Devin stared at him. Cody and Argus High were mortal enemies since the first time he walked through the front door metal detectors. A dozen possible scenarios for Cody’s expulsion flashed in Devin’s head.
“No way. Because of the fight you were in today? I heard you hit a teacher, but I figured that was B. S. Even you’re not…,” Devin said. He let his voice trail off as he turned to his passenger.
Cody gave him a look. “I shoved a basketball jock with a big mouth into the soda machine and his lunch went all over the floor. Chunky Meat Stew Special. Same freaking color as the linoleum. Douchebag Skiffler made me help him pick it up. So, okay, I bent down and scooped the slop back onto the tray. I was handing it back to the lame a-hole, all nicey nice, when Skiffler put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, like I’m supposed to be afraid of his wrinkled ass. And he said, ‘Snap it up, Mr. Dosser, I’ve got better things to do with my time.’”
Cody paused. The wipers slapped the windshield clean. Then, beaming like he was that lame jock sinking a three-pointer, Cody grinned and clenched his fist. “I slammed that Chunky Meat Stew Special right in Skiffler’s chest. ‘Lick it up yourself,’ I told him.”
Devin’s mouth dropped open.
Cody laughed hysterically, but the crazed pleasure soon disappeared from his face. “Got a call after school. I’m supposed to be all thankful he’s not pressing assault charges.”
For Devin, things clicked into place. The new guitar, the desire to get rid of Karston and get more serious with the band. Torn really was all Cody had.
“What’d your folks say?” Devin asked.
Cody shrugged. “Haven’t told them. I erased the machine, but I’ll hear about it tonight. They’re probably waiting for me, white-knuckling it in the living room.”
A set of lights rode in the rainy gray behind them. At first Devin was afraid it was a second tail-gater, but the lights slowed at a respectful distance and kept pace.
“So this is it,” Cody explained. “You want to get all weepy over Karston, go right ahead, but I can’t screw around anymore. You either fire him before the recording session tomorrow, or I’ll quit.”
“Right.”
“Try me,” Cody said, a little angry. “I’ll hitch into the city. I’m good enough to get session work. I’ll pull another band together.”
Cody leaned sideways and punched Devin’s shoulder. “But I don’t want to do that, man. I want it to be Torn. I want it to be us. I just need it to be now. ‘Face’ is an okay song—that and my vocal got us the gig. You’ve got something there. But you’ve also got Daddy’s kick-ass SUV and his giant bank account sending you to any college you want. I need to know where you’re at with this and I need to know now.”
So here it was.
Cody’s life was on the brink, and he was all set, eager even, to take the plunge. Devin wished he felt the same, but if he put more time into the band, made it more than a hobby, how could he keep up his own schoolwork? Studying was the only thing that got him past half his classes. But he loved music, loved Torn. Wasn’t the whole point of dreams to make them real?
The road narrowed. The trees grew taller. Moonlight poked from between the rain clouds, shone through the branches, reflected off the windshield, then vanished again. More time passed.
“How does that fence feel, shoved between your legs like that?” Cody asked. “You gonna answer? I’m not kidding. Karston goes and you tell him.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know.”
The road curved into a fork. Devin took it a little fast, so he had to slow down to follow the line of the deserted street. As he did, he heard tires screech behind him.
What the hell?
Engine gunning, the car in the rear roared into the left lane, passed him, went fifty yards ahead, and then spun, blocking the road.
Devin’s shocked mind seized, but his body managed to hit the brakes. The heavy SUV came to a wavering halt. Devin’s body slammed forward from momentum, the hard edges of the seat and shoulder belt pressing into his skin.
The next thing he saw was Cody, ripping off his own belt in a panic, then nearly throwing himself into the back, pulling things from his bag, screaming, “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!”
Devin snapped forward, ready to rage at the stupid driver. Through the windshield he saw the doors of what looked like a dark sedan fly open. Into the headlights came the Slits he’d seen at Tunnel Vision, looking mean in leather jackets that glistened in the soft rain.
“So Cody,” Devin said, his voice shaking, “is this where you got the money for the guitar?”
But “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap” was Cody’s only answer as he continued to rummage frantically. The Slits headed toward the SUV. Their legs moved, but it seemed like the rest of their bodies were motionless, making it look as if they weren’t getting closer so much as growing larger.
Devin was staring so intensely, he was only dimly aware of Cody slipping back into the front seat. The feel of something cold and heavy in his lap brought his senses back to the cab. He looked down. A crowbar. Cody had tossed him a crowbar.
“No! No way!” Devin said. “Are you crazy? Are you totally crazy?”
“Take it!” Cody growled. “There’s only two of them! We can scare them off!”
Devin pushed the crowbar back at Cody. “No! What happens next time when there’s more than two?”
Cody slammed it back into Devin’s hands and held it there. “Nick and Jake and their stupid pals are all talk. They’re nothing. Nothing. The only reason they get away with this crap is because no one challenges them. They’ll back off if we put up a fight, trust me. Follow my lead. They don’t carry guns. It’s all knives and razors. Crowbar’s longer than a knife, right?”
The two figures approached, not even blinking from the rain. Devin briefly wondered which was Jake and which was Nick, then realized he didn’t care. Cody shivered in a weird way, like he was trying to shake any fear out of his face.
He opened the door, hopped out, and cast an angry look back inside at Devin.
“Come on!”
Devin thought seriously about calling the cops, but the Slits could kill both of them in the time it would take a squad car to get here. He wanted to drive off, but Cody was already out of the car. So, gritting his teeth and trying to keep his terrified body in control, Devin stepped out of the SUV and stood on the other side.
Seeing him, the short one (Nick? Jake?) veered and took a step toward Devin, but the other stopped him. His hand sported a big, gaudy ring on a finger that looked more muscular than some arms. He jabbed it at Devin like a knife.
“Stay out of this. It’s not your problem unless you want it to be,” the Slit said. “You just stand there and watch.”
When Devin didn’t move or speak, the Slit turned to Cody. “We want our money.”
“I told you back at the club, I haven’t got it,” Cody said. “I don’t know when I will.”
The Slit shook his head. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Cody answered. “It’s not.”
The two took another step closer. Cody moved his feet apart for better balance. The change in stance only made the Slit with the twitchy shoulder grin. He took one more step. In a totally defensive move, born out of fear, Devin raised the crowbar slightly.
The taller Slit looked at him. “You seem like a good kid. Close your eyes if you don’t want to watch. It won’t take long. That way you’ll still be conscious, so you can drive your friend to the hospital.”
“Put that crowbar through his skull, Devin,” Cody said.
“Aren’t you already in enough trouble?” the Slit asked.
“See?” Cody said, not taking his eyes from the Slit. “I told you they’re all talk.”