Elbow laughed, throwing his head back as his body turned around in a circle, allowing him to put on the best show he could for his supposed crew before he stepped up into Tate’s face again. “Drugs? Ain’t ya a little bit clean cut to be snorting and injecting shit?” Elbow reached out to pinch at the material of Tate’s hoodie and I heard Slater hold his breath as we both realized that was where one of the wires fell back.
I sat upright, leaning over my knees as I waited to see what happened, preparing myself to have that kid’s ass for breakfast if I needed to. I really didn't want that to happen. Our reputation in this town was already screwed without adding child cruelty to our list of fuck ups.
“I used to be,” Tate sighed back, “But I’ve got a big game on Friday night, and I’m hiding a shoulder injury. If I don’t get something, I’m fucked. The whole town is fucked! One tackle and we’re talking broken bones. I heard that…” He swallowed down, sucking in a big breath before pushing it back out. “I heard that you Hounds were protective of your town, that you liked to make sure things ran the way they should and that people should be kept happy. I need to win this game to keep folks in good spirits. I need to stay on the team. I thought you could hook me up with something, anything. I don’t care what it is, just something that will take the pain away and let me play.”
“That’s what you heard about the Hounds of Babylon?” The humor and sarcasm in Elbow’s voice was evident. “I think someone’s been lying to you at bedtime, brother.”
“What?” Tate asked.
“I said, dumbass, that whoever gave you that little piece of information is wrong. We help no one. This is our town and we, along with the MC that we belong to, own everything about all of y’all. You're ours to play with as we see fit. You're ours to fuck over, to ruin, to use as our little gophers. You get what I’m saying, twitchy?” Elbow reached up to jab Tate on the shoulder again, causing him to falter back just a step before he righted himself and puffed his chest out.
“No. No, I don’t, and I don’t want a history lesson. I just want some drugs, so if you can point me to where I need to go, I’d really appreciate it.” Tate’s voice had taken on a new kind of firmness, and in any other circumstance, the boy in front of him would be on his ass in three seconds flat.
However, he was being patient—something else I’d told him to be.
Good man.
“Move the fuck along,” Mikey practically yawned from beside his buddy. “We haven’t got anything to brighten up your day, so keep on jogging.”
“I know you’re lying to me,” Tate muttered. “You’re the Hounds. I've heard all the stories. The Hounds deal in drugs, or they used to or some shit, I don’t know. I just… need… a hit.”
“You need a hit?” Elbow asked, taking a step closer until there was nowhere else for him to go.
Shit.
I was about to get ready to jump out when a figure to the right of the group caught my eye, and Jedd started to cross the road. His hands were deep in his pockets, his head down and his beard in a hair tie as he tried to look like any old regularpasserby. For a moment, it worked, all heads turning to him before focusing back on Tate.
Tate’s swallow could be heard in the microphone before he answered Elbow. “Yeah, I need a hit.”
“You asked for it.” Elbow swung his arm back, his fist obviously aiming directly at Tate’s face, until the night skies filled with flashing lights of blue and red from around the corner, and the sirens that hadn’t been there before suddenly cried out in the air.
As if right on cue, the police car tore down the street, aiming straight for the kids we’d just had exactly where we wanted them, and I knew our mission was done and fucked before it had ever really begun. My shoulders sagged in defeat, my eyes on the gang of youths as they all turned their heads quickly and took off in different directions—all except the one who Tate had managed to grab hold of by his fake cut and hold in place.
Elbow.
Damn!
“What the fuck is he doing?” I cried at Slater.
“I. Have. No. Idea,” Slater whispered.
“Dammit!” My hands flew down on the dashboard in front of me, my foot swinging and kicking at anything that was resting in the footwell. “DAMMIT!”
“Shh,” Slater snapped back, holding a hand up to me so he could listen. If Tate hadn’t been standing there with some punk kid in his grip and a cop car parking right beside him, I would have smacked my brother up the side of his head and told him that if he shushed me one more time, I’d be reminding his face what my fist felt like. None of that seemed important as I looked forward again and watched as HowardSutton got out of his car.
Elbow tried to fight his way out of Tate’s grip, tugging, twisting and eventually shrugging out of his cut before taking off as quickly as he could like he had death on his tail.
“Tate Hanagan,” Sutton said slowly. My eyes scanned the road for any sign of Jedd, and when I spotted him standing in Sutton’s peripheral vision, I knew what he was thinking of doing. If he chose to take out the chief, we were all screwed.
Tate cleared his throat once, sniffed, then waited. Not that we could have gone to him anyway. We were statues, fixed in place because he’d decided it was a good idea to grab a hold of that little Elbow prick.
Standing before the chief, he dropped the cut in his hands behind him, the blinding lights of the police car flashing all around and providing enough of a distraction for Sutton to have not seen what he’d thrown to the ground.
“Evening, Chief,” he answered politely, stepping up to him before he walked around, forcing Sutton to follow him in a half circle until Sutton’s back was now turned on the leather on the ground, and that’s when I slowly began to sit up, and the realization of what Tate was doing hit me a minute or two too late.
Sutton shook his head, slamming both his feet down, shoulder-width apart, before he hooked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Quite the little troublemaker these days, ain’t ya, boy?”
“No, sir. I’m just minding my own business, out on a run.”
