There may very well be no tracing the body to me, but even so, it would still reflect badly on the town. Especially its mayor and his association with me.
Why didn’t I just face it the night it happened?
But I know the answer before I exhale another breath. Because Drew threatened Madoc, and I was in too much pain to come clean so we could deal with it together.
Hugo was right. I was ashamed, scared, and a coward.
I was never a man.
Kids coasted down one of Weston’s steepest streets, tumbling and laughing as they tried out my old snowboards in the fresh snow.
“Use your feet!” I yelled. “Press your toes to go left, heels to go right!”
They straight-lined, and I winced, predicting the crash before it happened. Some kid named Wyatt collided with Jorge, both flailing onto the powder that covered the broken street underneath.
It wasn’t likely any of these kids could afford a lift ticket, so what the hell. Let them learn to ski anyway.
I held my breath, seeing them both dead on the ground, but then…Jorge started rolling over and Wyatt climbed to his feet. They both threw snow at each other.
Locking my boot in, I cruised down the hill, the club the only thing lit up on the corner with people standing outside like it was a summer night and we were cooking burgers.
I mean, we were cooking burgers, but…
Drew hopped down from his truck, two police officers following him up the snow-covered sidewalk in the otherwise empty downtown.
Why were the police here?
I didn’t see Lance zoom in and cut me off. We both hit the ground, my hand sinking through the snow and grating against the pavement.
“Asshole,” I chuckled.
He just smiled, whipping a dusting of snow at me.
The kids ran and played, a few parents stood about, and it had been a productive year, making what renovations on the clubhouse that we could afford. We were here every chance we got. We ripped up the floor, sealed the cement underneath, repaired and painted walls, fixed the roof, did a little plumbing, and I installed smart locks andcameras. The address above the door read 8 Green Street. So that was what we started calling it. We paid kids a few bucks to do chores, and we had a makeshift bar others sat at and drank, but we didn’t have a liquor license. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but there were no cops here.
Until now.
“What the fuck is he doing?” I mumbled to my friend, watching Drew lead the cops inside.
“He thinks he’s a gangster,” he joked.
Nudging me in the chest, he climbed to his feet, and I did the same, removing my board. We headed down the hill to the club, stepping inside the dark building, couches and TVs spread out where fire engines used to be parked.
Walking to the back of the station, Lance fell in behind me, but I stopped just outside the door to the back room.
“And you can guarantee this supply every week for the rest of the year?” Drew asked one of the cops.
They stood around a table with a large, black duffel sitting on it.
The officer nodded. “After that, you have to find another source.”
I peered at Lance.
“Hugo,” Drew said to the kid lurking nearby.
Hugo approached him, Drew pulling money out of his pocket. “Go get some beers and tell that piece of shit that if he gives you a hard time, I’m going to be a problem.”
The kid couldn’t be more than fifteen.
