Connor sat toking away, sitting cross-legged on the floor and regaling Max with tales of his past life as a pot dealer. Was this kid for real? I could usually read people inside and out like a pamphlet, see if they were full of shit or not right away, but Connor was like some dense tomb that I couldn’t interpret.
I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for Gabriel—or worse, D’Angelo—to pop back into the room. I kept wondering where the fuck Toby had gone, when he was coming back. If Toby was with us in the house, things were cool. But if Toby left the room…
Ever since Toby’s parents had croaked, things had gotten extra bonkers around here. You never knew when a pot might boil over, so to speak, and Gabriel had been on edge all morning. Even before snapping at Toby, he’d been pacing a lot, glowering at various pieces of furniture, mumbling to no one and nothing in particular.
Something was up in the family business.
But Connor seemed so comfortable there, so not ready for things to pop off. Inviting Connor here had been such a bad idea, and I cursed myself for not thinking ahead to a situation like this one.
“I’m bored,” I said. “Come on, let’s go to…to the mall.” Shit. It was the first and only thing I could think of.
Max frowned. “The mall?” he asked incredulously. Connor just laughed and took another hit on his joint, passing it to me. I felt myself grow red and put a hand up, declining. I needed to be sober when shit hit the fan.
I needed to think of better things to say.
“Or we could go to that new arcade on Jane Street,” I offered, feeling dumber than ever. Arcade? What were we, ten?
“You okay, dude?” Max asked. He was getting high, his eyes glazed over and his voice light and dreamy. “Just relax. Take a hit.”
Connor cocked his head at me, as if trying to figure out why I kept cracking my knuckles over and over like I was playing some twisted version of the accordion.
“Oh,” was all I heard. I looked up from the couch and saw where it came from. “Oh well, okay now,” the voice said.
D’Angelo stood in the entrance to the living room.
Fuck.
D’Angelo was huge, a bear of a man, pushing forty and sporting a full chest of hair, a thick beard and a shaved head. Prison tattoos ran up and down his meaty arms. He wore dark pants, a fitted black work shirt, and steel-toed boots. A silver apron hung over his clothes, covered in something dusty and white.
They were cooking out back. I could smell it on him, that sharp, diesel scent Toby sometimes wore and badly tried to cover up with body spray.
“What’s up, man?” Connor asked, in that lilting, boyish tone of his. “Want a hit?” Fuck, was he was serious?
“We were just leaving,” I said, forcing a shrug. “We won’t bother you.” I stood and started walking to the front door, nodding at the guys to follow me.
But neither Max nor Connor moved. D’Angelo licked his lips and leaned against the living room doorframe, leering at them. At Connor in particular.
“No thanks, man, I don’t partake anymore,” D’Angelo said to Connor. His voice was like the groan of a motor. “I’m just curious what you boys are up to, hanging out inside our house on a beautiful day like this. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He held out his hand to Connor, and that idiot stood and took it.
“Connor Orellana,” he said. Full name. Idiot. “Nice to meet you, man. I moved here from Creek Way earlier this year.”
“D’Angelo,” said The Monster of the Miller Residence. He smiled slowly at Connor, revealing a mouthful of silver-capped teeth. “Long-time resident. Very long.” Then he laughed, a garbled guttural noise that made me want to puke.
“We have to go, guys,” I said. “That thing we have to go to is uh, starting soon.” Max seemed to understand by now, and had made his way to my side. He’d met D’Angelo once or twice before, and none of those meetings had ended well. But Connor seemed transfixed by the giant Miller cousin, who was squinting at him like a scientist might a new species of beetle.
“What’s the hurry?” D’Angelo asked, still staring at Connor. He was taking in his fitted tank top, his board shorts, his taut shoulder muscles, devouring the sight of him. “I think I have a right to know who’s in my house, learn a little bit about each new guest. Especially such an interesting one. And an unexpected one.”
“Connor,” I said. My voice had gone dark.
D’Angelo took a long breath. My heart bounced around. He nodded at me, as if I were directly responsible for Connor being here. Which I was. “You guys stay out of here from now on, alright? This is a family business. This is not the arcade on Jane Street.” I shivered. He’d been listening to our conversation. Fucking creep. “Got it?”
I nodded dumbly, and then he slunk off, disappearing back into the kitchen, but not before turning and leering at Connor in a way that made my blood run cold.
“What the fuck was that about?” Connor asked when we got outside.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“He’s kind of…well, kind of in charge in that family,” Max explained. “He’s uh…Jack?”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing, really.”
Connor laughed and reached into his pocket for another joint. “I think he had the hots for me or something.”
I surprised myself by how fast and hard I grabbed his wrist and stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t go near him ever again. I’m serious.” Max stopped walking.
“Okay man,” Connor said. He patted my elbow until I released my vice grip, the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding in. “I won’t. I got it.”
“To the Strip?” Max asked nervously.
I
