Under the Bridge (6 page)

He brightened. “How much?”

I shook it off. “Nothing. I got new ones and the old ones are just sitting there. Come on over in the next couple of days and we’ll bolt ’em on. We’ll work your bearings over, too.”

He smiled. “Awesome.” He set his board down and skated to his buddies at the stairs. Piper and Indy had three dividers stacked up now. Indy cleared it, but Pipe took a digger, his board clattering as he hit the pavement. I laughed as I skated over to them. “Kick it higher, Pipe.”

He got up, rubbing his palms. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have springs in my feet, man.”

Indy hit it again, pulled a one-eighty with the kick, and landed it, wobbling a bit but keeping his balance.

Piper spit again. “You suck, Indy.”

Indy laughed. “Your sister sucks.”

“Ha ha, asswipe. If I had a sister, she wouldn’t be into losers like you.” His eyes twinkled. “Go back to your sponsor if you’re so good, weenie boy.”

Indy raised his chin, showing Piper his neck. “See this, man? No leash attached.” Indy had been offered a sponsorship by a local board shop and he’d taken it, but after a while, the politics and crap of selling out got to him, and he quit.

Piper’s eyes went across the parking lot to Mitchell and his friends. “Speak of the devil.”

We turned, and four skaters—including Corey Norton, who had two local sponsors and was gunning for a national board-company sponsorship—skated around the corner toward Mitchell and his buddies. Corey had taken Indy’s place when he bagged on the sponsorship, and there was definite bad blood between his crew and ours. Corey thought he won the sponsorship over Indy. Not the case. And besides that, Corey was a rich prick.

We watched for a minute as Corey and his crew skated the stairs, shouldering the kids out of the way and moving into their spot. Mitch, who reminded me of a firecracker on wheels, kept skating, holding his ground.

Piper saw me staring. “He can handle himself, Tate. Don’t sweat it.”

I shook my head. “Twelve-year-olds against seventeen-year-olds.
That guy is a jerk.” I watched as Corey rode across Mitchell’s line as he jumped the set of stairs, blocking his landing. Mitchell dodged midair to miss and tumbled down the last two steps, his board flying and landing at Corey’s feet. It bounced and hit Corey’s board.

Corey yelled at him, and Mitchell, on his butt and rubbing his skinned elbow, gave him the finger and yelled something back. Corey, his face twisted and pissed off, bent down, picked up Mitch’s new deck, and slammed it down against the stair rail, snapping it in half and throwing it down.

I set my board down and skated, with Piper and Indy following. Halfway there, I flipped my board up and walked. Piper and Indy joined me. Piper snorted. “Uncool, man. That was way uncool.”

I didn’t say anything, just walked, my eyes on Corey.

Indy bumped my arm. “Tate …”

I ignored him. As we neared, all heads turned. Mitch was on his feet and picking up his busted board. I faced Corey. “What’s your problem?”

Corey stared at me. “He got in my line.”

I faced Corey, then looked at Mitch. Blood ran down his elbow. “You okay, Mitch?”

He nodded, half of his broken board in his hand and a crushed expression on his face. Unless he stole to get a new one, he’d be walking for weeks. I knew chances were he’d steal.

I stared at Corey. “Give me your wallet.”

Corey smirked. “This isn’t your deal, Tate.”

Piper set his board down, standing beside me. “Why’d you do that, man?”

Indy shook his head. “I knew you were low, Corey, but that was really low.”

Corey grimaced at Indy. “Maybe if you put as much time into your board work as you do your mouth, you’d be able to find a sponsor, Indy.”

Indy smiled. “I’m not a sellout, and besides, I could hammer you any time of the day.”

Corey smirked again. “You and me and the vert, man. I’ll walk all over you, same as I did to get your spot on the team.” He paused, then grinned. “Better yet, why don’t you and your crew beg for a sponsor and go up against us at the Invitational? We’ll be there.”

I cut in. “Hand it over, Corey.”

Corey’s face twisted into a sneer. “What, you’re going to rob me?”

Corey’s crew laughed, all but a guy named Stick. Even though he was on the same team, I never knew why he hung with Corey. He was cool. I glanced over at Mitch, and then I swung. My knuckles throbbed, and the jolt of the impact against Corey’s cheek cracked up my arm and into my shoulder as he flew back, twisting away and down to the pavement.

Blood flowed from his nose as he rose, and I rushed him, spinning him around and putting him in a headlock. Three quick rights into his ribs later, I yanked him around, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling him straight. “Give me your wallet.”

Blood streaked down his shirt, his breathing was ragged,
and as I looked in his eyes, I saw fear. He dug in his back pocket, taking his wallet out. I took it with my free hand and threw it to Indy, then brought Corey close, talking low. “You mess with him again and I’ll trash you.” Then I shoved him back.

He skidded on his butt, bracing himself with his arms and gaping at me. “You’re a psycho, man. Total psycho.” He looked at his crew. “Dude’s a psycho.”

I studied him for a moment. “Call the police, Corey. See what happens.”

Silence. He fidgeted. His crew waited. I noticed a family getting out of a sweet-looking Lexus in the parking lot. A man, a woman, and two girls. They stared at the scene, and the lady flipped open her phone, dialing.

One of the girls was my age, and I recognized her from English. Kimberly Lawson. Varsity cheerleader and volleyball player. She was an inch taller than me, and I’m six feet. Superstar girl.

Indy hooted, looking through Corey’s wallet. He took a condom out and held it up. “You hold these for your mom, Corey?” Then he laughed, flicking it at him.

I shook my head, looking at Corey’s ruined face, and I almost got sick. “Knock it off, Indy.”

Indy rolled his eyes, then dug in the wallet again. “There’s eighty bucks in here.”

I glanced at Mitch. “How much was the deck?”

Mitch sniffed, his eyes wide as he stared at me. “Thirty-two bucks at Badger’s.”

I nodded. “Take forty, Indy.”

Indy took two twenties and folded the wallet up. He threw it to Corey.

I looked at Corey. “Get out of here.”

They did, with Corey wiping his bloody nose on his stained shirt as they went. Mitch stood back, away from us. I took the twenties from Indy, glancing at Kimberly as they went in a side door to the church. “Come on, Mitch.”

“Where?”

“Badger’s.”

He smiled, beaming. “Right now?”

I steamed. “Yeah. Right now.”

Indy shook his head. “Tater the superguy.”

I glowered. “Shut up, Indy. Your mouth is going to get you nailed one of these days. You know that, right?”

“Me, nailed? I tried to warn the guy. And let’s see, I haven’t been in a fight in … never. Let’s see about you, though.” He counted off on his fingers. “That guy down at McDonald’s last year, Paul Tyson in the parking lot this spring, Kyle Jefferson in the courtyard, two guys at the park who you literally creamed, that Indian dude who tried to steal your wallet, and now Corey. And that doesn’t count junior high. I don’t have enough fingers for that.”

Piper smiled. “The only reason you never have to fight is because everybody in this city knows your brother. You have an impenetrable shield of Tate armor around you.”

Indy screwed his eyes up. “Whatever. I’m bagging off anyway. Meeting somebody.”

Piper hit Indy’s shoulder. “What’s her name?”

Indy flashed a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I watched as Indy skated away, then turned to Mitch. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Piper looked at me.

“What?” I said.

“That
was
pretty hard-core, Tate.”

I shrugged. “You saw what he did.”

“Yeah, but …”

I turned to him. “But what? He broke the board, he pays for it. Besides, I asked him three times, and it’s not like Mitch could have clocked him.”

“Sure, Tate, I’m just saying …”

I looked at Piper. “You were saying you were going to buy him a new board? Is that it? Because otherwise, I don’t see a solution.”

Piper didn’t answer.

I nodded. “Leave it alone, then, huh? Things are shitty, and I don’t want them shittier. Besides, the cops are going to roll up in a minute. That lady called.”

Piper nodded, dropping the subject as the three of us walked toward Badger’s skate shop. A moment passed. “So, have you thought about the Invitational?” he said.

The Pro Skater Invitational was coming to the Spokane Veterans Arena in a little under three weeks. Huge pipe, a circuit of pro skaters, and major TV coverage. The deal with this skate tour was that in every city they went to, any local sponsored amateur could compete with other local amateurs
the day before the event. The winner in each city would get a national sponsorship. And it would be televised, which was a huge opportunity for national exposure.

“We’re not sponsored.”

“I know, but have you thought about it?” Piper asked.

“We’re street skaters, and corporate sucks, remember?”

Piper eyed me. “You can tell me that all you want, Tate, but I know you want to go sponsored. I’ve known it since last year. Since Indy bailed on it.”

I shrugged, happier with his not-serious side.

He went on. “Just because Sid and Indy hate the corporate gig doesn’t mean you have to. Or me.”

I furrowed my brow. “You’ve thought about it?”

He looked around, like he was making sure nobody could hear the sinful words coming from his mouth. “Sure. It would be sort of cool, you know? Pros make bucks, too.” He shrugged. “We’d have a chance to get noticed, man. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life making ten bucks an hour doing shit I don’t want to do.”

“I haven’t thought about it.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I had thought about it. A lot. The spoken and unspoken code with the crew was that selling out to the sponsors was as bad as being a politician. But that didn’t make imagining being on top of that pipe, with all those people watching, any less real.

“No sweat. See ya tomorrow, huh? Under the Bridge?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bill Badger owned the Hole in the Wall, on a red-bricked side street in the downtown core, just a few blocks away from the church. Half of his shop held boards and wheels and trucks and just about anything else you would need for skating besides helmets, pads, and any other protective gear. The other half held punker hair dye and racks of earrings, gauges, bongs, incense, and various other counterculture merchandise.

Mitch and I walked in, and Badger sat behind the counter on his stool as usual, popping Tootsie Rolls into his mouth from the huge jar next to the cash register. Badger was a throwback to the heavy-metal eighties. Not even a throwback, really. In the fog of dope surrounding his big head over the last twenty or so years, he’d been caught in a vortex of time.

Probably around thirty-five years old, he once told me he woke up and noticed the century mark had passed, then went back to sleep when he didn’t like what he saw. Badger weighed in at a good 260 pounds, had long, scraggly brown rocker hair, and thought clean clothes were a waste of water. A truly odd recipe of lazy, environmental, hard-core, and hippy made Badger one-of-a-kind.

This week he wore a Black Sabbath shirt with a huge mustard stain on it, and old-school metal blasted through the stereo system in the small place. We walked past the bongs, incense holders, punker hair dye, and rocker posters
and up to the counter, where the skate stuff was. He grabbed the remote and turned the music down, tossing a Tootsie Roll to Mitch. “Today is Sabbath day. Name a song by the renowned band Black Sabbath and you may shop in here.”

I smiled. “Hey, Badge.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Name a song or I’m calling the pigs.”

“Um, ‘Livin’ After Midnight,’ ” I said.

He slumped, pointing to the speakers, which apparently held the answer to the question. “You disgrace the hallowed band Sabbath, dude. ‘Living After Midnight,’ my young sinner, is from another and very respectable band called Judas Priest, which I must say is talented, but not of the Sabbath level.”

Mitch spoke up. “ ‘Iron Man.’ “

Badge grinned. “At least there’s one young soul educated in the historical wonders of where the trash you listen to now comes from. You may both stay in my store.”

“We’re here to get a new deck.”

Mitch put both ends of his busted board on the counter.

Badger studied it. “You just bought this here. What’s up?”

Mitch stuffed his hands in his pockets, grinning. “Some guy snapped it. Tate beat him up, though.”

Badger shook his head. “Violence is never the way, Tate. Gandhi once said to turn the other cheek.”

“Jesus.”

He looked at me. “You called?”

“Jesus said that. Gandhi laid down in front of soldiers or something.”

He shrugged. “They both wore white robe things. Same difference.”

I laughed. “Sure, man.”