High-Caliber Concealer (25 page)

Making a decision, Nikki hopped the fence
and headed into the junkyard. She dodged freezers, leapt over a
stove, and landed on the winding path formed by walls of junk that
would lead straight across to the field. She stood up to run and
stopped. Ahead of her, a flashlight glimmered.

“Ellen,” breathed Nikki grinning. “Never
trust a sniper to play by the rules.”

She slipped quietly along the lane, stopping
by a pile of sinks. A woman was rooting around inside the trunk of
a compressed Toyota.

Nikki jumped around the corner, training her
flashlight on the woman. “Ellen! Gotcha!”

Only, it wasn’t Ellen. Ylina raised her hand
against Nikki’s flashlight. She had a gym bag in one hand.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Are you following
me?”

“No! I’m playing tag.”

“You’re playing tag in a junkyard? What is
wrong with you?”

“No, I’m cheating by cutting through—never
mind that. What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” said Ylina,
slamming the trunk of the car shut.

“Look, Ylina, I know about the smuggling.
You and Milt and Bill Pims. You’ve been smuggling pot in from
Canada, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know how you found that out, but if
you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“Ylina, I know you’re in trouble. Why don’t
you let me help you?”

“Because I don’t need help! I’m going to
cash in my insurance policy and blow town.”

“Why not blow the whistle? Turn state’s
evidence?” suggested Nikki.

Ylina’s laugh was as surprised as it was
genuine. “Yeah, right. Why don’t I just sign my own death warrant?
Leave me alone. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, like you were taking care of yourself
at the Kessel Run?”

“Just leave me –” Ylina abruptly cut off and
turned toward the road. “Shit. This is your fault. I don’t know
how, but it’s your fault.”

The high-pitched wail of police sirens
sounded from the road, like wolves howling in the distance. Ylina
took off running toward the center of the junkyard. Out in the
field, the flashlights began to all head for the Buick.

Nikki hesitated again, and then, cursing,
she headed for the Buick, too.

Nikki arrived at the Buick at the same time
as Ellen.

“Where is everyone?” she gasped, swinging
her flashlight around.

“They all ran,” said Ellen. “Most them went
up to the house, but I saw Z’ev and Donny go this way.”

“They must be going to the boat house,” said
Nikki. “Come on.”

“Why the boathouse?” asked Ellen as they
jogged.

“Noise complaints,” said Nikki. “It looks
better if they have less guests than they do. Mr. Fernandez has
been stashing extra party guests at the boathouse for years.”

The boathouse was a shack on the edge of the
river built for storing inner tubes, canoes, and camping equipment,
but also used as a woodshop and all-purpose escape from the bustle
of the house. Nikki remembered it as a dusty hideaway from adults
and sun. As they approached they could hear the raucous sound of
male voices.

“What’s going on in there?” Ellen asked.

“No clue.”

They pushed through the crowd, illuminated
by a single swinging bulb. Z’ev and Jackson were in the center of
the crowd and as Nikki watched, Z’ev swung a punch at the smaller
man. Jackson slipped a little sideways so the punch didn’t land
square. Z’ev came in for a body shot and Jackson let it hit,
letting himself get shoved into the canoes strapped to the wall so
he could rebound, coming back in double fast. He landed a flurry of
blows and Z’ev staggered back, unprepared for this sudden
onslaught. When he hit people, they usually stayed down.
Recovering, he stayed up on the balls of his feet and swung again
for his opponent. Jackson twisted sideways, aimed for the gut. Z’ev
adapted to the move and flicked his elbow, landing it across
Jackson’s ear. The elbow shoved Jackson’s head back in range for
the other hand and Z’ev went for the punch. Jackson went down, but
came back up like he was on strings. Then he went further up,
jumping and came down with a punch on Z’ev’s face that landed like
a mule stomp. Z’ev went backwards, his nose bloody. Jackson
followed him, allowing no quarter, putting in hooks to the gut with
a staccato fury. Z’ev covered up, lowered his head, centering his
weight and then shot for a tackle. Jackson spun him off with ease.
But Z’ev showed no surprise at the side-slip and whirled faster
than Jackson had been expecting, landing a heavy fist across the
side of Jackson’s face; he’d just wanted the distance.

Jackson backed up and they squared off
again, staring at each other. They were both bloody now. Along the
side of the room, Rey-Rey was hosting the betting pool.

“Fifty on Jackson. He never loses,” called
Louis.

“Nobody’s lasted this long before,”
countered Rey-Rey. Whatever he would have said next was lost in the
noise as Z’ev made another charge. The crowd moved in around them,
obscuring them from Nikki’s view.

“Nikki, you need to stop them!” demanded
Donny, pushing through the crowd.

“Me? What the hell are they arguing about? I
left them with you.”

“Jackson said something. I don’t know what.
I think it was something about you. And then Z’ev got mad and the
next thing I know, they’re fighting. Are you going to stop
them?”

“I’m thinking,” replied Nikki, wincing as
she heard the sharp sound of fist connecting with flesh.

“Thinking about what? They’re going to kill
each other!”

“I doubt it,” answered Nikki. “I think they
want to know who’s top dog.”

“And you go off with the winner? That’s
bullshit, Nikki.”

“This isn’t about me,” snapped Nikki. “It’s
about who’s tougher. They’d be doing this even if I wasn’t
involved.”

“Bullshit!” repeated Donny. “And if you
won’t stop it, I will!” Donny began to push through the crowd.

“That’s the hard way to do it,” said
Ellen.

“Agreed,” said Nikki and then climbed up on
a counter top. “Cops! Cops! Run!”

The effect was instantaneous. The crowd
dissipated immediately, pushing past and in between Z’ev and
Jackson, effectively blocking them from fighting further.

“Nikki, what is wrong with you?” demanded
Donny, picking up Jackson. Jenny and Ellen sat Z’ev on a Seadoo.
Jane ran in, panic in her eye, took in the scene, then stopped, and
shrugged.

“How is this my fault?” demanded Nikki.

“How is it not?” snapped Donny. He opened up
a cupboard under the workbench revealing a mini-fridge. He angrily
pulled out ice packs and tossed them at Z’ev and Jackson. “Get the
first aid kit out of the cupboard.” He pointed to one by Nikki, and
she randomly opened cupboards until she found the right one.

“It is not my fault,” reiterated Nikki,
inspecting the first-aid kit. “If they want to beat the crap out of
each other, it’s got nothing to do with me.” Like most first-aid
kits, it contained a smattering of bandages and nothing truly
useful.

“Like hell it doesn’t! They’re fighting over
you.”

“Even if that were true, that would be their
problem. I am neither a prize to be won nor responsible for their
actions.”

“That’s right,” affirmed Jane, picking straw
out of her hair.

“Well, speaking for myself,” began Z’ev.

“I suggest that you don’t,” said Nikki. She
sorted through bandages and a crusty bottle of iodine before
finally finding some more modern materials. “If I thought for a
moment that the two of you were fighting over me, I’d kick both
your asses. I do not date people based on their fighting
ability.”

Z’ev and Jackson exchanged glances.

“Uh, well, yeah, you do Nik. Always have,”
said Jackson. “Definitely an alpha male kind of girl.” Nikki
slammed down the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and glared at
Jackson.

“You take that back! I like sensitive
men.”

Donny snorted in laughter.

“Yeah, men who sensitively hit hard,” put in
Z’ev. Nikki glared at both of them. Pouring hydrogen peroxide onto
a cotton ball she jabbed it into a cut at the outside corner of
Z’ev’s eyebrow.

“Ow,” he said flinching.

“See, he’s sensitive,” said Jackson.

“You shut up too,” said Nikki, shoving the
bottle of peroxide at Donny. Donny took it and began to clean up
Jackson. Nikki was done first, and she angrily began to repack the
first aid kit, gathering up the discarded band-aid wrappers.

“Your boyfriend hits hard,” said Jackson,
looking at Nikki as Donny taped a final butterfly bandage over a
split on his cheek.

“Not hard enough,” said Z’ev, creaking to
his feet, and limping over to the refrigerator. He pulled out two
beers and handed one to Jackson, who carefully applied the beer
bottle to his eye.

“The two of you are making me crazy,” said
Nikki. “I wish I’d stayed in LA. I should know better than to try
and go on vacation.”

“Hey, we’re not getting shot at, so you
know, still better than work,” said Z’ev.

Jenny, Ellen, and Jane all nodded.

“I wanted to have a nice quiet time with my
grandma. I wanted to eat peach pie and float in the pond and have a
nice time.”

“We floated,” said Jenny.

“There was pie,” said Jane, looking around
as if pie might appear. “It’s probably all gone now though.”

“You know where it went wrong? The Kessel
Run. I should have just driven straight to Grandma’s, but no, I had
to stop for a burger.”

“Well, Ylina’s probably glad you stopped,”
said Jackson, shifting his beer to the other side of his ribs.

“No, she really isn’t,” said Nikki.

“What are you talking about?” asked
Donny.

“Never mind,” said Nikki, throwing up her
hands. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go home.”

“That’s right,” said Z’ev. “Because God
forbid that we actually talk about anything. Just brush it under
the covers. That’s how the line goes isn’t it?”

“Oh, my God. You’re still mad about that?
How are you still mad about that?”

“Man, I feel like I’m back at my parent’s
house,” said Jackson to Donny, but looking from Nikki to Z’ev.

“I know what you mean.” Donny nodded and
reached in the fridge for a beer.

“Should we do something?” asked Jackson.

“You talk to him all the time, Nikki!”
yelled Z’ev.

“Nah,” said Donny reassuringly. “As far as I
can tell, this is what they do in between making out.”

“Once a month is not all the time,
Z’ev!”

“He wrote a song about you!”

“He also wrote a song about his coffee being
cold and lighting his pubic hair on fire. Trust me, it’s not the
compliment you think it is.”

“What are they talking about?” Donny staged
whispered at Jenny, sitting down next to Jackson.

“I don’t have to hear those on the radio.”
Z’ev waved his arms in huge gestures of frustration. “It’s like the
number two song in Brazil. It’s on once an hour!”

“Kit Masters,” hissed Jenny.

“Who’s Kit Masters?” asked Donny, looking
around the room for an explanation.

“Pop singer from England,” explained
Jackson. “There was a picture of him kissing Nikki on the front
page of the
Star
awhile ago. It was big
news around here.”

“I haven’t even seen Kit in four months and
even then it was just dinner. What is your problem?” yelled
Nikki.

“Never heard of him,” answered Donny,
twisting the top off his Bud Light.

“Neither had anyone else around here.
Apparently he’s big in Europe. Jake’s Records did good business in
importing his album after the picture came out. He’s not bad.
Catchy. If you like that kind of thing.”

“My problem?” repeated Z’ev. “My problem?
Well, apparently my problem is that I’m not your type.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m not your type.”

“Not my… What the…” Nikki sputtered, unable
to formulate words. “How are you not my type Z’ev?”

“You know,” said Z’ev making gestures with
hands as if squishing something down into a smaller size. “Compact
and white!”

“Dude, I think he’s talking about you,” said
Donny to Jackson.

“In case you hadn’t noticed Nikki, I’m six
foot two and brown!” yelled Z’ev.

“About me?” asked Jackson.

“I don’t care how tall you are!” yelled
Nikki, once again starting with the wrong thing first.

“Yeah, compact and white, that’s you.”

“Wait, I’m white?”

Donny laughed, trying not to snort beer
through his nose.

“And I’m not dating your skin, I’m dating
you. I don’t give damn about your skin color!” She finished with
the important thing.

“Everyone else around here seems to.”

“You cannot blame me for their retarded
attitudes.”

Behind her, Nikki could hear Jane, the word
police, make an annoyed noise over her use of the R word, but she
could only argue with one person at a time.

“And if it comes to types, well, I’m not
exactly your type either. I looked up your ex-girlfriend on
Facebook. And let me tell you, next to her I look a little too
compact and white.”

“Then you shouldn’t have snooped on
Facebook. I don’t ask you about your ex-boyfriends. Although,
clearly,” Z’ev waved a hand at Jackson, “I should.”

“I told you about Jackson,” protested
Nikki.

“You said he was one of those stupid high
school boyfriends.”

“Ouch,” said Donny. “That’s not right.”

“It’s fair. I’m not too anxious to explain
Nikki to an outsider,” answered Jackson with a shrug.

“That right there,” yelled Z’ev, pointing at
Jackson. “Why am I the outsider? I should be the insider. She’s my
damn girlfriend!”

“Yeah, man, I hear you. You want to know why
the hell some stranger gets better from her than you?” asked
Jackson, raising his beer to Z’ev.