2

james dean - the wrecks

"bad hair, black jeans. not cool, suits me. girls won't date me, guys all hate me."

The first time I met Nate for a drug deal was about a month and a half after he found me in the hallway having a breakdown. It was right in the middle of a very stressful semester and my mid-term English grade hadn't been on my side, so I stopped Nate outside of his construction tech class and asked if he could get me more lorazepam. At first, he had laughed at me, like seriously laughed.

"Charis, you can't be serious." He said after a small delay. "Talk to your parents, you need counseling. Not black market drugs. Do you know what TJ would do to me if he knew we were having this conversation?"

I scoffed. "So this is just self-preservation then?"

"Look, Charis, I'm sure your parents can get this for you the right way-"

"You don't know shit!" I shouted, reaching for my wallet and yanking out a wad of cash "Is this enough? It's all I have on me right now."

After a second, Nate took the money, stuffing it messily into his backpack before passing me an orange bottle. "Not a word, Forrester. Not a word."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you rock n' roll was dead sweetheart?"

I turned around, watching Nate disembark his motorcycle in the strip mall parking lot. "Didn't anybody ever tell you you're an ass, sweetheart?"

The boy grinned, coming to stand across from me on the sidewalk. "All the damn time, Forrester."

Together, we walked towards the end of the cluster of buildings, the California sun beating down on us as we moved, attempting to make it look to outsiders like we were just a couple out doing couple-y things, not a drug deal about to happen.

Just in case.

We stood behind a small chain branch of Bayveiw's most notorious Eastern European restaurant, rumored to be a favorite meeting spot for the Polish cartels operating in the area. I knew it was all bogus, but Dirk Frick insisted he had seen Iain Lords- Bayview's biggest drug lord- having dinner with a skinhead back in the ninth grade. We'd believed him then, but it just seemed foolish now.

When we got to the back of the restaurant, we slipped behind a large green metal dumpster, and I tried to ignore the smell as I waited for Nate to hand over the drugs. Nate had a habit of picking terrible places for our meetings: abandoned water parks, suspicious convenience store aisles. In general, they were places where TJ looked like he'd rather die than let me out of the car.

Nate reached into his jacket pocket, tossing me a bright orange bottle. "There's a months extra in there, free of charge."

"Nate, you didn't have to do that." I said, forking over the money. Nate had always been understanding about what I needed when it came to anxiety, and how absent my parents were: they didn't even let me see a psychiatrist, insisting that I didn't need it. Now they might have to pay for rehab, if they were ever to find out what I was doing and who I was seeing.

"It's no big deal." Nate insisted. "You need the drugs far more than I do."

"Well, thank you." I said, hiding the pill bottle underneath my Bayview: Class of 2022 hoodie inside the tote bag hanging over my shoulder. Now I had to make the walk all the way back home and get inside without my parents finding out I'd even left the house in the first place. If the Super Bowl was on, however, I could probably scrape by without a care in the world.

"Do you need a ride?" Nate asked, jerking his head in the direction of the parking lot. "I've got a spare helmet."

"As long as you promise to take me anywhere but home. TJ went to some frat party, I don't really feel like spending time alone with my parents tonight. Is Barnes & Noble still open?"

"It's hilarious that you think I would last five minutes in a book store, Princess."

I was about to shoot back something equally snarky when an ear-splitting popping noise made my heart stop. It sounded almost like a firework going off, but there were no bright lights in the air. My stomach churned as I realized what it must have been.

A gunshot.

Nate met my gaze, extending one arm to keep me behind him. "Stay back, Forrester. I might need you to run for help."

"Are you crazy? Staying here alone is the last thing I should be doing!"

We rounded the corner to the back of the strip, where the service and employee entrances were for each store.

It smelt like garbage and metal. And blood.

Three men stood behind Paradise Salon and Tan, a fourth man lying on the floor behind them, clutching at his chest as blood pooled around him.

"That's what you get, Lasku! You think you can just rip us off!"

I turned to Nate, dropping my voice to a whisper as we crouched behind another dumpster, this one rust-colored red. "Nate, is that who I think it is?"

"Iain Lords?" Nate nodded. "In the flesh."

Everybody in Bayview knew who Iain Lords was. Lords was involved in everything from drug smuggling to gun-running to prostitution. He owned multiple clubs across our part of California, and the cops had been chasing him for years. If something bad happened in Bayview, it was probably Lords' fault. The organized crime task force hadn't been able to pin anything on him in the five years he'd been working in the area. Rumor has it that he's wanted in five states, and Cali is just his latest venture.

Another gun shot went off, and I flinched, my eyes snapping closed as I reached for Nate. "Nate, we need to leave!"

"Not if they leave first." The blonde said, a startling lack of shock or emotion in his voice. "Look."
I looked back towards the scene, where Lords was bossing two of his men around, preventing them from moving Lasku's body. The man on the floor was still struggling and gasping for air.

"Leave him here, let him bleed out. It will send a message to those goddamn Albanian's that I'm not to be trifled with."

The three men stalked off to the other end of the strip, and I felt my legs give out from under me.
I just witnessed a gangland murder.

Or, almost murder. Lasku was still hanging in there, blood spraying out of his mouth.

"Nate, we have to help him!" I cried, getting to my feet and stumbling over to the tanning parlour. I dropped to my knees, trying to staunch the bleeding with my hands. It did nothing, the blood soaking my porcelain skin red.

I scrambled for the tote bag I had dropped, yanking out my sweater and pressing it over the two gaping bullet holes in the Albanian's chest. His long black hair floated in a sea of his own blood, the movement of the tattoo on his neck of the eagles from the Albanian flag slowing as his pulse weakened and his eyes closed.

"Nate!" I shouted. "Help me, I don't know what I'm doing!"

I felt two hands around my waist, attempting to pull me away from Lasku's body. I fought against the force, hoping against hope that there was something I could do.

"Charis!" Nate shouted, throwing all of his energy into pulling me away from teh body, even when I fought against him. "Forrester, come on! There's nothing you can do, Forrester!"

Finally, I gave in, allowing Nate to pull me away as tears began to fall down my face.
"He's gone, Forrester. We need to get out of here."

A voice screamed, the shock of the entire situation wearing off as Iain Lords spotted us from the other end of the strip mall. "Hey, you!"

Nate went pale, terror seeping into his tone. "Forrester?"

"Yeah." I gulped, feeling like I'd eaten cotton balls for breakfast

"On my count, run like a bat out of hell."

NOTES!

and so the adventure begins