In Darkness (23 page)

You see what I’m saying?

So, yeah, Tintin was whooping and going on about the dog, and did I feel how the car slid, and did I see the dog look at us, the expression on its face? Me, I thought the dog didn’t really care, but I laughed, too, and said:

— Yeah, it’s dope.

I was just glad he hadn’t killed the thing.

— Look down, man, said Tintin.

He stopped the car. We could see the Site stretched out below us, all low and rickety and enormous. It spilled right out to the sea; from this angle, it was like the city outside the slum was pushing it, trying to shove it into the water, like trash. But from up here the Site seemed smaller, too – escapable, I guess. It was like it had been the whole world, and now I was outside it. We were climbing up this road that switched back and forth on the hill, twisting and turning cos it was so steep, and the houses were getting bigger and bigger, and some of them even stood on their own in their own patches of green land.

The sea, it sparkled like jewels, like something precious, not a mess of sewage and petrol, which was what it really was. I could see gulls, pelicans diving. Around us, at our level, was a sea of green, punctuated by detached houses, gardens everywhere, full of trees and flowers and birds singing. It was beautiful. Right next to us, there was a grass lawn, smooth and green, like something you could eat, not just something to walk on.

— Gardens, man, said Tintin.

— Yeah, I said.

I wished I could get out the car and go lie down on that grass, it looked so cool and soft and green.

— This is it, said Tintin after a while.

We were parked outside this white house with pillars at the front and steps up to the porch. On the other side of the car was the hill, and at the bottom of the hill was the sea, and the garbage heap that we lived in.

— This is what? I said.

— Where the doctor lives, said Tintin. He buys most of our stuff, distributes it to the rich people.

Tintin opened the car door and led the way toward the house.

— Where’s the stuff? I said.

I knew the gear usually left the Site in big sports bags, but Tintin didn’t get anyen out of the car.

— I’ll get it later, said Tintin. Chill.

He went up to the door and rang the doorbell. It made a chime, like,
ding DONG, ding DONG, ding DONG
, and I was worried it was so loud people on the street would turn and look at us and see our gangster clothes and wonder what we were doing.

We waited, and nothing happened. No one came to the door.

— Oh, said Tintin. I guess he must be busy, or something. Maybe we should check round the back.

He started to walk round on the grass.

— You think this is a good idea? I said to his back.

He shrugged, and I saw the gun butt sticking up from the waistband of his pants, and I started to get a really bad feeling. In my mind’s eye, I could see that dog limping along and the car wheel racing toward it.

Tintin stopped at this high metal fence with barbed wire on top of it. He tapped a code into this little pad, and a gate opened. He beckoned for me to follow him. We walked past bushes covered in small yellow flowers. The whole place smelled like . . . I don’t know, cos I’d never smelled such things before; it was all fresh and nice. If I’d been on my own, I would have stopped and smelled those flowers, but I knew Tintin would say that was some weak-ass shit, so I just followed him.

We came round the corner, and there was this big pool with water in it, blue like the sky. Next to it were white chairs, and there was a BBQ and this big bar thing. I stared at the pool; I’d never seen anything like it. Tintin grinned.

— This is the life, huh? he said.

He walked over to the bar and slid this rolling kind of lid open.

— What can I get you? he said. Whiskey and Coke?

I looked round. Behind us were these huge windows that went all the way up from the ground to the first floor, and behind those was a kitchen, but I couldn’t see anyone inside.

— This isn’t a delivery, is it? I asked. I was feeling nervous, but excited, too.

— I kind of lied about that, said Tintin. Sorry. The doctor is away. Holiday in Miami, or some shit. When we get back, you tell Biggie we had a problem collecting.

— Biggie doesn’t know we’re here?

— Hell, no. We’ll say some asshole from one of the scrap stalls didn’t want to pay. Say we had to fuck him up; he slowed us down.

— But wouldn’t we have to do it? Find some guy and beat him up? I mean, Biggie would check.

— Already done, said Tintin. Already done, and you don’t have to worry about it.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I was thinking, shit, Tintin. But I didn’t say anything. I could see right into Tintin’s eyes at that moment and I could see his soul shining inside, but not shining in a good way, like light on a knife blade. I just nodded.

— OK, I said. OK, whiskey and Coke.

Tintin clapped his hands.

— My man, he said.

He started pouring the drink.

I don’t know how many whiskey and Cokes we had. A lot, I guess. We sat in those white chairs and drank, and it wasn’t long before I forgot about the dog in the road, and the guy, whichever guy it was, that Tintin had fucked up so we could have this afternoon by the pool. Tintin was funny – he was making jokes, imitating Biggie, stuff like that. He was always good at imitating people, at making like he was a real person, not a thing that was rotten inside.

Pretty soon, we were drunk. Tintin took off his top and jumped into the pool –
splash!
– and I jumped in, too. I’d swum in the sea before, in the salt and the sewage, but this was unbelievable. It was warm, but cooler than the air, and the water was smooth and all around, embracing. I thought of Marguerite, how, when we were in the boat with Papa, she would look up at these houses and say that one day she would live in one. It felt weird to be floating under the sun in her dream of the future, swimming in her pool and drinking her drinks.

We swam over to these floating ring things and got into them, and then Tintin said:

— Hey, we should get our drinks.

After that, we just floated around the pool, drinking, drifting. It was the best day of my life.

I closed my eyes. The sun was overhead, just a little to the west, huge in the sky and beating down fierce. With my eyelids shut, it was like an explosion in front of my eyes – red fireworks, sparks flying. I knew the fireworks were my blood, and that was even more amazing.

I opened my eyes and turned to Tintin.

— Man, I said. This is . . . I don’t know. It’s amazing.

— Yeah, he said. I thought you’d like it.

I looked at him seriously.

— I’ll give you the stone, I said. I’ll give you the stone, if you give me the pass.

— You’re kidding, right? Tintin said.

— That pass is freedom. That pass gets you out of the Site. It gets you here.

He laughed.

— Only cos the doctor is on vacation, he said. Keep the stone, Shorty.

It pissed me off that he called me Shorty – he wasn’t much older than me – but I didn’t say anything. I just floated.

— Seriously, man, you can have it, I said. Swapsies.

He shook his head.

— I saw those bullets, he said. The stone is yours. I don’t even want to think about what shit could go down if you gave it to me. But listen, Shorty – you’re fun, yeah? I’ll bring you again.

— Cool, I said.

I closed my eyes again.

I must have fallen asleep, cos when I opened my eyes again I could hear shouting. I sat up quick, felt blood rush to my head. I stared through blurry eyes at the side of the pool. I felt dizzy, like I was going to puke.

Tintin was standing on the tiles, in his baggy jeans. There was still water dripping from his hair, and he was holding his gun out in front of him, flat side down, like a true gangster. He was shouting, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying – I felt like someone had filled my head with engine grease.

— . . . Solèy 10 bitch, I heard.

That really got my attention, cos Solèy 10 is where the Boston crew have their territory.

I rubbed my eyes. Standing in front of Tintin was this girl in a maid’s uniform, a young girl, like, 16 at the oldest. She was trembling, and there were sheets lying on the ground in front of her, like she’d been carrying them and had dropped them. I kicked off the floating ring and swam to the side of the pool, pulled myself out. I walked over to Tintin.

— What the fuck, man? I said.

He turned to me. His shutters were down again, and I could see that sick light.

— There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here, he said.

He was scared, I could see it. I took a step away from him. He was scared, and it would be bad to stress him out more. That would make him act crazy.

— It’s cool, I said. It’s cool. She’s just a maid. Listen, T—

— No names! screamed Tintin.

I blinked. I was seriously wishing I hadn’t had those whiskey and Cokes.

— She’s Solèy 10, said Tintin. She’s Boston.

I looked at her.

— How do you know that?

He smiled this thin smile.

— I asked her, man. You Solèy 10? he asked the girl.

She nodded. Her eyes cut to me, and they were big and terrified. I was thinking, I wish this was a dream, and I could just open my eyes and be back in the Site.

— Just cos she’s Solèy 10 don’t mean she’s Boston, I said.

She nodded again, harder this time.

— I’m just a maid, she said. I’m just a maid and I didn’t see anything, I swear. Let me go. I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Tintin was stepping from foot to foot, and the gun was swaying like crazy.

— No way, he said. The shit we’d be in . . . No way. She’s got to die.

It was like he was talking to himself. The shit we’d be in . . . He took a deep breath, steadied the gun.

— Chill, I said.

But it was like he didn’t hear me at all.

— She’s hot, huh? he said to me.

— What? I said.

He turned to the maid.

— Take your clothes off, he said.

I was just staring at him. I could see this girl trembling, and she was pretty much the same age as me and my sister; she even looked like Marguerite a bit. Yeah, she was pretty, but she was scared to death. I even wondered if she was Marguerite for one moment, but the eyes were different – no one had eyes like Marguerite. I felt sick. The whiskey in my stomach was swirling round and round, like water going down a drain.

I didn’t think, I just walked toward her, and I put myself between her and Tintin.

— Put it down, I said. She’s just a girl.

Tintin hesitated.

I turned to her.

— You never saw us, right?

She nodded again.

— I never did. I was here, and I put out the laundry. That’s it.

— Get out the way, said Tintin. Get out the way, Shorty.

Before he said, no names, but Shorty was cool. Shorty wasn’t really a name, anyway.

— No, I said.

Tintin’s finger was white on the trigger, and I thought, I’m going to die here. Then I remembered something. I put my hand in my pocket, took out the stone. I remembered Tintin trying to hit me, but just hurting himself instead.

— The stone says she’s telling the truth, I said.

It was total bullshit, but I saw some of that light dimming in his eyes, like some kind of reason was taking hold again, like he was starting to be that real person he sometimes pretended to be.

— Yeah? he said.

I could tell he wanted to be convinced, he needed to be convinced. He didn’t really want to hurt the girl. He was just afraid she’d hurt him, that she’d tell the doctor what he’d done and he’d pay for it, that Biggie would make him pay. Biggie was a ruthless motherfucker when it came to punishing his soldiers.

— Yeah, I said. I swear. That’s why I’m standing over here. We do this, it’ll go bad for us. Bad luck. Bad vodou.

I said
we
instead of
you
, cos I figured that might help him get some perspective.

Tintin’s gun was wavering even more now. I turned to the girl again.

— Listen, you got to promise us, I said. Promise you won’t say you saw us here.

— I don’t even know your names, she said.

— Yeah, but you know we’re Route 9. Listen – just promise, please. You say anything, we’d have to come back and find you.

I felt like an asshole saying that, but I had to make Tintin put down the gun. I was shaking inside at the thought of what he’d do if her clothes were off, and I kept seeing my sister. Marguerite was flashing in my eyes like those red fireworks, like the hot shadow of something you’ve been staring at in the sun, something that burns itself into your eyes.