Lone Star (45 page)

“We'll figure it out. We'll talk to Blake when we get home, we'll decide what to do.”

Hannah's gaze was deep in the cobblestones. The top of her bleached white head faced Chloe, who waited awhile for Hannah to speak and then leaned forward and kissed her friend's hair.

“Come on, poodle,” she said. “One way or another it'll be okay.”

Hannah said nothing. Johnny was singing “Smoke on the Water.” Poles and tourists alike were going nuts. Blake and Mason sat at the tables, twenty feet away. It was crazy loud.

“I haven't told you everything,” Hannah said.

Chloe almost thought she'd misheard. “What you just told me is
not
everything?”

“It's not Blake's,” Hannah said.

And then Chloe fell quiet. Really quiet. What was there to say? Through it she heard Johnny's primal scream that no matter what happened, he would never forget smoke on the water. This is what happens when you sleep with more than one person at a time, Chloe thought. Like a bee that leaves a part of itself with every sting, you disperse the essence of your true self among human beings, you divide your good soul into smaller and smaller fragments of what you once were and hoped to be, until all you've got left is suffering, and all anybody who knew you and loved you has left is suffering.

Wasn't she a fine one to throw that stone, Chloe thought,
living in her own melting glasshouse.
That's not fair!
she wanted to cry. She and Mason were just two kids fumbling toward ecstasy. Everything with him had been heavy lead-up. The opening act. Not the main show. The ecstasy was with Johnny two nights ago. That was the above and beyond Lollapalooza.

Like all human beings, when faced with someone else's pain, Chloe couldn't help but dive into an ocean of her own. She blinked, came to. She tried to find something to say to Hannah that sounded like either help or comfort. But the problem was that Johnny stood near his microphone, the electric guitar in his hands untouched, and, unaccompanied, cried out straight into her heart the first verse of “Go Your Own Way.” Except Chloe could swear he sang that loving her
was
the right thing to do. And then the heavy strum of his guitar. And then the chorus. Chloe didn't realize it, but tears were trickling down her face.

Don't go your own way. Don't do it.

“Why are
you
crying?” Hannah said. “Don't cry.”

“I thought I drove you to Bangor to break up with him?” Chloe said. “I thought it was over.”

Everything is waiting for you, my love. Everything is waiting for you, just don't leave me. Chloe wiped her face. Johnny was rasping, gargling shards of glass in his mouth. Instead of a chorus there was operatic gravel pulled through his open throat over and over and over.

Don't go your own way, beautiful girl. Stay with me.

“It was,” Hannah said. “I thought it was. I wanted it to be. But he called and wanted to see me one more time. The last time. And then one more time after that. And then one more. I tried, Chloe, I really did. But you don't know how persuasive men can be.”

Sometimes not even that persuasive, thought Chloe. Gently they blow on you and you float away like anthers of a dandelion. Or they blow you away with “In the Midnight Hour.” Yes, they do, oh yes, they do.

“Do you know what Martyn said to me?” Hannah got a mixed-up, dreamy look. “Young people like me didn't understand
themselves, he told me, and that was fortunate for him, because we could still be hypnotized by those who did.”

Chloe blinked to focus. “Dear God, Hannah.”

“I know. Isn't it something?” She put her hand on her chest. “I guess that's what I am: hypnotized.”

Chloe rubbed her face. Not for a moment did she stop hearing Johnny looking for another place to take her when it was all over, as dusk fell, as darkness descended on the things that mattered most.

“It could still be Blake's, though, couldn't it?” Chloe asked. Why was her tinged voice so small?

Hannah shrugged neutrally. “Blake and I . . . no. He was such a gentleman. He either wore something, or pulled out. And we cooled it off until after the prom. I wanted it that way. It'd be more special after, I told him. We kept it at everything but. Like you and Mason. Blake said he didn't know how you two managed it. By the time we got together again, it was July, after graduation, not even a month ago. I'm over a month late, not five minutes late. It was the end of May or early June that this thing happened. I'm telling you. It's not Blake's.”

“Well,” Chloe mumbled, suddenly cold. She shivered even though it was hot in Warsaw, hot and over the top. Anarchy, mad beasts, semiquavers, a thousand lifetimes, dancing men about to be hanged, and heartbreak, all in one reconstructed colorful plaza. “Math has always been Blake's weakest subject. Let's hope he can't count.” It wasn't true. The psychology of young restless women was Blake's weakest subject.

“Yeah.” Hannah's shoulders were heavy. “Look, I know how this seems.”

“Okay.”

“I can't excuse it or justify it. I just have to work through it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Just be my friend, Chloe.”

“I am, poodle,” Chloe said. “Maybe you can talk to Martyn?”

“Oh God. Blake might be able to help me with Planned Parenthood in Augusta, drive me four hours in his mother's car, pay for it maybe, but Martyn? Never. He'll want me to keep it, and then what am I going to do?”

Chloe didn't see another option. “What do
you
want? To go to Augusta?”

“I don't understand. Is that code for something?”

“Yes, Hannah. It's code for what do you want to do about your baby?”

“Shh! And don't call it a baby. It's a pregnancy, that's all. I don't know what to do. I want to go to school. I want to move away. I certainly don't want to live with Blake in Fryeburg. Which option will help me achieve that?”

“Talking to Martyn.”

“But I can't! He'll want to marry me. I can't! That's even worse.”

“Don't worry,” Chloe said. “He'll hypnotize you. He'll make you okay with it.”

“Stop joking.”

“Who's joking? Look”—she pointed—“get hold of yourself, Blake's coming. We'll talk about this later, ok—”

Suddenly Chloe stopped speaking as if her tongue had been sliced out. Across the square in the far corner, near a beer bar, she spotted the dark messy shape of Emil, standing almost invisibly in black clothes, against the wall, watching Johnny with ominous eyes, watching the people throwing money into Johnny's guitar case.

Chloe didn't even say excuse me to Hannah. She bolted.

“Emil!” she yelled, sprinting as fast as she could across the square.

Behind her, she heard Blake yelling no no.

Through the microphone she heard Johnny yelling NO NO.

She paid them no mind. She chased Emil down one of the side streets. And the bastard ran! A two-hundred-pound dude ran from a girl. He didn't stop to confront her. He ran like the craven thief that he was through the alleys, hoping to find a place to hide.

Behind her, she heard Johnny yelling, heard Johnny and Blake shouting things. They were running after her, perhaps to protect her. Or stop her. She didn't know. She wouldn't stop. Or be protected.

All she knew was that a bad man did something terrible, and one way or another she was going to force a reckoning.

Unable to lose Chloe, Emil made a wrong turn and got cornered in a dead end. He stopped running and spun around.

“Leave me alone, you bloody maniac,” he panted, putting his arms out. “You're going to get sodding hurt.”

“I'm already hurt,” she blurted. “Give me my money, and I'll leave you alone.” She ran up to him, panting herself, unable to catch her breath.

“I don't know what you're on about.”

Because she was unable to speak, on furious impulse, she grabbed his buttoned shirt. It ripped. They grappled as he tried to pry her off him. “What are you doing?” he yelled in his perfect English. “Get the fuck away from me, you crazy bitch.”

“No! Give me my money!” She pounded Emil's chest.

“It's not your money, sweetheart,” Emil said, grabbing her arms and shoving her away.

“Hey! Don't touch her!” Blake and Johnny were in the alley. Now that they were here, she became only more incensed, as if she now had backup. Blake shoved Emil in the chest. Emil staggered back, nearly falling. Blake and Johnny got between him and Chloe, like a wall. A standing, panting wall.

“It
is
my money!” she shouted.

“She's right, dickweed,” Blake said. “One way or another you're going to give us back what's ours.”

“No! It's my fucking money.” Emil spat and pointed to
Johnny, his own face a mask of distorted aggression. Chloe was glad Blake and Johnny were in front of her. “You're such a fucking bastard. You stole from me again, got me into heavy shit
again
. You'll pay for that, I promise you.”

“You're fucked up,” Johnny said. “You mean I took back what you stole? I told you I'd pay you. Why didn't you listen?”

“Because I didn't fucking believe you.”

“Well, you should believe me now,” said Johnny. “Because you'll never see another cent from me.”

“You're all mouth and no trousers, mate, like always. I never saw any money from you. But you were happy to take my candy, though, weren't you? Did you have one of your cronies steal the passports off Rolando? He paid me big time for those! When I find out who your local is, he's dead, you hear me? Is it Chris? That boy is fucked—because of you.”

“Why don't you quit with the threats,” Blake said, “and give us back our money and our backpacks, and we'll be on our way, and you can get back to doing whatever you were doing before we came along. What was it, mugging old ladies? Hop to it, cowboy.”

“Your bags are at the bottom of fucking Vistula,” Emil said, not budging. “Go jump in after them.”

“You're going to give me our money and our fucking backpacks,” Blake repeated.

Chloe became afraid. She almost wanted to pull Blake back to safety.

The three men squared off, threateningly close, face-to-face, glare to glare.

“Nothing's yours. It's all mine now. Your friend here owes me.”

“But
I
don't fucking owe you!” Blake yelled. “
She
doesn't fucking owe you!”

Yeah, Chloe wanted to echo, jumping up and down, trying to squeeze in between them. Yeah!

“His friends are my enemies. Everything you have is mine.”

“Emil,” Johnny said. “You took their passports, their cameras,
their cash. You took their backpacks that had their personal shit. You took more than I ever owed you. And you didn't wait a single fucking day. I came back to Warsaw to pay you.”

“I don't give a toss why you came back. I don't believe you. And I couldn't wait. How about that?” Emil swung. Johnny ducked. Emil swung at Blake. Blake didn't duck fast enough. Emil's fist caught him on the cheekbone under the eye. Blake swung at Emil, but Emil danced back as if in a ring. Blake went for him again, and now it was Johnny who got between them.

“Blake, no,” Johnny said quietly. “Just flank him.”

Panting, Blake stepped sideways, one of his arms reaching back to keep Chloe away. She knew she was too close. But Blake was too close.

“Just give us our stuff,” Blake said, wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve, “and we won't bother you.”

“I will fucking bother
you,
” Emil said. “Stay out of it. It has nothing to do with you.”

“You take our passports and two grand of our money? I'd say it has something to do with me.”

Everybody's fists were clenched, except for Johnny's. His hands were straight like motionless boards. He was barely breathing. Blake's heaving wide denim shoulders were in front of Chloe. Chloe tried to push him out of the way, to get into Emil's face again.

“In one second I'll call for the cops,” she yelled. “You can explain to them why you robbed nine people.”

Emil laughed. “Yes, please! Do it. Johnny loves the coppers, don't you, Johnny-boy?”

“Shut the fuck up.” That was Johnny. “Give them back their money. I'm not asking, Emil. I'm done asking.”

“
You
give her back what you took from her,” Emil said, shoving a threatening but stock-still Johnny in the chest with both fists. “This is all on you.”

Johnny's body faltered, but his feet didn't move from their
spot on the stones. What had he called it in Sestokai? An immovable stance. “
I
didn't take her fucking money.” They were verbally hot, their bodies inching closer. And Blake wasn't stepping away.

“Yes you did. You're the one who robbed everybody, me included.” Emil had no means of escape, yet he stared fearlessly into Johnny's face. “I don't give a shit how you two threaten me. Tell your friend to stand down unless he wants some serious hurt. You're never getting the money.” Emil glanced darkly at Blake. “You'll be lucky to leave here with your life, yank. You picked the wrong horse to back.”