I throw down the blackened rag I’ve been holding onto.
‘I don’t get you, Echo. Kids is gettin’ caught up with the Flood brothers, stealing cars and shit, and all you care about is Evelyn goddamned Wallace.’
‘I care about us not losing our land! We don’t need to go after them Flood brothers, Canyon P.D. or that self-righteous sheriff will do that for us. I’m sorry about Noah, all right? You did right by him gettin’ him out. But it was his decision to skip school in Canyon. The Floods don’t come out this way; they’re not our problem. So don’t you go creating trouble for yourself.’
He lets me go. I blow out my cheeks, go back to fixing the engine. Save my fury for another day.
Friday night, I’m stood in front of the mirror in my attic room at Scotch & Smoke when the music starts from below. The muffled strains of Aerosmith’sSweet Emotioncreep into my room through rough-hewn floor boards, and I know that downstairs, the volume’s cranked up loud as it can go. It’ll blast that way ’til the early hours. Echo bought extra amps and the biggest generators he could find. If he could, he’d have Evelyn Wallace listen to the racket all the way to east Canyon.
Friday night is when we turn out for Rapture’s cause. Our aim is to turn the tide, and maybe one day, the fortunes of this hell hole. We stick two fingers up at Mayor Wallace and her big-money developers. And them college kids, they’ve started to lap it up.
Scotch & Smoke ain’t no honkytonk bar with civilised folk line-dancing in their Stetsons and spurs. We don’t play no country music here, even if this is Texas.
Because fuck them, that’s why.
In about a half hour, the Ubers will start coming from the city. Cars will snake all the way from the highway along the access road as the sun goes down. The young came in their droves before, to the point that we had to start the system of giving out wristbands, to control the numbers. Now it’s a little more ordered, but the bar is still packed to the rafters, with a string of hopefuls lining up outside the door.
I look at my reflection. I’ve tried on a dozen T-shirts, and it’s made me realize the same thing. All my T-shirts are the goddamned same, just different shades.
I settle on a white one, with a small ‘V’ at the front, buttoned halfway. I wear a clean pair of shredded jeans, my same black boots with the buckle. I spit on ’em both to give ’em a polish.
I think about whether Hollie Palmer would prefer it if I wore my leather jacket, then try and shake off any thought of her. She might have requested a wristband, but there’s no guarantee she’s gonna show tonight. It’s not like anyone is meant to know we went on a trip out to New Mexico together. Except for Echo and Reyes, it’s our secret.
But damn it… I want her to show. Something inside me that I can’t explain is stirring. Clamoring to see her pretty face again.
I let my shoulders slump. Something tells me I had nothing to do with her requesting a wristband for tonight.
By the time I make it down to the bar, Chase and Reyes have already taken control of one of the two pool tables.
‘That there is twenty-five quarters,’ Reyes proclaims as I arrive, Chase already at the bar ordering us some cold ones. He’s pointing to a pile of silver coins balanced on the edge. ‘No fuckers gonna git within shitting distance of this table tonight. Specially no fucking college jokers neither.’
‘You might change your mind when I tell you what Nicole is wearing tonight,’ I inform him with a smirk.
I saw her on my way in. Reyes tilts his head to one side. ‘She told me she ain’t workin’ at Scotch tonight.’
‘Well, maybe Echo called her to work a shift, ’cause she’s over there wearing a tight pair o’ Daisy Dukes and the yella O.R. tank top.’
‘Shit,’ Reyes says, the word elongated on his lips.
As if right on cue, Nicole Escribano walks over, hips swaying, sipping on a bottle of Coors Light. Reyes’ jaw drops. She’s almost spilling out of the yellow top withOnly Rapturebranded across it.
Only Raptureusually refers to the bar staff who only serve drinks to those from around these parts, so as not to keep the locals waiting in line. Though, Nicole’s job on a Friday night is to go around collecting empty glasses, rather than to tend bar. One of the barmen – a Mexican Jamaican by the name of Nando – is our dedicated bar keep for the night. He’s also wearing a bright O.R. yellow tank top which contrasts with his dark skin and dreadlocks.
‘Howdy, boys,’ Nicole breathes with a smile, twirling her fancy single braid, popping out a hip and resting her hands on the corner of the pool table, a move which presses her tits further together.
I know why she’s doing this. She wants to fuck with Reyes’ head, because only days ago they agreed they’d stop sleeping together and drop the ‘with benefits’ tag from their friendship. He’s never said so, but I know that Reyes is smitten with her. Always has been. She’s like a pocket rocket. Five feet of curves, ass and sass, topped with a lick of bright red lipstick.
‘There a reason you dressed like a ho?’ Reyes fires at her from the far side of the pool table over the bang of the music.
‘You know me, Reyes,’ she hums playfully as she sips her drink. ‘Looking to git me some action with some college boys tonight.’
Nicole’s daddy was Hispanic, but he didn’t stick around in Rapture for long.
‘Go right ahead,’ Reyes says defensively.
She looks me up and down. ‘Bren said you weren’t gonna show tonight, AJ.’
‘Didn’t have any place else left to be.’