Falls Boys

“Hey!” she yells, stumbling to my side.

“Aro, what the hell?” Axel barks.

But I ignore them, swinging us around and tossing Hugo a look. “I’m taking help.”

If Reeves is coming, then she’s leaving. I push her in front of me, following her out and not sure why I give a shit. I guess I wish someone had done the same for me years ago.

I push through the door, hearing Hugo shout behind me, “And stay away from those little Pirate shits!”

The steel door falls shut, and the kid spins around, but I grab her arm and pull her forward again before she has a chance to run.

“Let me go!” she yells, her white hair falling into her face, the blue chunks vibrant like she just redid them. Technically, she’s one of those little Pirate shits—a resident of Shelburne Falls, that clean, picturesque, All-American, CW lobotomy, seven miles away that loves to rub their money, cars, and Jared Trent in our faces, because he is their only bragging right, as far as I’m concerned.

But for some reason, they didn’t want this girl, so she came over here to Weston to find people who did. I shove her toward the Jeep. “Get in the goddamn car.”

I round the rear of the old navy-blue vehicle, the remnants of a My Kid Is an Honor Student at Charles A. Arthur Middle School bumper sticker hanging on for dear life on the bottom of the back windshield. Who knows how many owners ago that was, and I have no idea where Charles A. Arthur Middle School is.

I climb into the car and slam the door. “Tommy, right?” I ask. She’s only been hanging out at the garage for a few weeks, and we’ve never spoken until now.

She throws me a look but doesn’t answer.

I start the car. “So, what’s up, Tommy? You got a family to support? Drughead parents? Are you starving?”

“No.”

I shift the car into Drive and glance at her. “Are you abused at home?”

She turns her scowl on me, her eyebrows pinched together.

Yeah, didn’t think so. “Then you should keep your ass there,” I tell her. “It’s so easy to slum when you have the security of knowing you don’t really have to be here, isn’t it? You get to leave anytime. You’ll never be us.”

She grabs the handle, about to throw her shoulder into the door to scurry out, but I click the locks just in time.

She glares at me. “You want me to go, but you won’t let me leave!”

“Just shut up.”

I take off, speeding out of the deserted parking lot, overgrown weeds spilling through the chain-link fence that separates the property from the field behind it. The August humidity makes the heat worse, and I jack up the A/C, desperate to remove my coat and hoodie, but a night of crime is kind of like riding a motorcycle. It’s best to cover as much of you as possible.

“I get fifty percent of your twenty,” she points out.

I turn left, watching the road. “Or you can get a hundred percent of a fat lip. How about that?”

Little punk actually thinks I want her tagging along tonight. No clue that I just saved her ass, and I’m damn-well not sharing my take on top of it.

I pull up in front of Lafferty’s Liquor, park on the curb across the street, and leave the engine ru

I look over at Tommy. “Stay here,” I tell her. “Keep the engine ru

She furrows her brow.

I continue. “Don’t stutter when you talk to anyone. And if you leave with this car, I will prank call 911 and tell them your dad is beating on me at your house. I think they know the address, Dietrich.”

Her face falls, realizing I know exactly who she is. I know all the Pirates. She purses her lips, but she keeps her damn mouth shut. She’s smarter than she looks, I guess.

Opening the door, I climb out of the SUV, resisting the urge to adjust the baton digging into my back as it sits just inside the waist of my jeans and hidden underneath my jacket.

Walking across the street, I ignore the Sentra honking as it speeds by and pull open the door to the liquor store. I see the top of a customer’s head as they dig into the beer cooler at the far back, but tip my chin back down, avoiding the two cameras, one at the far right and one behind the counter.

I cast my gaze up, meeting the owner’s eyes. I can just see the exhale as he realizes what day it is. As if he didn’t know.

I come up to the counter but position myself a little off to the side to allow his customer to step up. I hold Ted’s eyes until he finally tears his away from mine.

He rings up the beer, the guy pays and he takes his shit, walking out the door. As soon as the door closes, I grab the plastic display case of cigars on the counter, his worried eyes flashing to his goods as he sucks in a breath.

But I don’t do it. I pluck a package of gum out of the box next to it and set it down, pushing it toward him. He only waits two seconds, because that’s all it takes to realize what it took eighteen broken bottles of Dewar’s to learn last time.

Reaching into the register, he counts out rent and pushes it with the gum toward me. I swipe it off the counter and walk for the door, spotting a rack of Hostess treats and snatch a package of powdered donuts, leaving the shop.

I tense as I cross the street, feeling it every time that I do this. The reminder that every action justifies a reaction, and this might be the day. He could come barreling out the door after me. A cop could be watching, waiting to catch me in the act.

Maybe I’ll feel something hit my back, and it’s the last thing I’ll ever feel.

I don’t turn around. I keep my head up, each step bringing me closer to safety.

I open the door, hold my breath, and slide into my seat, locking the doors like I do every time.

Sweat trickles down my back.

“Did it go okay?” the kid asks.

I toss the donuts into her lap, strap on my seatbelt, and pull away from the curb, keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror and still waiting.

I drive, feet turning into yards that turn into a mile, and I finally relax a little. I know the day is coming. Hugo is right. It’s just waiting for it that’s hard.

She eats the donuts, sitting lookout as we do this three more times. I hop out, collect payments, and get us out of there as quickly as possible, tackling the easy customers first, in case I run into trouble that takes the rest of the night on the harder ones.

Heading out onto the highway, I take the next exit and a couple of turns, driving into Wicked’s parking lot. The club is technically in Shelburne Falls, but they like to pretend it’s not within the limits of their nice town.

This is one of the harder ones. I put the car in Park and look over at Tommy. “Same as before.”

I leave the car ru

“But I want to come in,” she argues.

“Stay.”

And I slam the door, looking around me as I head through the cars crowding the parking lot.

Music vibrates against the walls of the club, and I pause a moment.

The smell already hits me. The scent of cheap body lotion mixed with heavily worn six-inch heels caked in sweat, spilled beer, and Coke syrup.

Sometimes there’s a hint of piss or puke, depending on the time of year. Bachelor parties and frat boys home for summer vacation make June my least favorite month to step foot in this place.