Part 3 (1/2)
Not much difference between one or the other, frankly. In both places, he'd fought for his life on a pretty regular basis. In both places, somebody bigger and stronger had always held him down in one way or another. Until he'd gotten big and strong enough to resist and to win.
So s.e.x wasn't something he was all that keen on. Once he was on his own, he'd avoided it all.
But then he'd found the club. By the time he'd applied to prospect, he understood that there were things about that life he was going to need to get right with. He didn't want to start out that way in the clubhouse, around people he knew. So he'd saved up and bought himself a whole night with a hooker.
She was pretty nice and really patient. He thought of that as the night he lost his virginity, whether that was true or not. Just about four months ago.
Since then, he'd gotten comfortable with the girls in the clubhouse. He even thought maybe he was getting decent at it, and usually he had only good thoughts now. As a Prospect, he got the leftovers, but that was okay with him. He was just trying to get used to all this without anybody knowing that was what he was trying to do.
Faith, Blue's youngest daughter, was the first girl he'd ever really wanted. And it was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Like head-on-a-pike wrong.
”Michael? Are you in there?” She still called him Michael. She was already the only one who still did. He didn't correct her. He liked it.
”Yeah, sorry. What's up?” He strove to keep his voice nonchalant. ”Shouldn't you be in school?”
”Minimum day.” She walked around to face him. She was dressed like she usually was-jeans, brown engineer boots, and a snug t-s.h.i.+rt that didn't quite reach the low waistband on her jeans. So unfair. He willed his c.o.c.k to behave. It ignored him. ”Why are you standing in the middle of the lot? You look like your download froze.”
He smiled, and she smiled right back, her eyes dancing with light and color. ”Sorry. Just trying to work something out.”
”What's the troub, bub?” She slid her hands into her front pockets, which pulled her jeans down even farther. Demon looked up and out over the lot, to La Cienega Boulevard.
Knowing he should blow her off and send her on her way, he said, ”Hooj gave me a list for salvage, but the van's out. Flatbed, too.”
Faith actually bounced. ”Pik-A-Part? I love that place! We can take Dante!”
That was a terrible idea. There should have been brakes squealing in his head. Better to face Hoosier's wrath when he found out he had to wait until the van got back than to go with Blue's little girl off the compound lot and all the way to the Valley.
Demon knew that to be true. But the switch people had that made them stop before they did something stupid-his didn't work. He had the switch that told him it was stupid, and the switch that told him he should stop, but the switch that would stop him was badly broken. Sometimes, it was like his own life was playing out on a screen, and he was just sitting there, powerless, watching with his fingers splayed over his eyes.
”That'd be great-if you don't need to be anywhere.”
”I'm a free agent. And Pik-A-Part is better than f.u.c.king Disneyland. Let's do it!” She threw her keys at him, and he caught them. They headed off together toward Dante.
She hadn't done much more to her car with markers-just, as far as he could tell, the side mirrors and the full rear b.u.mper. She'd told him that she did it when the mood struck her, when she saw whatever belonged wherever it belonged. She'd had a few people sign it, he'd noticed, and then she'd drawn around the signatures to incorporate them into whatever it was she was making.
He really did think it was cool. Like something he'd do, if he had a talent like that-to just see something and then do it, to follow the impulse. That generally meant trouble for him. But Faith had talent, so her impulses became art.
His just became trash.
Pik-A-Part was a junkyard that let people scavenge at their own risk. You went through, driving anywhere you could get your vehicle through, and just dug into the junk. There was a vague kind of organization-Fords in one general direction, Chevys in another, bikes sort of on the side, and so on-but for the most part, you just scavenged, doing what you had to do to get the part you wanted. Sometimes, you had to dig under rickety piles of rusty metal; sometimes you had to climb on top of those piles. Sometimes the part you wanted was sitting right there on the ground like it had been set out special, just for you.
When you had what you wanted, you went back up to the front, where a Quonset hut served as office and shop, and you d.i.c.kered your way to a price for your loot. The club had an account, so all Demon, wearing his kutte, would have to say was that the stuff he'd gotten was for Hoosier, and it would go out for cost.
He'd gotten everything Hoosier wanted-or he was pretty sure. Some of the parts were a little rough, but they were original stock parts, which was what Hooj was after. Everything was in Dante's bed. Now, though, Demon was busy having a heart attack because Faith was climbing through the carca.s.s of an old Plymouth Fury, which was perched on top of a stack of old carca.s.ses. Even with all the climbing and moving around she'd been doing, nothing had moved, so it seemed pretty stable. Still, though, if she got hurt-or worse-on his watch, well, he'd be better off crawling into one of the rusty hulls waiting for the crusher and just waiting right along with it.
She'd been running around the place for a couple of hours, acting like every pile of junk was the best thrill ride ever. She had herself a bizarre mishmash of c.r.a.p she was going to put on the same account-she'd said she did that all the time, and Demon hoped that was true. He knew what she intended it for. She made things out of junk. Like sculptures, or something. Blue, Hoosier, and Fat Jack all had stuff she'd made sitting or hanging around their stations.
It was pretty cool. He didn't really see what she saw in the junk or in the sculptures she made out of it, but it was cool the way she saw things in a way he couldn't. And it was cooler the way she made what was there become what she saw.
He looked up at the mountain of junk she was on and tried to ignore her pretty a.s.s. She was half lying in the Fury, reaching for something. She looked like somebody who was about to die in a horror movie. One of those Final Destination things. The thought made him woozy.
He knew if he nagged at her to be careful again, she'd do something crazy on purpose. The last time he'd said anything, she'd literally hung upside down by her knees off a length of rebar that was jutting out of a pile. He'd had to lean against Dante for a few minutes after that.
”Faith, come on. I gotta get back. Hooj is gonna have my hide.” That was true-they'd been here for hours.
She looked down at him, under her arm. ”You are such a pill. Okay, okay. There's a s.h.i.+fter k.n.o.b up here. I can't get it loose. Gimme a couple more minutes to try.” She grunted with the effort. ”f.u.c.k!” She kicked hard in frustration, and that time, Demon was d.a.m.n sure something shook.
”Faith!”
”One...more...Hah! Got it! Got it! Look-s.h.i.+ny!” She turned to show him, holding the black k.n.o.b-nothing special, just a plastic ball-back and out to him. Then she squealed. ”Ow! f.u.c.k, ow!”
All the blood in Demon's body fell to his feet and then charged up in a rush to his head. ”Faith?”
”My hair-I'm caught in something. f.u.c.k! Ow, ow, ow!” She dropped the s.h.i.+fter k.n.o.b and it bounced and rolled down the pile like the catalyst in a Rube Goldberg machine.
Rube Goldberg...Final Destination...Demon was going to f.u.c.king puke.
”Don't move! f.u.c.king freeze! I'm coming!” Not registering that he was about twice her size and probably only going to make everything worse, he headed up Junk Mountain. He moved quickly but as carefully as he knew how and managed to get himself into the Fury with her, half-lying face to face with her. She'd stayed quiet and still, doing as he'd said.
Her ponytail was wound around part of the rusted-out remnants of the drivetrain. He got his arms around her head and worked the strands loose as gently as he could. Her hair felt like silk.
She smelled like dirt and rust and oil. Also flowers of some kind.
She was a kid. A kid, a kid, a kid. A kid. Blue's kid.
When her hair was free, she sighed happily and then giggled. ”You just rescued me. I feel like Rapunzel.”
”Who's that?”
”Rapunzel? The fairy tale princess with the long, long hair? She was locked in a tower and the prince climbed her hair to rescue her? 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair'?”
He just stared at her, not knowing what she was talking about but not caring. Her eyes were so pretty. Today, they were mostly blue, he thought.
”You don't know Rapunzel?”
He shrugged, and her eyes got sad. He didn't like that at all. He didn't want her sad for him. That was pity, and he didn't need her pity because he didn't know a stupid fairy tale princess. Life was not a stupid fairy tale, and if she thought it was, she was just as stupid as Rapun-whoever. ”You go down first. I'll follow. Be careful.”
Her only answer was a nod.
When they were safely on the ground at Dante's side, they had an awkward moment when he was still feeling really p.i.s.sed and defensive without being entirely sure why, and he could see that she sensed his feelings.
Then she got a goofy grin on her face and ducked to the ground. When she came back up, she had the s.h.i.+fter k.n.o.b in her hand. ”Aha! Cool!” She wiped it on her t-s.h.i.+rt. ”See? s.h.i.+ny!”
She looked so cute and proud of herself that his mood dissipated, and he laughed. Then she kissed the k.n.o.b. Watching her full lips purse around that piece of plastic, Demon felt an urge that would have overpowered any inhibition, even had he had one. He slid his hands over her jaw, cradling her head, and he bent down and kissed her.