Chapter XXVI: Running with the Devil

Chapter Twenty-Six: Running with the Devil

When I got home from my ride there was a message from Vance.

“Ogden, it's Vance, we’ve got to talk. The Deal is going down.”

I called him back.

“What are you doing up, Vance? It's only five.”

“I can’t say over the telephone. I'll pick you up.”

“No. I haven't been able to watch Game Six today. You know, I have responsibilities too. Everything isn't just Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake over here. Vance?”

He had hung up and I didn't even have time to watch the Kevin Mitchell single before the low rumble of Vance's car rattled the windows of my living room.

“We have to go somewhere safe,” he said when I was safely in the car.

“Well, how 'bout the parking garage by Gillies?”

Vance pulled the car over, put it in park, and gave me a taste of the long knuckle across the cheek. Then he got back on the road. The stinging pain from his strike temporarily brought me out of my haze. We were near the former Laverdier's drug store downtown where Kurt and I got caught stealing gum. Without the pain I would have slipped back to 1985 when I got the high score on Galaga in an intense 75 minute session. This was before you could put in another quarter to continue your game, a trick I considered cheating. No, I had to take three ships and by skill alone conquer the universe. See, I'm slipping anyway.

“Now, you’re gonna try that again, Ogden. I’m not playing any games. The fuzz are all over downtown.”

I rubbed my cheek.

“You’re a real queer, you know that? A total queer-o-rama. What do you do for me? Nothing.”

He shrugged

“What day is today?”

“The day you get your head out of your squeaky bum.”

Vance nodded.

“Look, I’m going to the high school parking lot. I think it’s Saturday. We’ll be safe there. I've got troubles.”

I fished a dime off the floor and held it out to him.

“Call Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island. Maybe he and Tattoo can help.”

Vance drove up Middle Street to Alumni Drive, the road to the Bone Harbor High parking lot. We drove past a large Paper Birch with multiple low branches. On one of the branches there was a faded heart-shaped outline with DD+OB carved in it. In 11^th grade, as my opportunities to prove my love to Darcy grew rare, I carved our initials in the tree as the ultimate act of loyalty. In return, she pissed in my milk bowl.

The sight of the three-story, industrial looking prison made me want to bite my knuckles until they bled. It was like going back to the hospital where you had your sex organs removed. Because Vance was driving so recklessly, I shared the time with my high school ghosts and heard the lyp-sync songs echo in the empty auditorium.

“As of yesterday,” Vance began, “my driving privileges have been revoked by the state of New Hampshire. You are a passenger of a criminal offender so where I drive had better be a top goddamn priority with you!”

His voice thundered in the cab. He beat his fist on the dashboard causing his Jethro Tull tape to pop out of the player onto the floor.

“Revoked?”

“Is there a friggin’ echo in here?”

“Only inside your hollow head, you ape.”

Vance pulled calmly to the side of the road, parked and raised his palm to slap me again

“Hit me again, Vance, and not only will I turn your punk ass into the police, but I will make certain that the full light of truth is shed on that incident with the runaway girl and the Scratch tickets.

Vance paused and dropped his hand. He seemed proud.

“You don't have the Cal Scarponis to rat me out.”

“I've done it once before and I'll do it again. I just act dumb because, the truth is, I’m a whole lot smarter than everyone else is and I don't want to stand out in a crowd. Don’t forget it.”

“Fine,” he said as he started the car forward “At least we know where we stand now. The fact is I’m selling the car.”

“But it’s half mine!” I shouted.