Growing and Kissing (9 page)

“
No?
Why? I’m not asking you to do this out of charity! I’ll pay you!”

He shook his head. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then what? You’ll happily take cash to smash things up, but not to help someone? What’s the matter with you?”

His big hand landed on my shoulder and then I was being pushed towards the door. “More than you want to know,” he muttered. And pushed me out into the hallway. The door slammed behind me.

I stood there gaping. Up on the roof, he’d been almost warm. Now he was back to being the Sean everyone talked about in hushed tones: brutal and cold.
The Irish,
a lot of people called him.
The Irish smashed up some place last night.

And now I felt like he’d done the same to me. I’d peeled back my armor to reveal my one, fragile hope and he’d shattered it, told me that I was on my own and that I was nuts for even trying.

Well, fuck him.

If he wouldn’t help me, I’d just have to do it myself.

Sean

That night, I had a job. Perfect, because I needed to take my frustration out on something other than myself. The whole way there, I could feel the anger building up inside, bubbling out of the raw slash of pain. The shell I’ve built around myself, the muscles and the tattoos and the attitude, that can stand up to anything. I’ll take a baseball bat to my kidney and fight on. I’ll take a punch to my jaw, spit out a tooth and smile. But when the pain comes from inside...that’s harder to handle. I can’t deflect it away because it’s already inside me, folding back on itself, and growing stronger and stronger while the thoughts play on endless loop in my mind.

I didn’t help her.

I didn’t help her because I can’t. Because I’m no good for anything.

Because everything I touch, I break.

The only thing I’m good for is smashing shit up.

I stopped the car half a block away because I needed to get my head together. The big V8 rumble died away and the street was silent except for the cicada and a few kids playing on their bikes.

I went around to the trunk and got out my hammer. And the kids fled.

As I hefted the hammer onto my shoulder, blinds were slamming down all along the street. A woman grabbed her cat from the front porch and raced inside her house, her eyes huge with fear.

It’s not the worst thing in the world, having everyone afraid of you. It can even be kind of fun. But you can’t control it. Reputation billows out from you like smoke, impossible to corral. It bothered me that the woman thought I’d hurt her cat, or hurt her. But that was the price of what I did and I’d always accepted it before, even welcomed it. Scared people keep their distance.

Louise, though...she was scared of me but she’d been brave enough to approach me. She’d knocked on my damn door.

And I’d pushed her away.

The anger swelled, filling my heart and lungs.

I knew I was doing the right thing. The
only
thing. I couldn’t support her crazy scheme. The idea of her locked up in a federal prison, or shot—or
worse
—by a gang didn’t bear thinking about. But that meant she was going to have to watch her sister die. I’d seen the blonde-haired little thing plenty of times around the block and my stomach knotted at the thought of that bundle of energy lying in a hospital bed. I was going to have to see Louise’s face as the months passed, watch her change as a piece of her was slowly, agonizingly torn out.

And I was going to have to watch it all from a distance. Hell, she’d hate me. She’d blame me because I didn’t help her.

I set my jaw and picked up the pace, stalking along the street towards the target house. The rage was crashing around inside me like a living thing, now.

It needed to be let out.

I reached the house, lifted the sledgehammer from my shoulder, and gripped the shaft in both hands, knuckles white.

This was going to feel good.

The door was steel with a good, solid lock. But I’d done this many times and tonight I was driven by more than just my usual anger. I swung and landed the head of the hammer right at the lock. The steel caved inward like cardboard and the door flew open, bouncing on its hinges. Bright white light streamed out of the doorway and the sidewalk lit up with the shadows of hundreds of swaying marijuana plants. Then two tall, bulky figures were crowding into the doorway.

“Shit,” I heard. “It’s The Irish.”

The one who’d spoken darted back inside, probably to grab a weapon. The other one tried to come out to meet me, which was a mistake. I stepped forward and drove the head of the hammer into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He staggered back inside and knocked over a table of plants. I followed, moving slowly.

Inside, it was like every grow house I’d ever seen: tables crammed with plants and powerful lights hanging down from the ceiling. The windows were covered in newspaper but they hadn’t done much else to hide the fact they were growing there.

I swung the hammer in a whistling arc that sent it through one of the overhead lights, through the plants, through the table and into the floor below. Sparks spat across the room and dirt showered my chest and arms. That section of the room plunged into darkness. The destruction felt good. I was making my mark.

The guy I’d hit was still holding his stomach and groaning. The other one was backing away from me, his face deathly pale. I started to advance towards him, table by table.

“You’re right in the middle of Malone’s territory,” I told them. Then I swung the hammer again splitting the next table in two and sending a light shade skittering away across the room. “That was very fuckin’ stupid.”

The guy put his hand out towards me, still backing away. “Look,” he said quickly. “We can make a deal.” I pegged his accent as Central Europe. Serbian or Croatian or something like that—it didn’t really matter.

I swung the hammer again, this time going sideways and demolishing the legs of three tables at once. The table tops and plants crashed down and the floor became a carpet of dirt and leaves. I could feel the plants scrunch under my boots as I walked towards him. Everyone I crushed helped me vent a little more of my anger, but it did more than that: it savagely silenced the voices that had been taunting me from inside.
The only thing I’m good at is smashing shit up? Fine. Then watch
how
good I am.

“Tell Malone we’ll pay!” said the one I’d hit. His voice was a labored croak.

“We’ll pay!” agreed the other one. He was still trying to back away, but then he ran out of room, his back against a dresser. I knew he probably had a weapon in there, a knife or a gun. They always do. And they always think they can buy me off. But once someone’s hired me, I’m loyal.

The guy next to the dresser finally managed to get a knife out of its hiding place. A big ugly thing with a six inch blade. He held it up in front of him defiantly.

I advanced on him again, the hammer resting casually on my shoulder. “Put it down,” I told him.

Instead, he shoved it towards me, slicing at the air. “I’ll fucking cut you!” he shrieked, his voice cracking in fear.

I took another step towards him. He pressed back against the dresser, his face deathly pale, swiping the knife in vicious little arcs to keep me away.

I gripped the hammer and started to swing it back....

The knife fell from his fingers. His legs wilted and he slumped to the floor on his ass, his hands up in front of his face. “Please!” he begged.

He’d come to rest with his legs splayed. I swung back the hammer and I saw his mouth drop open in horror as he realized what I was about to do. His scream filled the air as the hammer whistled down right between his legs.

There was a crunch of wood and the head buried itself in the cheap floorboards between his thighs. I’d aimed it so perfectly, the top of the head was just brushing his balls. He stared at the hammer, speechless with relief.

I smash things. Sometimes I have to hurt people. But I’m not a sadist.

My voice was calm, the anger gone. “You ever grow in this neighborhood again,” I told him, “and next time it’ll be an inch higher.”

I waited for him to nod. Then I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him out into the street. When I’d dragged his friend out as well, I took the little bottle of gasoline from my pocket and emptied it over the debris, then lit a match and threw it in. By the time I was halfway back to my car, the whole house was burning.

I should have felt good. I should have felt like hitting a bar—that was my normal routine, after finishing a job. But I didn’t. All I could think about was Louise. I’d vented the anger but the anger, it turned out, was the easy part. Now it had blown away, I could see where it had come from: that throbbing wound inside me that had been left when I let her down.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given a shit about anyone. But I was really starting to care about this girl.

Sean

I didn’t see her again for a few days. Then, one evening, I came down the stairs to find her in the lobby, struggling towards the elevator.

She had two huge white plastic sacks in her arms, gathered to her chest like twin babies, and she was teetering under the weight. Every few steps, the sacks would threaten to slip out of her grasp and she’d have to grab for them again. She was far too preoccupied to notice me.

She just barely managed to make it to the elevator and hit the button. I winced.

“It’s broken,” I muttered.

She snapped her head around, startled, and dropped one of the sacks. It went
whump
on the floor, narrowly missing her foot. Then, struggling to pick it up, she dropped the other one.

“Let me give you a hand,” I said.

She ignored me, crouched, and tried to pick up the first sack. That meant that, as I approached, I was looking down on her and
fuck me…
she was wearing a scoop-neck top and the view I had of her pale cleavage was amazing. Smooth white skin and her breasts were the most perfect shape, just waiting for a hard hand to slide down the front of her top and cup them….

For all my good intentions, I still wanted to bang the hell out of this girl.

She hefted both sacks and stood, her knees trembling a little under the strain. Then she headed towards the stairs.

“Ah, come on,” I said disbelievingly. “It’s ten floors.”

She ignored me and put her foot on the first step. I silently shook my head at her stubbornness...but I had to admire her determination.

She stepped up to the second step. I started up the stairs behind her.

“Please stop following me,” she said tightly.

“I’m just walking up the same stairs. It’s a free country.”

“Weren’t you on your way out?”

“I forgot something.”

I saw her grit her teeth and then she started a steady march up the stairs, with me one step behind her. At the top of the first flight, she stumbled and nearly dropped both sacks, but recovered. She straightened up and tossed her hair back as if to say,
see? I’m fine!