Chapter 7 – Niki
Chapter Seven
NIKI
It's a strange feeling to be happy knowing that you are being badmouthed by two adults a mere thirty feet away. Between the new waitress and the line cook, Andy’s getting an earful about how she needs to stay away from me.
Neither of them like me, which means Andy’s got some decent adults on her side.
If I were standing in their shoes, I’d be reading Andy the riot act.
Stay away from that boy. He’s trouble. You’re only going to get hurt, and by hurt, I mean probably dead.
I’ve got a baby sister, a whole five years old, and if I caught her near a Rider, I’d have to lock her in her room for a month.
It’s why I don’t spend money on shit like Bam.
I’m socking it away so that by the time Julie is in high school, we’ll be living in the suburbs with Julie going to one of those schools that makes you wear plaid skirts and blazers.
A school like Clark goes to…well, not his school, obviously.
I roll a toothpick from one side of my mouth to the other as I picture what’s taking place near the ice maker.
The new waitress is saying that I’m bad news, I’m part of a gang that does bad stuff.
The new waitress doesn’t look like she’s one to curse.
She was dressed like a mom with a food stain on her shirt that her work apron will cover.
Bob, the line cook, is standing to the side with his arms folded and the lion’s head tattoo on his biceps popping off.
He doesn’t say anything but only offers grunts of agreement whenever the new waitress makes a good point.
Even though those two adults are right to warn Andy that I suck, somehow I can’t let that be the last image of me in her mind, which is why I’m walking her home.
That and because the Pipefitters are still nursing their eighth refill of coffee.
At this point, they’re probably running on nothing but caffeine and anger.
The bell above the entry door to the café jangles, and soon I see two pairs of scuffed brown work boots in my periphery.
I glance over my shoulder to see the new waitress and Andy standing by the pie case looking out the window at us.
No matter what these assholes say, I can’t be provoked, or the new waitress will lock Andy in her room for a month.
“You like your pie, boy?” the one nearest to me says. It’s the one with the hair, both on his face and his head.
I shove my fists in my pockets and keep my mouth sealed shut.
“Do you like your pie sweet or tart?” the man presses. When I continue to be silent, he rambles on. “I like them sweet. Sweeter the better. If your girl is tart, you make her eat some pineapple. You ever try that, boy?”
There’s a light tap on the back of my head. “You too good to answer?”
The bald man has taken up space to my right. The two Pipefitters now stand on either side of me, boxing me in.
Technically, the diner is in what’s called no-man’s-land.
No one owns this territory. It’s a buffer zone between Pipefitter’s north and Rider’s large sprawling territory that runs south of Cherry Street all the way to the river on the east and to the highway on the west. Basically, anything that happens here doesn’t impact the two gangs.
Technically. In reality, though, if I get beaten up, then the other Riders would be honor bound to avenge me.
If the Pipefitters lose, then they’d probably accept the loss and sweep it under the carpet.
What are they going to do? Send a squad after me?
That’d be them admitting that some teenager bested two of their veterans.
“You’re a little far from your territory. No one looking out for you either. Thought the Riders always ran in pairs,” says Bald Guy.
“His pair is the girl, and since he’s afraid to talk, he probably is a girl too. You got any balls in those drawers, boy, or are you one of those no gender fucks?” Beard taps me again, and this time, it’s not so light.
I step sideways and duck just as Beard’s arm sweeps toward the space where my neck was a moment ago.
He loses his balance when his arm meets nothing but air.
I kick his feet out from under him, and he falls into Bald Guy’s arms. Before Bald Guy can shove Beard away, I punch Bald Guy in the nose.
Blood spurts like a fountain. “I’m going to fucking kill you, boy!
” Bald Guy roars. He drops Beard, who stumbles and falls to his knees.
I stomp on the back of his knee, and then when he reaches for me, I kick him in the face.
He slumps to the ground. One down. One to go.
Bald Guy’s got long arms and, like I noticed earlier, wily moves. “It’s sad you gotta die so young,” he says as we circle each other.
I keep quiet as I watch for an opening. I see his shoulder move, and this time, instead of ducking the punch, I lean into it, meeting the blow and forcing a kickback.
Bald Guy wasn’t expecting that move. I bum-rush him, ignoring the pain of the blow to my cheek which was strong enough to cut my skin.
He punches me again, which I take before I bash my forehead into his.
He totters backward, shaking his head as if to clear his vision.
I meet his temple with my fist. One tap and then another.
He drops to one knee. His hand scrapes against the dirt.
I close my eyes against the spray of pebbles and dust and stoop low, kicking my leg out.
The heel of my boot catches his shin. I kick again, haul myself upright, and then run forward, tackling Bald Guy around the waist. I take him to the ground, my big hands around his throat, pressing, pressing, pressing until he’s out.
I drag myself upright and stagger toward the diner where Andy, the new waitress, Bob, and the customer at the other end of the counter are standing outside.
The new waitress has a phone in her hand.
She looks at Andy’s face and then at me.
With a shake of her head, she grabs Bob and shoves him inside.
The customer frowns before shuffling off to his car.
Andy stands there with her arms at her side, like a SIM character who hasn’t been told to move.
Blood on my face. Blood on my knuckles. I look like a terror. I try to grin, but it hurts. “You been watching long?”
She nods, but it’s real slow. “These two bad guys?”
“Yeah. Said some stuff they shouldn’t have.” I hold out my hand. “You ready?”
Lots of people will take a hand that holds money. Almost no one holds a bloodied hand. She slides her palm against mine. I close my fingers over hers and feel my heart soar.
Sometimes violence is the answer.