places his hand on Trevor's shoulder. “It's over for tonight.”

Trevor shrugs him off. “You think I'm letting him get away with this?”

“Nick's right, let's go,” says Jimmy.

“I don't understand how you could do this.” Trevor points at Diggy. “Didn't you see the signs all over the school with my dog's picture on them?”

“For the same reason you had to ruin my season!” Diggy charges off the deck and thumps Trevor in the chest with a two-handed shove. Trevor stumbles and falls backward, holding Diggy's shirt. The moon flashes by as his feet kick into the air. Trevor flails with Diggy on top of him. A rush of broken ice and wet decomposing leaves sweep across Trevor's face, closing like a fist. It's freezing and he's paralyzed for a moment, wondering where he is, how this is happening. Then he remembers the pool.

Trevor's fighting, pushing Diggy away, when the pool cover collapses. With a whoosh, Trevor goes deep into the water. He tells himself it's only a pool. He struggles his way up, gasping for breath. It's freezing and there's something blocking him. It moves like hard jelly. He's under the cover in total darkness. He punches at the rubber ceiling over his head, then tries to swim sideways. His coat, shoes, and pants drag him down. The pool's bottom is slick and smooth. Pressure squeezes in his ears. He tries to swim up and bangs his head on the side of the pool. Which way is up? He's drowning, twisting and squirming his way through the cold, but not rising. The surface of the water is lifting, moving away into the darkness, and he feels like he's sinking. Everything goes black. Fantastic bursts of light flash before his eyes, faces appear, his mother calling him, his father waiting for his dinner, Diggy, Jimmy, Greco.

He releases his breath and sees the bubbles escaping the pool. Maybe he can follow them. Yes, they can lead him to the surface. Yet, he doesn't move. He's looking down at himself from a distance. He blinks his eyes, wondering if this is real. Seconds tick in his ears. His brain feels like it is growing too large for his head.
I'm going to drown
, he thinks.
I'm going to die in this pool. It's going to end like this. I'm not going to finish high school or go to college
. He tries to lift his arms, but he's exhausted.

He never expected this, but at least it doesn't hurt. It's so quiet. Trevor sees his father at the old house. He's painting the cement deer in the garden. The head is fixed.
Did we move back here?
asks Trevor. His dad brushes the paint on the deer.
Trevor, you don't have to fight anymore
, he says.
You can stop now. You were always my champion. It's time to stop
.