The Hard Bounce - [30]

“No!” Seven screamed when Junior walked toward the door. “I can’t tell you! Please! These people, they’re crazy. They’ll kill me!” Flecks of bloody foam formed at the corner of his mouth. For what it was worth, the guy was scared off his cracker.

“Blah, blah, blah. Stop being such a cliché,” Junior said, whapping the top of Seven’s bald head like Benny Hill.

“And what a loss you would be, but that’s not our problem,” I said. “First of all, they never have to know it came from you.”

Junior said, “Second, what do you think we’ll do to you if you don’t tell us? We’re gonna fuck ya, then kill ya. We’re not gay.”

Seven looked at us both, confused.

I glared at Junior. “Point is, we’re going to hurt you. A lot.”

Junior closed his eyes and shuddered violently in his imaginings. “Grande mucho.”

Seven’s eyes bulged white as he looked back and forth at the two of us. His head dropped. “Sid’s Vids on Comm Ave. By BU,” he said in a whisper.

“Who do we talk to?” I asked.

“Sid,” he said snidely. He felt around the inside his mouth again. “I think you cracked my tooth, asshole.”

Junior kicked him right in the face with a size-twelve Doc Marten. Seven’s head bounced off the wall like a tennis ball. “There. Now you can be sure.”

With great effort, Seven simultaneously tried to crawl into a corner and stay conscious. I stalked him slowly across the floor. “Those kids out there? You ever-and I mean ever-come across them again?” I booted him a shot to the ribs. Seven wheezed and flopped over. “You say one fucking word to either one of them…” I kicked him again.

“Or look at them…” Junior punched him solidly on the thigh, sending a vicious charleyhorse through the muscle. Seven looked like he wanted to scream, but there was no air left in his lungs from my kick.

“Or breathe on them…” I kicked him again, and he went fetal.

“Don’t even think too hard about them,” Junior said, adding the heel of his boot to the fray. “That would also be bad for you.”

“Have we made ourselves clear here?” I asked. Kick.

Seven wheezed dryly before he managed to mouth a “yes.”

“Got that, you G.G. Allin wannabe motherfucker?” Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

He was still wailing hoarse yesses at us as we walked out the door. Probably be a while before he’d be singing again.

I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t feel good.

Real fucking good.

Paul sat on the wide hood of the Buick, hugging himself. His skin tone still wasn’t a color I would consider healthy. He looked like he could puke at any second. Credit to the kid, though, he was hanging in like a trooper.

“Tammy took off,” he said. I felt bad about how we had put her in that situation. I consoled myself with the thought that she’d be fine after she listened to a few Dead Can Dance albums. Maybe sacrificed a goat. Who knows what cheers up a Goth kid, anyway?

“Now what?” Junior asked.

“Yeah. What are we going to do now?” Paul rubbed his hands together, the excitement perking him back up. This was all one big adventure for him.

The gig was shaping up to be a long evening of indiscriminate violence. “First, we drive you home,” I said to Paul.

“Aw, man! C’mon,” he whined. “I hook you guys up with Baldy and the videos and you’re gonna do me like that?”

I handed him another hundred. He shut up. “We appreciate your help, Paul, but we need to take it solo from here.”

His eyes were full of Benjamin Franklin, but there was disappointment in his voice. “No, no. That’s cool, I guess.”

“Where can we drop you off?” Junior asked.

“Forget it. I’m gonna go to the Square,” he said. “Besides, the mom’s boyfriend has been drinking his unemployment check away all week. Best to stay mobile, you know? Later.” He flashed us a peace sign and was off.

Junior and I silently watched him off for a moment. Junior said, “Boo?”

“What’s up?”

“Every goddamn time I hear something like that…” Junior shook his head.

“Yeah.” I felt for Paul, though he seemed pretty well adjusted to his situation. The two of us knew all too well the art of adaptation. Either you made your way within your shitty life or they found you dangling from an extension cord in the janitor’s closet.

As I went to light a smoke, I noticed a tiny smear of Seven’s blood on my finger. I wiped it off on my pants leg.

Junior started Miss Kitty’s engine and gunned it, making her roar. “Now what?”

“Let’s go rent some movies.”

“Ugh. That was terrible, Boo. That was like, Steven Segal script terrible.”

“Just drive.”

Chapter Ten

Sid’s Vids sat sandwiched between a Vietnamese restaurant and a Store 24 on Commonwealth, right down the block from where the BU campus began. The window facing the street looked like it last met Windex sometime during the Cold War. Sun-faded videotape boxes sat limply on display. I did a double-take.

Videotapes? Even I, the man with the beeper, owned a DVD player. The titles popped up more red flags than a Chinese Army parade.

Caddyshack 2.

Joe vs. the Volcano.

The place didn’t even hawk good videotapes.

Obviously we’d found the right place. The piece of real estate the store occupied didn’t come cheap. And Sid’s Vids wasn’t working too hard to interest customers off the street. The money wasn’t coming off rentals. The only thing missing was a neon sign flashing