Preston drives, flooring the accelerator the whole way. On the other side of the highway, we watch the whole flock of pink and yellow cars fly by in the opposite direction. "I hope we're not too late," I say faintly, suddenly realizing how tired I am. Maybe it was all the heat.
Preston doesn't say anything, just drives even faster, finally sliding us into the parking lot with the handbrake when we arrive. The building is still standing, at least, but it's hard to tell much else from the outside. The lights are on.
Pres throws open his door and steps out of the car, rushing inside, but it takes me a little longer.
The handle is hard to pull. And then it's hard to stand, hard to walk.
When I finally get inside, through half-open eyes cast downward I see an Asian body on the floor, in a pool of blood, and an Asian mechanic huddled over it - Tara, I realize, still in her rebellious phase. She's sobbing, thick mascara running down her cheeks in clownish stripes; she looks like Brandon Lee in The Crow.
"I'll never forgive you," she says, without looking up. "I loved him."
Ed speaks, causing me to look up and see him for the first time, and everyone else gathered around. "You didn't know him, hon." He's got a shotgun hanging down in one hand.
"I loved the idea of him!" she shouts back.
Ed sets the gun down and puts a hand on her shoulder for comfort. "When this is all over, you'll still have the idea of him. But right now, we've got other things to take care of." He points toward me and Preston, looking up briefly as he does, but then doing a double-take. "Dan, you know you've got some blood on you?"
Everyone suddenly looks up at me, and my tired eyes are probably the last to reach the bloody spot on my shirt over my stomach. I start to fall over, but Preston catches me again, easing me then onto the floor.
"Jesus, he must have gotten some glass from that window he fell through..." he explains, and it sounds right to me.
It always hurts when you scrape things, but the expectation can stop you from realizing how badly it's messed you up. It reminds me of when I was a kid, climbing...
"Dan, remember when you were a kid, climbing that chain-link fence?"
Yeah, I was just about to say that. Who said that - Sparky? All I actually express is a confused look in his direction.
"You had cuts all over your arms and legs. We put you in the wagon and made the dog pull you home."
It's true. I miss that dog. But how does he know all this.
"Dan, I'm your brother! That's what I've been clumsily alluding to this whole time!"
I open my mouth to speak, but just leave it hanging there retardedly.
"Dan, don't speak," Kailey says. "I have to tell you something, too. My senior year of high school, my friends convinced me to ask this older guy to prom because he could get us alcohol for the party. That night, he ditched me and had sex with every other girl there, sequentially and some simultaneously." I just blink for a little while. "Dan, that was you. I'm not surprised you don't remember me."
I do remember some of her friends, though, and that one faculty chaperone.
Tara, who has stopped crying and now just looks tired, speaks up, too: "Dan, one time you ordered food from me at a Chinese restaurant. I was out celebrating my birthday with my family, but I brought it to you anyway because I was embarrassed."
Everybody laughs. That is funny.
"Dan," Preston says, "you pretty much cut my penis off. So you see, you touched all our lives."
Hearing all the details of a life I lived but don't really remember provides me a feeling of masculine satisfaction in my final minutes. I try to flex so I'll look permanently strong when the rigor mortis sets in. Then I dream of my Amita.
---
These are some of the songs we've been hearing around the garage today - check 'em out on iTunes!
Broken Bells - The High Road (Columbia)
Gorillaz - Some Kind of Nature (Parlophone)
The National - Bloodbuzz, OH (4AD)
The Black Keys - Unknown Brother (Nonesuch)
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
- acceleration, pt. 9 -
Amita's code unlocks the door like much-needed magic. In this moment, I want to thank her, to hold her. I miss her. But I keep my mind on the mission, slipping through quietly, leaving the two unconscious bodies outside in the dirt. From what I can already see, the Asians' garage is even more gaudy and ridiculous than Alignment - neon lights, shiny plastic, chrome. Decals and banners in graffiti style show Chinese characters or generic words like "URBAN" and "SPEED". We're in relative shadow back by the lockers and offices, but I know anyone could easily walk in at any time, so I gesture to Preston to keep moving.
We stay close to the wall and peer around the corner, heads stacked totem pole-style, to take a look at the garage floor. The cars are hideous, with spoilers, looking like Hot Wheels.
"This is what they fix here?" I blurt out, but Preston hushes me, clearly better able to restrain his disgust.
There's no one out there working, and silently I hope it's not because they're already at Alignment, torching the place with everyone inside. I try to extinguish the morbid thought, but it gives me an idea of my own.
"Pres," I hiss in a whisper. "Gas cans!" More sibilant sounds. If there were anyone in the room, they'd have heard me.
He looks puzzled for a moment, then registers comprehension, then uncertainty. "That's pretty serious," he says. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "This is just how I do things."
He shakes his head in frustration, then stands halfway up and starts moving toward the shelves near the front doors. I follow behind him, watching as he pulls down several orange containers of gasoline, full to varying degrees.
He hands me one. "Then this is how we do things."
We empty them out, two by two, coating every surface with an even slicker sheen and filling the air with the familiar smell of the accelerant. And when they're all empty, and the garage is an engine ready to fire, we try to find a vantage high enough to ignite it without being consumed.
It's a stack of metal boxes reaching up to a windowsill; from there, we can reach the roof. "It's stupid, but it could work," Preston says, hopefully.
I give him a boost up, and then he offers me a hand, but I decline: "Thanks, but I can help myself." Again, the frustrated the head shake. He leads the climb to the window, and then onto the overhang of the roof, breaking the glass fiercely with his foot on his way out. He doesn't bother offering me another lift up.
I try to balance on the empty pane and take one last look at this nightclub of a repair shop before flicking open my lighter and tossing it down.
The room ignites explosively, almost throwing me off the building as I climb the overhang. Through skylights, we can see the fire raging inside, and I wonder if the building will even hold up. "Jesus," Preston says, astounded. "We set this place on fire."
Suddenly, another explosion rocks the structure, and I lose my footing, sliding down the inclined roof toward a now-shattered skylight. I catch the edge, barely, but the momentum of my fall sends me swinging back and forth above the groping flames, and I quickly lose that grip. But something else catches my arm - Preston's hand, finally allowed to give the help I refused.
"DAN," he shouts over the intense noise, "I NEED YOU TO TRUST ME."
I do, more than myself. I always have. "I trust you," I tell him, words he probably can't hear, but can read on my lips.
He pulls me up from the fire, back to my feet. The grip becomes a heartfelt handshake, briefly, before we turn and sprint toward the front of the garage, where a ladder leads down to the car.
We stay close to the wall and peer around the corner, heads stacked totem pole-style, to take a look at the garage floor. The cars are hideous, with spoilers, looking like Hot Wheels.
"This is what they fix here?" I blurt out, but Preston hushes me, clearly better able to restrain his disgust.
There's no one out there working, and silently I hope it's not because they're already at Alignment, torching the place with everyone inside. I try to extinguish the morbid thought, but it gives me an idea of my own.
"Pres," I hiss in a whisper. "Gas cans!" More sibilant sounds. If there were anyone in the room, they'd have heard me.
He looks puzzled for a moment, then registers comprehension, then uncertainty. "That's pretty serious," he says. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "This is just how I do things."
He shakes his head in frustration, then stands halfway up and starts moving toward the shelves near the front doors. I follow behind him, watching as he pulls down several orange containers of gasoline, full to varying degrees.
He hands me one. "Then this is how we do things."
We empty them out, two by two, coating every surface with an even slicker sheen and filling the air with the familiar smell of the accelerant. And when they're all empty, and the garage is an engine ready to fire, we try to find a vantage high enough to ignite it without being consumed.
It's a stack of metal boxes reaching up to a windowsill; from there, we can reach the roof. "It's stupid, but it could work," Preston says, hopefully.
I give him a boost up, and then he offers me a hand, but I decline: "Thanks, but I can help myself." Again, the frustrated the head shake. He leads the climb to the window, and then onto the overhang of the roof, breaking the glass fiercely with his foot on his way out. He doesn't bother offering me another lift up.
I try to balance on the empty pane and take one last look at this nightclub of a repair shop before flicking open my lighter and tossing it down.
The room ignites explosively, almost throwing me off the building as I climb the overhang. Through skylights, we can see the fire raging inside, and I wonder if the building will even hold up. "Jesus," Preston says, astounded. "We set this place on fire."
Suddenly, another explosion rocks the structure, and I lose my footing, sliding down the inclined roof toward a now-shattered skylight. I catch the edge, barely, but the momentum of my fall sends me swinging back and forth above the groping flames, and I quickly lose that grip. But something else catches my arm - Preston's hand, finally allowed to give the help I refused.
"DAN," he shouts over the intense noise, "I NEED YOU TO TRUST ME."
I do, more than myself. I always have. "I trust you," I tell him, words he probably can't hear, but can read on my lips.
He pulls me up from the fire, back to my feet. The grip becomes a heartfelt handshake, briefly, before we turn and sprint toward the front of the garage, where a ladder leads down to the car.
- acceleration, pt. 8 -
We stay low to the ground and out of sight as we're circling around to the back of the building. There's more activity back in the front that we can't see anymore - engines revving, hilarious voices yelling nonsense. All the commotion covers the sound we make while Pres and I exchange more words than I think we ever have.
"If anything goes bad in there, your only priority is to get back to the garage, got it?"
He sighs. "I'm not gonna leave you. Nothing's gonna happen."
We work best this way, side by side, not having to look each other in the eye. This way, it's not just a dominance game - whose head is held higher, whose ears fold back against his head.
Our glances fall at the same time on a small, blue door in the cement wall. Next to it, there's a metal case like a fuse box that must house the security controls. We look side to side in the darkened lot for signs of the other team - nothing.
"You ready?" Preston asks. This time, I do look him in the face, and nod my head simply.
"On three. One, two..."
We break for the door, but as we do, it starts to open slowly, affected surfer accents coming out soft and then louder. We shift course urgently toward Preston's side, toward the hinge of the door, and take cover behind it when it swings wide.
It falls back closed, sealing all sound between the inside and outside and leaving two skinny guys in muscle shirts standing in its place. They're already reflexively lighting cigarettes, not looking at where we're pressed against the wall, and we act just as quickly, instinctively.
We take one big step toward the pair of them, and in the same motion, my elbow falls hard on one's neck as Preston's other leg comes forward to sweep the ground out from under the second. Both fall hard to the ground, and neither has time to react before our closed fists come down in their faces, turning out the lights.
The moment just hangs for a second. Then I pick up their two cigarettes, handing one to my friend and clenching the other between my teeth. I have to cover it from the wind while I take the lighter from my pocket and ignite the barely-singed end. We smoke them for just a second, taking in the victory, and then throw them in the loose dirt.
"Not bad for our first Double Dragon," he says, and I agree.
"We looked really good."
"If anything goes bad in there, your only priority is to get back to the garage, got it?"
He sighs. "I'm not gonna leave you. Nothing's gonna happen."
We work best this way, side by side, not having to look each other in the eye. This way, it's not just a dominance game - whose head is held higher, whose ears fold back against his head.
Our glances fall at the same time on a small, blue door in the cement wall. Next to it, there's a metal case like a fuse box that must house the security controls. We look side to side in the darkened lot for signs of the other team - nothing.
"You ready?" Preston asks. This time, I do look him in the face, and nod my head simply.
"On three. One, two..."
We break for the door, but as we do, it starts to open slowly, affected surfer accents coming out soft and then louder. We shift course urgently toward Preston's side, toward the hinge of the door, and take cover behind it when it swings wide.
It falls back closed, sealing all sound between the inside and outside and leaving two skinny guys in muscle shirts standing in its place. They're already reflexively lighting cigarettes, not looking at where we're pressed against the wall, and we act just as quickly, instinctively.
We take one big step toward the pair of them, and in the same motion, my elbow falls hard on one's neck as Preston's other leg comes forward to sweep the ground out from under the second. Both fall hard to the ground, and neither has time to react before our closed fists come down in their faces, turning out the lights.
The moment just hangs for a second. Then I pick up their two cigarettes, handing one to my friend and clenching the other between my teeth. I have to cover it from the wind while I take the lighter from my pocket and ignite the barely-singed end. We smoke them for just a second, taking in the victory, and then throw them in the loose dirt.
"Not bad for our first Double Dragon," he says, and I agree.
"We looked really good."
- acceleration, pt. 7 -
We arrive at the Asians' garage, where an unrealistic number of workers are moving in and out of the building with crates and tools and various things. We can tell they're getting ready for something.
"For a race?" Preston asks.
"For a raid," says a female voice from behind us. We turn around to see the mysterious Hispanic mechanic, Amita, standing high up on a storage crate. Moonlight through the clouds lights her face and her hair flowing behind her. She looks worried, or sad, as though she already knows what's going to happen.
"Then Sparky and the girls are in danger!" Pres says.
"Not if we act fast," I tell him, though I'm not sure I believe it myself, and then look back to Amita. "What are you doing here?"
"Trying to help you," she says, now showing some tears of frustration.
"Well, we don't need help," I tell her gruffly, turning away and setting my eyes again on the garage, where spiky-haired young men and women are piling into their neon vehicles.
"You do if you want to save your family," she says, assertive now, her eyes dry. "I have the code to the back door."
Preston, feeling like an awkward bystander in the tense conversation, asks her, "Why are you helping us?"
She says, "Because if they drive you out, they'll come for my family next. So take care of it, now."
I grin, excited to hear her giving commands again. "After we drive them out, I'll be coming for you."
She gives a faint, halfhearted smile back. "I'll be waiting," she says.
Something tells me she won't. "Come on," I tell Preston. "Let's go."
"For a race?" Preston asks.
"For a raid," says a female voice from behind us. We turn around to see the mysterious Hispanic mechanic, Amita, standing high up on a storage crate. Moonlight through the clouds lights her face and her hair flowing behind her. She looks worried, or sad, as though she already knows what's going to happen.
"Then Sparky and the girls are in danger!" Pres says.
"Not if we act fast," I tell him, though I'm not sure I believe it myself, and then look back to Amita. "What are you doing here?"
"Trying to help you," she says, now showing some tears of frustration.
"Well, we don't need help," I tell her gruffly, turning away and setting my eyes again on the garage, where spiky-haired young men and women are piling into their neon vehicles.
"You do if you want to save your family," she says, assertive now, her eyes dry. "I have the code to the back door."
Preston, feeling like an awkward bystander in the tense conversation, asks her, "Why are you helping us?"
She says, "Because if they drive you out, they'll come for my family next. So take care of it, now."
I grin, excited to hear her giving commands again. "After we drive them out, I'll be coming for you."
She gives a faint, halfhearted smile back. "I'll be waiting," she says.
Something tells me she won't. "Come on," I tell Preston. "Let's go."
- acceleration, pt. 6 -
It's starting to get dark now, and Ed declares, "We're closing early, everybody take the rest of the day off." Pres and I start toward our lockers, playing naive. But the others exchange looks, and Kailey steps forward.
"Look, we know what you guys are doing, and we're worried about you," she says. "This is crazy, don't go!"
"We're going," Preston says.
"Fine, but if you're going, then we're coming with you!" Tara says, assertively.
"No, you're not," I respond.
"Okay, but if you're going and we're not coming with you, then at least let us keep the garage open," Sparky offers as a final compromise. "In case something happens."
I look at Preston, who shrugs his shoulders in resigned agreement. "They've got a point. And they'll be safe here."
I groan, but finally agree, "Fine. But keep the goddamn lights off and the goddamn doors locked. We can't risk letting the rice racers find you here." I don't look away until I'm sure each one has nodded their consent.
"You boys should get moving," Ed suggests, looking at his watch. "This plot's gettin' older by the minute. There's a car for you out front." He pauses. "GO!"
"Look, we know what you guys are doing, and we're worried about you," she says. "This is crazy, don't go!"
"We're going," Preston says.
"Fine, but if you're going, then we're coming with you!" Tara says, assertively.
"No, you're not," I respond.
"Okay, but if you're going and we're not coming with you, then at least let us keep the garage open," Sparky offers as a final compromise. "In case something happens."
I look at Preston, who shrugs his shoulders in resigned agreement. "They've got a point. And they'll be safe here."
I groan, but finally agree, "Fine. But keep the goddamn lights off and the goddamn doors locked. We can't risk letting the rice racers find you here." I don't look away until I'm sure each one has nodded their consent.
"You boys should get moving," Ed suggests, looking at his watch. "This plot's gettin' older by the minute. There's a car for you out front." He pauses. "GO!"
- acceleration, pt. 5 -
The next morning, everyone's trying to work as usual. But Ed gives me a knowing glance, which I pass in slow motion to Preston. Sparky intercepts it, giving me back a head nod, an attempt at cool, for which I smack him in the ear.
Suddenly, the already-slow motion gets even slower, heads turning as the metal garage door peels open and Tara walks in: shirt tight, breasts almost exposed, leather bracelets studded, short hair spiked.
Not the Tara we know. One of them.
Everyone is staring for reasons of their own, looking for once at the girl no one looks at. She answers by scowling, and yelling, "What the hell is everyone looking at?" She picks a car at random and pops open the hood, leaning hard forward to inspect some arbitrary component while purposefully displaying her breasts to everyone still rapt in attention.
"Well, she's finally good for something," I conclude, breaking the spell that held us all.
"Times like this I wish I still had my D," Preston says, in response.
"It's just a phase," Ed assures himself.
Meanwhile, Tara storms into the bathroom, where I'm pretty sure I can hear her throwing up from anxiety.
Suddenly, the already-slow motion gets even slower, heads turning as the metal garage door peels open and Tara walks in: shirt tight, breasts almost exposed, leather bracelets studded, short hair spiked.
Not the Tara we know. One of them.
Everyone is staring for reasons of their own, looking for once at the girl no one looks at. She answers by scowling, and yelling, "What the hell is everyone looking at?" She picks a car at random and pops open the hood, leaning hard forward to inspect some arbitrary component while purposefully displaying her breasts to everyone still rapt in attention.
"Well, she's finally good for something," I conclude, breaking the spell that held us all.
"Times like this I wish I still had my D," Preston says, in response.
"It's just a phase," Ed assures himself.
Meanwhile, Tara storms into the bathroom, where I'm pretty sure I can hear her throwing up from anxiety.
- acceleration, pt. 4 -
That night, Pres and I meet Ed at the garage after everyone's gone home. When I arrive, I hang up my jacket in my locker, and start walking over to Ed's office.
Something scares me shitless when a figure rolls out on a dolly from under a car. It stands up, goggled face staring into my face, and says, "Dan, do you remember your childhood?"
Finally, it registers, and I can breathe. "Jesus Christ, Sparky, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?"
He takes the goggles off his face and wipes his hands on a rag. He looks apologetic, but he's laughing a little, which in my still-agitated state pisses me off a lot. "Sorry, man, I was just doing some extra work on this one. I'm here late a lot of nights. Don't you ever wonder how cars get fixed when nobody actually works?"
"I hadn't," I tell him.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asks me, unwrapping a piece of gum from his pocket with his dirty hands. He offers me one, and I shake my head vigorously no.
I tell him, "Nothing, you should go home," knowing what it will be like if he's allowed to take part in this meeting.
Just then, I hear Pres yell from the direction of Ed's office: "Dan, get in here, we have secret shit to discuss." Just perfect. Sparky's eyes light up.
I spend the rest of the night telling him to be quiet every time he pipes in with a stupid idea.
He's definitely not allowed to come with us tomorrow night.
Something scares me shitless when a figure rolls out on a dolly from under a car. It stands up, goggled face staring into my face, and says, "Dan, do you remember your childhood?"
Finally, it registers, and I can breathe. "Jesus Christ, Sparky, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?"
He takes the goggles off his face and wipes his hands on a rag. He looks apologetic, but he's laughing a little, which in my still-agitated state pisses me off a lot. "Sorry, man, I was just doing some extra work on this one. I'm here late a lot of nights. Don't you ever wonder how cars get fixed when nobody actually works?"
"I hadn't," I tell him.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asks me, unwrapping a piece of gum from his pocket with his dirty hands. He offers me one, and I shake my head vigorously no.
I tell him, "Nothing, you should go home," knowing what it will be like if he's allowed to take part in this meeting.
Just then, I hear Pres yell from the direction of Ed's office: "Dan, get in here, we have secret shit to discuss." Just perfect. Sparky's eyes light up.
I spend the rest of the night telling him to be quiet every time he pipes in with a stupid idea.
He's definitely not allowed to come with us tomorrow night.
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