Over My Head (Wildlings) (17 page)

And with those words, something weird happens. I feel Chico stiffen in my grip. Fedora lowers his gun.
All
the bangers lower their weapons and stare at the floor.

"
Pardon, tío
," Fedora says. "I didn't know."

Chaingang and I just look at each other, thinking WTF? I reach out with all my senses, looking for that
ping
that lets me know he's a Wildling. I don't get anything.

The old man nods. "You will all go now. But you will do as the young man said and leave his people alone. There will be no reprisals for what happened here today. Your weapons stay here."

"Not so fast," Chaingang says. "These ass-wipes shot Josh."

The old man's eyebrows go up. "So I saw. But he seems fine to me now."

The bandas have put their weapons on various tables and are moving toward the door. A couple of them hoist up the guy Chaingang took down. Chaingang keeps looking from them to the old man, plainly unhappy that he's not getting to take any retribution.

"These men are not the immediate danger," the old man tells him. "The danger that you should be worried about comes from your
own
kind."

Chaingang shakes his head. "The Ocean Avers would never—"

The old man cuts him off. "I didn't say your affiliation. I said your
kind
." Then he turns to me and adds, "I would appreciate it if you would let Chico go as well."

I meet his gaze for a long moment before I give Chico a shove away from me. Chico doesn't even turn in my direction. He only has eyes for the old man.

"I will give your message to Fat Boy," he says. "There will be no problems. I swear."

The old man gives him a slight nod and Chico scurries out the door after the other gang members. I hear their cars starting up, the crunch of tires on the dirt as they leave the parking lot.

Chaingang's gaze never leaves the old man. He's obviously pissed. He lifts the gun he's holding, points it at him.

"So what's your deal?" he asks. "Are you some kind of bandas godfather? I caught the bit about the pueblo.
Halcón
—that means hawk, right?"

I start and look at the old man in a new light.

"You—you're one of
los tíos
," I say, remembering what Solana told me about them, how they can turn into hawks or see through hawks' eyes or something.

"The uncles?" Chaingang repeats, still pointing his gun at the old man. "I don't care if you call yourselves the aunties. I just need to know what's going on here."

"No, it's cool," I say. "Put down your gun. Agent Solana told me about them. They're like these warrior shaman."

That makes the old man smile.

"Yes," he says with a chuckle, "we are very fierce."

He stands there smiling, just this skinny old guy, but something in his eyes says he's not really joking. Still, I find myself smiling back at him.

"So are you here to help me?" I ask.

"I'm here to eat my enchiladas. The floor show was just a bonus."

He turns and reaches into a dusty backpack on the floor by his table, pulling out a piece of cloth. When he tosses it to me I realize it's a T-shirt.

"You might want to change what you're wearing," he says. "The
policía
don't take kindly to people walking around the way you are."

I look down at my chest. My shirt's a mess, drenched with blood, and there's a big hole in it where the bullet tore through. But at least I shifted back
with
my clothes.

As I peel off my shirt, Chaingang finally lowers the gun. He looks at it for a moment, then lays it on a table. I'm mesmerized by my own bare chest. There's not even a scar. But there's blood all over the floor. A
lot
of blood. I stare at it with a morbid fascination, my senses flooded with its metallic smell.

My
blood.

"So now what?" Chaingang asks. "You here to do some kind of Yoda thing?"

That pulls me out of the little trance I fell into. I drop my bloody shirt into the pool of blood on the floor and put on the one the old man threw over to me. I guess it was white once. Now it's greyed from age and use. But it's clean. I can smell the detergent on it. Lemon. I focus on that instead of the blood.

When I look up, I see the old man shake his head in response to Chaingang's question.

"I told you, I'm here to eat my enchiladas," he says. "And you should go. You have bigger problems than some boys playing at being gangsters."

I think about all those guns the Kings had, about getting shot by one of them. That seems a little more serious than boys playing around to me.

"We will speak again," the old man says to me, "but you have other challenges to face before that time comes."

"Nuh-uh," Chaingang says before I can respond. "You're not pulling that crap on us—the mysterious old guy who knows more than he's saying. If you've got something to say, no games. Tell us now."

The old man gives him a mild look. "And if I don't?"

Chaingang's mouth opens, but then he just shakes his head.

Yeah, I think. Maybe it's not such a good idea to push our luck with a guy who could send all those Kings running away like a bunch of little girls.

"Why can't you tell us now?" I ask anyway.

He smiles. "Because until you have faced your challenges, I won't know if you're the right one."

"Right one for
what
?"

He studies me for a moment.

"I will tell you this," he says. "You are only as weak as you think you are. Expect to be defeated and you will be."

"Seriously?" Chaingang says. "That's all you got?"

But the old man doesn't answer. He sits down at his table and goes back to his enchiladas as if we're no longer here.

"I could find better advice in a fortune cookie," Chaingang mutters.

The old man continues to ignore us.

Chaingang and I exchange glances. I see the frustration on his face. But then he shrugs and starts for the door. He steps outside. I follow him to the door but I stop and turn back.

"Um—thanks, I guess," I tell the old man.

Still nothing. He lifts a forkful of enchilada to his mouth and chews.

"Will you at least tell me your name?" I try.

That has him lift his head.

"Sometimes I answer to Goyo," he says. "You can call me Tío Goyo."

And returns to his meal once more.

I wait a beat longer before I finally follow Chaingang outside to the hot parking lot. All the cars are gone, though there's still a little dust in the air. The only vehicles left are Chaingang's Harley and that rusted pickup that must belong to Tío Goyo. Then my gaze is drawn across the street to where a tall, dark-haired man is standing, looking our way.

At first I think he's just some resident of the barrio, out for a stroll. He must have stopped to watch all the Kings come tumbling out of the taquería and peel away in their cars. But he doesn't look Mexican—his skin's really pale, for one thing—and though people don't always have a lot of money around here, they dress better than this. He's wearing a shabby black suit with no shirt under the jacket and he's barefoot.

I'd think he's just some homeless guy, except I'm getting a serious Wildling
ping
from him. I got nothing like that from the old man inside the taquería and Tío Goyo's obviously got some kind of powerful mojo going on. But this stranger is really rocking the Wildling vibe, and there's something in the way he's looking at us that makes my skin crawl.

"Chaingang?" I say.

Chaingang nods before I can finish.

"Yeah, I see him, bro," he says.

Marina

The afternoon drags. It's one of those days that seem to go on forever, which isn't helped by the endless circle of my thoughts. Between worrying about Josh and my little sisters, and this business with Ampora, I can't get my brain to shut up. And then I have the joy of how, in between each class, Juan Ruiz makes a point of letting me see him make a gun shape with his fingers and pretend to shoot me.

Just before last class he comes up behind me.

"After school,
pocha
," he says.

He's right in my ear. There's nothing I'd like better than to turn around and punch him right in the smirk that I know is there. But I know it's the last thing I should do. If I get caught fighting again, it won't be a trip to Ms. Chandra's office. Principal Hayden will have no choice but to suspend me.

And you know what? I'd deserve it.

So I clench my fists, hold my tongue and let him slip away into the crowded hall.

I'm also getting a little worried at how I can't seem to keep my temper in check lately. I goof around with Des and Josh all the time, giving them a push or a tap on the shoulder. That's not new. What's new is my wanting to do some serious damage to people like Juan and my sister Ampora.

Where is this coming from?

Sea otters aren't particularly aggressive animals, so far as I know. I should ask the Wildlings who come to my blog if they've noticed anything like this in themselves. The Wildlings I know aren't exactly a great barometer to judge anything against. Theo's always been a tough guy, getting into scraps. But then I think of Josh. He's never been like that. Except, ever since he's become a Wildling, he's a lot more aggressive. Maybe it's just the situations he's been in that have made him that way.

I have a flash from that video monitor we saw the night he escaped from ValentiCorp.

Josh as a mountain lion, killing that researcher.

But now Des says he's facing off with the Kings …

God, what if people like Congressman Householder are right? What if we
are
dangerous?

Great. Something else to worry about.

"Hey!"

I turn to find Julie and Des coming down the hall toward me.

"So what happened?" Julie asks.

"Yeah," Des says. "Did you get busted for your girl-on-girl with Ampora out on the football field?"

I start to raise a fist to give him a punch, then realize what I'm doing.

What is
wrong
with me? Okay, so I usually give him a whack when he comes out with something like that, but
why
is that my response? Because it's not that far a stretch from joke-punching Des to wanting to have a serious go at Ampora or Juan.

I let my hand fall to my side and just nod instead.

"But he let us off with a warning," I tell him. "And we have to go see Ms. Chandra to work out our issues with each other."

"Dude," Des says with sympathy. "I'd rather have the suspension."

"I wouldn't," Julie says. She's sympathetic, too, but I can also see the worry in her eyes. "What's going on?" she adds.

"It's too long a story," I tell her. "We all have to get to class."

Julie nods. "I'll catch up with you after school."

I think of Juan's warning and his finger gun. He and the rest of the Kings are going to be waiting for me just off school property. Waiting for me and Ampora. And they won't just be making pretend guns with their fingers.

Do I really want Julie caught up in that as well?

"You know what?" I say. "I'm ready to cut class. Let's hang in the library and catch up."

Des raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, come on," I tell him. "I've skipped school before."

"To go surfing, yeah. But this? I don't know, Lopez. Fighting. Going to the office. Cutting class. Dude, between you and Josh, I'm seriously losing my bad boy cred around here."

Julie and I look at each other and smile.

She reaches up and puts her index finger under his chin. "I hate to break it to you," Julie tells him, "but no one ever saw you as a bad boy."

He puts a hand over his heart. "Just for that, I'm going to class. You two can gossip without me."

Julie makes kiss-kiss noises as he leaves.

"So dish," she says as we head for the library. "I know you and Ampora have never been tight, but you've always taken the high road before today."

I sigh as I walk along beside her, trying to figure out what to tell her. We hurry because the halls are emptying and we don't want to get caught out here without a pass. But when we turn the corner to the library, I stop dead in my tracks. It takes Julie a second longer, then she stops, too.

"Oh, crap," she says.

No kidding.

Erik Gess is standing between us and the library door. He looks a mess. His eyes are puffed, his face flushed, his clothes dishevelled, and he's got a serious case of bed hair. But it's the wild-eyed way he's looking at us that makes me check his hands to see if he's turned into some gun-toting whack-job. The fact that they're clenched into fists at his thighs, empty, doesn't instill a lot of confidence that he's operating with a full load. Not with that crazed look in his eyes. But maybe it means I have a chance of subduing him without anybody else getting hurt.

Of course, doing that is going to totally blow my cover.

I know the kids at school have gossiped themselves into thinking Josh knows some kind of kung fu, but no way am I going to convince anybody that I do, too.

Everybody's going to know that I'm a Wildling.

Chaingang

Damn. I see Vincenzo as soon as I step out the door and figure, this is it. He's tired of waiting on me and he's making his own play. Why the hell did I leave that gun inside?

Josh moves to my side. He glances at me and I guess he sees something in my face.

"Do you know that guy?" he asks.

"No."

It's not a complete lie. I don't know the first thing about Vincenzo, except that he's stronger than hell and he wants Josh dead. But I don't
know
him. I don't want to know him. I just want him dead.

Fat chance that's going to happen any time soon.

But that doesn't mean I'm just going to roll over for him.

I don't have the gun. I'm still holding my crowbar, but it didn't help me all that much the last time. The only difference is, now I know how fast and strong he is. Maybe I can work with that. Use that speed of his against him. Psyche him out, get him to commit, then hit him hard from a direction he's not expecting.