Risen (8 page)

I shake my head and fold my arms. Stare straight ahead. I know enough to realize that if someone rats me out, I won’t be caught on some cell phone recording, discussing this deal.

Robbie and his friends consult for a few minutes and someone gives him a Panthers banner to wrap the cash. He leaves the folded banner about a foot from me and then they all stand up as one.

“Okay, so, tell Jay we’re all good, right?” Robbie says.

“Right as rain.” I reach up and we shake hands briefly.

They all clomp back down the steps.

I let out a deep sigh. My first transaction has gone smoothly. Jay will be proud.

As I’m grabbing the banner with the cash inside and trying to look less conspicuous than I feel, someone else comes up the bleacher steps to my left.

“Dickie, what are you doing here?”

I look up and see Candice. She’s wearing tight jeans and a puffy white coat. Her hair is pulled back and her pale skin is even paler against her dark red lipstick and dark blue, glittering eye shadow.

She’s got high cheekbones like one of those fashion models. Maybe she could even be in Vogue or Maxim if she wanted to, but she’s also got a sly smile that makes you think she might be a lot smarter than she lets on.

I think she looks older than everyone else, and I don’t know if it’s because of the makeup or her clothes or maybe just something about the way she carries herself.

But I do know that she’s come up here at the worst possible moment. Her eyes spot the mass of white cloth that I’m holding, and she comes closer. “Whatchya got there, Richie?”

“Stop calling me that.”

She sits down on my left, next to me in fact. Her elbow and shoulder are pressed against me. I can smell her sweet perfume. “What’s wrong with having a nickname?”

She smiles at me and tilts her head.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re messing with me.”

I put the bundle of cash down on the other side of me, so she can’t see it.

“What is that thing?” she says again.

“Nothing. It’s some stupid banner.”

“You’re going to lead us all in a cheer like The Mick?” She laughs. “The Mick”

is Mick Nicholson, the town drunk, and he usually gets up in front of the stands a few times each game and leads a serious of ridiculous chants. “I think you’d make a great mascot, Dick. I mean, Richard.” She pats my shoulder like a teacher reassuring an insecure student.

“Why are you busting my balls? You don’t even know me.”

Just then the crowd erupts as Jay scrambles for a touchdown.

Candice isn’t even watching the game.

“Show me that banner. Did you make it yourself or did mommy help?”

She reaches across my lap and grabs for it.

“Hey.”

As her small hands lunge across my waist, I hold out my arm and try to keep her away. I press against her. Hard. I’m suddenly aware that she’s pushing her chest against me as she unfolds the banner.

“Knock it off.”

“I just want to see it, what’s the big deal?”

But if she keeps at it, the cash is going to fall out. I give an extra hard shove and she falls back a little. Her smile fades. “Asshole.” She stalks off before I can apologize.

I grit my teeth. Some of the other kids are watching me and I try to pretend everything’s fine. The banner is safely wedged under my right leg again.

I pick it up and shove it inside my coat, then head down the bleachers and to the football field exit.

Back inside my car, I crank the heat and turn the radio on. Looking out the front windshield, I see that nobody’s around, take the banner from inside my jacket and unwrap it.

My breath catches in my chest as I stare at the money. Suddenly what I’ve done feels much more real than it did a few minutes back when I was pretending to be a fat cat mob boss.

There’s a whole wad of cash folded up with a rubber band around it. The bills are wrinkled and folded haphazardly. It looks like a collection was taken up from a group, like it’s for St. Jude’s or cleft palate kids. .

Wouldn’t it feel better to take this and give it to someone who really needs it? I think. Donate it to hurricane relief or some poor kid’s college fund. Anything.

A black feeling comes over me. After one or two scotches at dinner, my dad will sometimes go off on a tangent about “today’s generation” and how they have no conscience and no sense of honor.

I used to get angry when he’d talk like that because even though he pretended he wasn’t talking about me, it always felt like really he was. Like deep down, my dad suspected I wasn’t one of the good kids. Not that he ever came out and said it.

Maybe I am just another entitled, self-centered kid who thinks the world owes him. Another punk without honor.

But then…

I start counting the money. There are a lot of small denominations; one dollar bills, fives, a few tens, one twenty.

Death Cab for Cutie is playing on my car stereo as I quickly sort.

Jay didn’t tell me how much these guys were going to give me. He said that he’d left the amount open-ended, but he’d made it clear that the more cash they delivered, the harder he’d work to convince Nate not to kick their asses.

And based on all the money they’ve given me, it seems these kids must really want Jay to do a good acting job.

By the time I’m done, I’ve counted nearly two hundred dollars.

“Holy crap,” I say aloud in the empty car.

The pile of dough sits in my open hands as I stare ahead.

I refold the bills again and place the rubber band around the stack, rewrap it in the banner and place the “package” on the front passenger seat.

Extortion.

That’s what this is. Making kids give you money so that you don’t beat them up.

It’s bad news, a crime. Which would make me a criminal.

My breath starts coming in gasps and I realize I’ve started having some kind of panic attack. The fog from my exhalations spreading across the windshield.

I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs.

This isn’t a crime, I tell myself.

It’s not a crime because Jay IS protecting people from Nate.

It can’t be extortion if you’re really doing something and asking for money for it, I reason. Then it’s more like…a service. Like a mechanic or a cab driver or a body guard.

Jay’s not the one threatening people—it’s Nate.

My breathing slows down again and I relax. Crisis averted.

Nothing to see here folks, move along.

Half an hour later, the bleachers clear out and I watch and wait for Jay and company to emerge from the locker rooms after the game. It feels like they’re in there forever. The Hudson Hawks come out first and head to their bus, looking quite defeated.

Have they even won a game yet this year? I wonder.

Finally, our squad emerges from the tunnel and I see Jay and the others. I get out of the car and make my way over to them.

Nobody even acknowledges me when I meet up with them. They might be tired, or maybe unhappy they didn’t play as well as they should have against a bad team.

These three guys and Jay are almost always together, but especially during the football season. If I’m getting to hang out with them it’s only because Jay says that’s the way it is, but none of them really like me or accept me. They’ll just deal with me because Jay says so.

Alec and Leo are talking about the left guard from Hudson who supposedly talked smack and then Leo threw a low block and they had to carry the kid off the field with some kind of sprain.

“Good game,” I say, just to break the ice.

Nick glares at me like I puked on his shoes.

But then Jay sees me and grins. “Richardson. You almost look thuggish with that hat. Nice touch.”

“More like an AIDS patient,” Nick says. “Skinny motherfucker.”

The others laugh.

Jay ignores them, walks me to the side. “So…did you…get that thing we were talking about?”

I nod.

“Where is it?”

“In my car.”

We walk to my car and one of the guys yells out, “Careful, don’t get stuck with one of Richardson’s needles man!”

As I open the car door my face is burning.

“Don’t listen to those idiots. They’re just pissed because coach reamed us out after the game,” Jay says.

I get in the driver seat and grab the “package” as Jay opens the passenger door and gets in next to me. I hand it over to him.

“Why did he yell at you?” I ask.

“Didn’t you watch any of the game?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

Jay laughs and slaps his knee. “Classic Richardson. You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

“I do. It’s just--”

“Hey, I barely watched that game and I was playing in it.” Jay unfolds the banner and sees the money. “How much?”

“About two hundred.”

His smile grows wider. “Damn. It really worked.”

“But you ARE protecting them from Nate, right? Like, you won’t just let Nate fuck up one of those kids who paid you. You’ll make sure he keeps to the plan.”

“Right. Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says, but barely seems to be listening.

“Otherwise you’re not really charging for a service. You’re just robbing people.”

Jay glances at me. “I said I’m protecting them, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” I smile, trying to play it off. “You should have seen them come up to me at the bleachers. I gave them the old ice grille.” I make my face cold and hard.

Jay nods, and it seems he’s not very impressed. “Thug life, yo,” he says with obvious sarcasm, mocking my phony expression. For a second I feel like one of those kids I always laugh at who try to act like they come from the projects instead of rich neighborhoods and families of doctors and lawyers and accountants.

I chuckle, as if the joke is between us rather than at my expense, growing more nervous by the second.

“They probably would have paid me twice as much if I’d asked.”

But he’s barely listening to me, he’s recounting the money. When he’s finished, Jay pulls fifty bucks from the roll of bills and hands it to me.

“What’s that for?”

“You get your taste, too. I’m looking out for you, like always.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Richardson. Take the money, bro. I want you to know that I appreciate what you did. You’re a good fella.”

I laugh. “Fine.” I have to admit it feels nice pocketing the cash. Like I’m in a movie or something. The image of The Boston Herald and its headline about kids stealing money from victims doesn’t feel real or even possible anymore. Just a momentary freak-out courtesy of my overactive imagination.

The car gets silent. Outside, the others are waiting.

Jay’s expression becomes serious. He’s looking at me, studying me.

“I want you to come to my house tomorrow night,” he says, finally.

“Okay. What’s going on?”

“It’s a secret.”

“A secret. Okay…”

“You’re gonna need to bring both your balls for this one.”

“Can I at least get a hint?”

He shakes his head and opens the passenger door to get out. “Trust me, okay?

You come, and be prepared for anything. Or don’t come at all.”

He waits for me to say something, but I don’t know what to say. The idea of showing up at his house for a secret meeting puts me on edge.

“So? Are you in?” he says.

I cough. Maybe I should just tell him I have plans, make something up. But then he’s asking me again, and I know he won’t really take no for an answer.

“Of course I’ll be there. “

***

When I arrive at Jay’s house the next night, it’s entirely dark. Not a single light is on.

I park my car on the street and then walk up the driveway. Jay’s car isn’t even here.

I have to admit, even though it stings to be blown off, I’m mostly relieved.

And then there’s movement near the garage and I jump back, startled.

“Shit!”

A laugh comes from the shadows. “Sorry.”

I can’t really make out who it is yet, but from the height of the person coming out of the shadows, I think it’s Cody Landis, his short blond hair spiky, skin pale.

“Where is everyone?”

“Jay went to pick them up, he told me to wait here for you.”

I’m glad it’s Cody, because Cody is the nicest of Jay’s inner circle of friends.

He’s not even on the football team and so he’s only a few rungs up from me on the social ladder. But all the girls like him, they say he looks like Robert Pattinson from Twilight and maybe that’s why the guys hang out with him, since the cute girls are never too far behind.

“How come he didn’t let you inside?” I ask.

“He wouldn’t say. He just told me to wait outside until they get back.” Cody hums the theme from the Twilight Zone and then laughs again, but he doesn’t sound relaxed. Something about it is forced. He’s nervous too.

“Weird. He didn’t give you any hints what this is about?”

“Nope.”

We get quiet after that. I think about going back to my car, sitting and listening to the radio at least.

But I don’t want Cody to think I’m being stuck up. So I just sit down on the front steps and fold my arms. Cody walks around the driveway, kicking pebbles.

“Where’s Jay’s dad and his sister?” I say.

“Don’t know. Seems like they’re not around much lately.”

“Well, his dad travels a lot,” I say.

“You ever notice Jay never talks about his mom? She died, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she have Cancer or something?”

“I’m not sure,” I lie. “We were in fifth grade so nobody told me what it was.”

I don’t say anything else.

But the memory from years ago floods back to me as we wait in the dark silence.

I remember how Jay called me and asked me to come over, his voice strange on the phone. And when I walked in his house, there were so many people around. I didn’t know why they were there, women cooking and making a fuss. Jay’s dad was sitting on the couch with a kind of calm, blank look on his face. The women looked at me with sad, almost pitying expressions, which I didn’t understand.

I went up to Jay’s room and he was on his bed flipping through a tattered copy of Sports Illustrated. Even back then he was bigger than me and his moods could be frightening at times—how quickly he could change from happy to sullen or even angry.