Devin stayed silent, hoping he could remain that way. After about ten minutes, a light rain started falling, misting the black finish on his lawyer-dad’s SUV.
Finally, Cody said, “Didn’t do it, did you?”
Devin shook his head. “It’s a bad move. Where would we get another bassist?”
“Ben. We’ll move him over from keyboards.”
“He doesn’t play bass.”
“He will. And he’ll be better than Karston. He’s got all that stuff hardwired from those piano lessons Mommy forced him to take since he was five. Guy’s a total robot, but he’s our robot.”
“And where are we going to get a bass?”
“Borrow Karston’s. He’s not going to be using it.”
Devin’s voice frog-hopped an octave. “You want me to fire him and ask him to borrow his bass? You psychotic bastard.”
“I’m not a psycho, dude, I’m a sociopath. He’ll do it. He’ll do it just to be near us.”
Devin shook his head. “I do not believe you. You are a piece of work, Cody. You know his mother’s a major bitch on wheels—she’s like Mrs. Hannibal Lecter, totally abusive. She screams at him. She hits him. We’re all he’s got.”
Cody made a face. “Yeah, and my mom was an alcoholic before she slammed into a nice thick pine tree doing sixty on a side street. Boo hoo hoo. It doesn’t change the facts. He can’t play. You love him so much, get rich and then send him to freaking college, so he can learn a useful trade. We’re either serious or this is a game. I’m serious. I’m waiting to find out where you are. So where are you?”
They were driving on a low road surrounded by thick forest. A small car zoomed up behind them and started tailgating. Devin could hear the steady boom-boom of its car speakers mix with the swish of his wipers.
“Damn,” Devin said. The road was slick and he didn’t want to speed up, so he pulled to the shoulder and let the car pass. Two girls gave him the finger as they drove by.
Cody laughed. “Big shot rock star!”
Devin had nothing to say to that.
When his laugh faded, Cody leaned his forehead against the window and looked out at the darkness flashing between the tall trees, uncharacteristically contemplative. He let out a deep sigh.
“Okay. I got kicked out of school,” he said. “Permanently. I don’t need it. I know where I’m going and it doesn’t involve algebra.”
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
“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
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.
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?”
