Chapter 16
AFTER OVER A week of radio silence from the Lions, Rajan starts to think Nick is playing some kind of sick game. The point of kidnapping Simran was to get Rajan back on the payroll. So why aren’t they calling?
All he does at home is think about what the Lions’ next move will be.
All he does at work is guess which of his coworkers is on their payroll.
All he does at Hillway is wonder if he’s putting everyone he talks to in danger.
At this point, if Nick reappeared, Rajan would beg for a job, just to end this torture.
Which, maybe, is the point.
Ahead of his next probation meeting, he stands in the kitchen, tuning out his brothers’ latest hallway cage match while he finishes a mandatory gang violence module for the social worker Kat works with.
It’s full of stupid advice that would likely get him shot if he tried it with Nick, but he obligingly presses the correct answers.
Then he pushes away the old laptop and sighs.
The fight in the hallway still hasn’t stopped.
“Dad said—”
“If you tell him, I’ll—”
Sukha cuts himself off when Rajan steps into the hallway.
“Do you guys do this every morning? Just try to kill each other?”
“Go away,” Sukha says. That’s when Rajan notices Yash is holding something. A bag of what looks suspiciously like...
Yash quickly holds it out. “It’s not mine.”
Sukha snatches it out of Yash’s hands with a glare. “Kind of like how my room isn’t yours, but that doesn’t stop you—”
“Yash,” Rajan interrupts. “Go to your room for a sec. I wanna talk to Sukha.”
Even Sukha seems a little surprised by that. Yash backs up, eyes wide. Rajan waits until his youngest brother has closed his door before rounding on Sukha.
“What the hell is this?”
“This?” Sukha holds up the baggie. “It’s your whole personality before you went to jail.”
Sukha always goes for the personal blow. “You want it to become your personality, too?”
“Not everyone is like you. Some of us do it for fun. Some of us aren’t addicts.”
That hit lands. Sukha seems to realize it, too, because his glare falters, as if he’s afraid of what Rajan might do.
Rajan turns and walks over to Sukha’s bedroom.
“What’re you doing?” Sukha’s voice changes, from anger to something else.
Rajan kicks open the door. Because now he’s mad. Sukha doesn’t get it. Rajan never thought he was an addict, either, but here he is, waking up every morning for the past week with actual, physical cravings thanks to the Lions. He may as well be that Oliver guy.
And he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but especially not on his own brother.
He flings open the closet; clothes fall out.
“Just having a look around.” He turns and rifles through a half-ajar sock drawer, then picks up the baseball on Sukha’s desk.
He examines it for open seams before tossing it over his shoulder.
“What else do you have? Meth under your bed? Crack on your bookshelf?”
He’s ready when Sukha takes a swing at him, catching his fist and shoving him back. Sukha staggers, his back hitting the doorframe, and Rajan expects another swing—expects a full-out brawl—but then Sukha laughs, the sound bitter.
“This is so rich. You came back from juvie on such a high horse. As if you’re better than us now. You can’t pretend to give a shit about this family when you’re the one who ruined it.”
Those words ring into the silence. The floor creaks in the hallway, and they both look out to find their father standing there.
Rajan stiffens. His father looms before them in shorts and a faded T-shirt, squinting and rubbing his five o’clock shadow.
He must’ve just woken up. “What’s going on.
” His voice is flat, eyes red-rimmed. Rajan might think he was hungover, but his father is rarely sober enough for that to happen anymore.
Sukha answers instantly. “Rajan barged into my room for no reason.”
“Sukha’s hiding weed,” Rajan snaps. “And god knows what else—”
“Liar,” Sukha shouts, but their father interrupts.
“Enough.” He only looks at Sukha. “Come have breakfast. And apologize to Yash.”
“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Rajan demands. “Tell him to turn out his pockets.”
His father, as usual, acts like he didn’t hear. Just heads to the kitchen. Sukha sends Rajan a triumphant look and follows, picking up the baseball as he goes.
Rajan kicks over Sukha’s laundry basket and leaves for the bus stop.
He and his father spend most of their time ignoring the other’s existence, but this is extreme even for him.
Rajan probably could’ve said Sukha set the neighbour’s house on fire last night and their father would just ask someone to pass the milk. It’s like he’s just given up.
Rajan’s still fuming when he arrives on the Correctional Services floor, just in time for Kat’s last appointment to walk out. Snake Tattoo again. He slams into Rajan’s shoulder as he passes.
“Fucking prick,” Rajan stage-whispers. From the grapevine, he knows for a fact this guy breaches probation more often than he showers. That is to say, not that often, but often enough that he’d be totally screwed if it got out. Sometimes Rajan fantasizes about “letting it slip” to Kat.
But that would be the pot calling the kettle black. He checks his phone as he continues down the hall. Still nothing from Nick.
When he arrives, Kat’s not there. Her chair is swiveled toward the door, as if she got up in a hurry. Rajan, still restless, wanders to the rickety cabinet near the wall. He flips through random books. Opens and closes the blinds. Doodles on the whiteboard. Tries locked drawers out of boredom.
Several minutes pass before he wonders if he got his appointment time wrong.
He should’ve checked with the secretary, but there was a long line.
Technically, he could also ask the office social worker, but then she’s gonna ask him about that gang violence module and he’ll have to pretend he remembers anything from it. Line it is.
He turns for the door, and his shoe crunches over something on the industrial carpet. A sparkle catches his eye—it’s a fine sprinkling of glass. And next to it, near the wall...a photo frame, facedown.
Careful of the glass, he turns it over. It’s the photo of Kat and the boy that’s normally on her desk. The glass of the frame is shattered. He puts it back on the desk and leaves the room.
He’s halfway down the hall when the washroom door swings open and he collides with someone. “Shit, are you—” He stops when he realizes it’s Kat. Kat, wiping her face with a paper towel.
She jolts upon seeing him. He does, too, because her eyes are red. She’s either found an interesting new hobby in the washroom or she’s been...crying?
Kat recovers so fast he thinks he imagined it.
“Hello, Rajan!” The paper towel disappears into her pocket.
She bustles past him. “Let’s talk in my office!
I hope you weren’t waiting long.” She sits at her desk, gesturing to her reddened eyes and nose.
“My allergies always act up in May. Have a seat.”
Rajan sinks into his chair. Kat glances to the photo frame, back on the desk. She puts it in her drawer. When she catches him looking, she explains with a smile. “I don’t want more glass to fall out. The photo fell during my last appointment, and the cleaners won’t be in until evening.”
“It broke on carpet?” This sounds like bullshit. “How’d it get to your side of the desk?”
Kat retrieves his file instead of answering. Rajan glances at the door. Wasn’t her last appointment with Snake Tattoo?
He tries for a moment to imagine he’s Snake Tattoo, sitting in this very chair. Getting irritated with Kat’s never-ending questions, like Rajan. But unlike Rajan, acting on it. Grabbing whatever’s in his reach and throwing it.
But not right at her. To intimidate her, he’d throw it—there. There’s a dent in the drywall right beside Kat’s head. And it’s definitely new.
“How’s Hillway been?” Kat jars him from his thoughts. “Last time, you said you didn’t like your mentor. Is that still true?”
“I never said that.” He feels like an asshole now, knowing what Simran was actually going through. God, he hopes she’s okay. He would ask her, but he’s trying to keep his distance. For her sake.
At the thought, he reaches into his pocket for a toothpick. And winces at the twinge in his shoulder.
Kat notices. “Your work takes too much advantage of you, Rajan.”
She sounds a lot like she suspects he’s working overtime. “You guys got me this job.”
“We could consider other options.” When he shakes his head, she shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind. How’re things at home?”
By this point, he’s gotten used to her swerves. “Well, the tree in our yard fell down yesterday. Missed the roof by inches. So I guess it could be worse.”
Kat smiles, clearly aware he misinterpreted her question on purpose. But she plays along. “Goodness, that’s lucky. Have you called anyone to remove it yet?”
“No. Nobody’s going to care, anyway. Whole neighbourhood is a shithole.”
She chuckles. “You and your family used to live in a very nice neighbourhood, if I read the reports right. Why’d you move? Too many memories of your mother?”
Rajan scowls. “It had nothing to do with Mom dying. My parents couldn’t afford that house in the first place—they had to declare bankruptcy.”
“That’s unfortunate. Did they think they could afford the house before?”
“No.”
Kat’s smile grows confused. Rajan chews his toothpick another moment before putting her out of her misery.
“Some Punjabi people like to flex to each other. Who’s got the biggest house, the most expensive cars, the nicest TV.
You do it so you can say your kids will have a good time growing up.
You do it even if you don’t have the money.
That’s why my parents worked so much. They had to. ”
“Your mom, too? I thought she was sick.”