Under the Bridge (19 page)

“Yep.”

“If you were to tell me that you found a weapon and would like to give it to me to turn in, that’s your choice. But as we’re not on school grounds, you would not be expelled.”

“What, then?”

She bit her lip. “I would call the police, tell them I was in possession of a firearm that a student wanted to turn in, and sit here until they arrived to take it. I would hope the student would stay with me. I’m sure the police, seeing his intentions, wouldn’t charge him with anything. They would question him and most likely contact his parents.”

“You could lose your job for this.”

“Actually, no, I couldn’t. I would report what happened factually. I haven’t seen a firearm on school property. A student needed to talk off school grounds, and it is my job to talk to students.”

“Sid told me you were cool,” I said.

“How is he?”

“Fine.” I looked at her. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes. Very. I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch your backpack.”

I nodded. “Call the police, Ms. Potter.”

Forty minutes and a ride in a cop car later, I sat staring at the wall of an interrogation room at the police department. All this over a stinking gun I wanted to turn in. Ms. Potter waited outside, after insisting that she give a statement to the detective in my support. That in itself surprised me again. She was going to bat for me, and I didn’t really know how to take it.

A few minutes later, I groaned. As the door opened, the skinny detective who’d visited the house about the murder walked in. My dad followed him, his work clothes still covered in soot from his welding job. Mom followed him. Neither looked happy.

The detective sat across the table from me, motioning for my parents to take a seat next to me. Dad refused, standing with his arms crossed. My mother sat. I assumed everything
was being recorded, because the cop introduced himself formally as Detective Larry Connelly of the Spokane Police Department. He opened a notebook, took the cap from a pen, then looked at me. “Please state your name.”

I began, but my dad cut in. “Close your mouth.”

Detective Connelly looked at my dad. “We need a statement, Mr. Brooks.”

My dad’s face was a rock. He kept his eyes on me. “Did you give a statement to the officer who brought you in, son?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Was it the truth?” he said.

“Yes.”

He looked at Detective Connelly. “You got your statement, and unless you tell me right now that the purpose of this little talk isn’t to charge my son with anything, I want a lawyer.”

The detective dropped his pen on the notebook, frustrated. “I can’t promise anything, Mr. Brooks, but I can tell you that as of now, I am simply following up on a firearm-related incident concerning your son turning in a weapon to his counselor. I have no reason to believe your son gave a false report.”

My dad took a moment, his eyes searching mine, and then he looked at Mom. She nodded, clearing her throat. “Go ahead, Detective.”

The detective picked up his pen, then scanned the street cop’s report. “Tate, you didn’t name the person you acquired the pistol from. Who was it?”

“I didn’t acquire it. I took it from him so he wouldn’t shoot me.”

He nodded. “Okay. Who was this individual?”

“A guy.”

“And his name?”

I had to play this straight. If they knew Will was involved, they’d know Indy was, too. “He didn’t show me his birth certificate.”

Detective Connelly clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles working. “This isn’t a game, Tate. It’s serious.”

“I know. That’s why I gave the gun to my counselor.”

He nodded again. “And that’s great. But I need to track down who had the gun. You say in your statement that you had a conflict with a person, they pulled a gun on you, and you took it from him. I need more than that.”

I shrugged. “That’s what happened.”

“And you won’t tell me anything more?” he asked.

“Why should I? Doing the right thing might help you, but it only gets me fucked on the street.”

Silence. The detective studied my face. Another moment passed. Then he spoke to my mom. “Mrs. Brooks, I believe that what occurred with your son Tate has to do with the murder of Lucius Singleton. I believe that your son knows more about the incident than he told me the night I visited your home. I believe your other son is involved somehow, too.”

My insides shriveled, and I wondered what was going on. I glanced at my dad, then back to the detective. “I don’t know
anything more than you do. I swear. A guy had a beef with me, he pulled a gun, I took it from him. End of story.”

Detective Connelly wrote something in his notebook. “Do you know an individual by the name of William Bradford?”

I didn’t know a William Bradford. “No.”

He smirked. “Otherwise known as ‘Will,’ who happens to be a friend of your brother, Indy.”

I swallowed. “Yeah, I know him.”

“And he’s a drug dealer?”

My mind raced. If I pegged Will as the guy I got the gun from, it would put Indy in a bad situation. And me, too. “I’ve never seen him deal drugs.”

“Have you heard that he deals?”

“You think Will killed Lucius?” I said, cutting to the chase.

“I don’t know who killed him,” Detective Connelly said.

“Me neither. And I’m not lying. I don’t know anything about Lucius.”

“What have you heard about it, then?”

“Probably the same as you. You brought Will’s name up.”

He looked at me. “Who did you get the gun from?”

I frowned. “Who do you think I got the gun from?”

“I think you got the gun from William Bradford. You and he have had problems, right?”

“We’ve had our differences.”

“And you’re not going to tell me you took the gun from him, are you?” the detective said.

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to snitch out Will until I talked to Indy, but I ached to. “You seem to have all the answers. I guess you can take it from there.”

“You’re not doing anybody favors here, Tate. I’m not here to burn you. Really. I just need to solve a murder.”

My dad cut in. “My son turned in a weapon to the proper authorities. If he’s broken the law, charge him. If not, we’re leaving. End of story.”

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to beat it out of you.”

I leaned my head against the seat of Dad’s truck. Mom had taken the car, and Dad had insisted I ride home with him. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

He slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt. The car behind us honked. He ignored it. “Tell me, Tate.”

“Dad, that’s it! I wish I did know! I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I swear. I don’t know anything about Lucius.”

He looked at me. The car honked again, this time longer. “Did you take the gun from this Will guy?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

I sighed as more cars honked. “Will you please go? You’re blocking traffic.”

He gunned it, yanking the steering wheel and turning
into a parking lot. He took a breath, then cut the engine. “Tate, I trusted you in there. I trust you now. Why didn’t you tell him who you got the gun from?”

A flash of anger, wicked and sharp, ran through me. “Because Indy is dealing dope for him.”

Dad sat back, staring at the ceiling of the truck. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck. And I’ve got to get Indy out of it before it all comes apart, Dad. That’s why. His entire future is on the line, not to mention his life.”

“Great. Your brother is dealing dope.”

“No, your son is,” I snapped. “Are we done?”

He fired up the truck. “Where is he? Take me to him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tate …”

“I said I don’t know! If I did, I’d get him! What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing, Dad?”

He hit the steering wheel with his hand. “This is out of control! Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“Why would I? Because you give a crap? God, Dad, what did you think would happen? You kicked him out.” He stared at me. “You think he’s just been hanging around being a good boy?”

“Don’t, Tate. Stop it. I’ve tried—”

I cut him off. “No, I won’t stop it. You haven’t done anything! Nothing! He’s in trouble, and a big part of it is because everything has to be
your
way! Always your way, Dad, and now he’s fucked, so if you want to get pissed at anybody, get pissed at yourself,” I said, then opened the door.

He stared at me. “Where are you going?”

I sneered. “Where do you think?” I grabbed my board and slammed the door shut. As I ran, I saw Dad throw the truck into gear and spin around, trying to follow me, but I cut into a space behind a gas station and hopped a fence.

Angie’s house surprised me in that it was nice. Small, but not a white-trash dump like I expected. I walked up the trimmed and edged walk to the front door and rang the bell. Nobody answered, so I rang again, hoping somebody was home. A minute later the door opened and Angie stood there, her makeup smeared and hair mussed as she rubbed her eyes. “What?”

“Is Indy here?”

She smirked. “No.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. Last I saw him, he was passed out on my bedroom floor. You woke me up, asshole.”

I resisted the urge to slam her face inside out, because I needed help. “He was here?”

“Yeah.”

“You guys went to a rave last night?”

She yawned, nodding.

I studied her face. “He’s in trouble, Angie. You know it, too.”

She stared at me. “Maybe with you he is.”

“No. I’m talking about Will. And his uncle.”

She moved to close the door.

I stopped her. “Tell me what’s going on, Angie.”

“Fuck you, Tate. It’s none of your business. And you’d better watch out, because Will has this thing about you. It’s called hate. And you don’t want to mess with him.”

I’d tried. Given it the good go, and it hadn’t worked. In a flash I had her by her T-shirt, and I pushed her in the house. She tried to get away, but I yanked her to the floor, sitting on her stomach and pinioning her arms against the tile.

Her eyes met mine. “You going to rape me now? Go ahead. Get your rocks off before you die, because you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

I looked down into her eyes and saw something there I didn’t want to see. Utter and complete fear. Because of me. Of what I was. My anger disappeared, replaced with a sick feeling in my stomach. “You know more than I do, Angie, and I have to help him. Please.”

She shook her head, her hair splayed on the floor. “I don’t know anything.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. They don’t tell me anything. Every time his uncle comes to the apartment, they kick me out.”

“Did Will kill Lucius?”

“I don’t know.”

I breathed, still sick and disgusted, then got up. She stayed on the floor. I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

She looked up at me, her fear replaced with spite. “The mighty Tate Brooks is scared, isn’t he? And you know what? You should be. You should be scared, Tate.”

“You’re scared, too, Angie. Aren’t you? You had no idea what you were getting into with Will, huh?”