Page 159 of Antihero

Taz said, “Ow.”

Evan drew him tight, the boy’s head cramped between his biceps and chest, his mouth against his hair, close to his ear, as if to deliver a kiss. He felt … he felt sad.

Evan whispered, “Feel this.”

Bling!

A texted photo came up on Taz’s phone, resting there on the table by their elbows. A pretty young girl against a wall, bleached in the light of an unflattering flash. She wore a caught-in-headlights expression—feigned smile, concerned eyes, forehead crinkled with alarm.

“Wait,” Taz blurted, pointing with his free hand at the screen.

The message, also from B-Roll, announced: Get reddy to partay!!

Evan released him. “Where is this? Where’s B-Roll? Where does he have her?”

Taz was breathing hard, almost panting. He rubbed his head, making his hair stand up in the front. When he looked at Evan, his eyes were dead. It was like looking into nothing.

And then. A spark.

A human spark.

“We hafta…” Shoulders hunched, Taz shoved his flattened hands between his knees, squeezed them. “We hafta hurry. ’S close.”

Evan grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked him off the stool. Taz managed to snatch his phone—his lifeline. As Evan propelled him toward the door, he stumbled but kept his feet.

They slammed out into the street, Taz starting to jog to the north, Evan hustling him along. They didn’t get in a half dozen strides before Taz stopped, leaning against a news rack stacked with adult classifieds. He clutched his chest, leaning over, wheezing asthmatically.

“Can’t … keep up.”

“What’s the address?”

Still hunched, Taz had his phone out, resting it against his thigh, thumbing at it. “Here, man. ’S the address … here. Take it. Take my phone.”

Evan grabbed at it. A tug as Taz held on, muscle memory not allowing him to let go. It was like prying the black box from Devine’s hands.

Taz’s grip tightened around his phone. He stared up at Evan with pleading eyes.

Evan ripped it free.

And he ran.

58What Comes Next

Blanca glowered at him.

B-Roll was lingering by the dead-bolted front door, not really guarding it but not not guarding it either. He was still trying to play it casual ’cuz it was more fun when they went along with it. Plus he didn’t like forcing them, like really forcing them, and Mikey had run outta fentanyl from Dirty Pete so their options were limited.

She was sitting on the floor way across the room from him, back to the wall, arms crossed. Some of her makeup had smeared but that was okay. They could have her touch it up before they started filming.

Her chin quivered. Her eyes were glazed.

“You don’t have to be all mopey,” B-Roll told her. “We can still just chill, have a good time.”

He was sweating so he took his shirt off. Maybe she’d like what she saw and that would loosen things up some. Didn’t seem to. He remembered reading somewhere that chicks were less visual, maybe that was it.

He paced some there in front of the locked front door. He didn’t like being stuck here with her just waiting while she stared at him.

“It’s just fooling around some,” he told her. “That’s all. No biggie.”