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“Ask your friend to step back.”
“Oooh he talks,” said the kid.
The leader said. “Robbo, set us up.” He made sure it was a new instruction, not the one Drum had given him.
The man called Robbo stepped away from the edge, his eyes full of stars and planets. He had a bag and he took their gear from it, spread it out on the table. Foil, a lighter, a knife. A straw. Packets of white powder with a Superman stamp on them. “Is he just gonna sit there and watch us or what?”
The leader laughed. “He ain’t sharing.” He leaned into Drum, heavy, smelling of pizza and beer. “Piss off, you fucking weirdo.”
Drum stood and moved away. The kid had tipped his bed over, scattered his clothes from the suitcase and was flipping through his books. He moved into the shadows where he could watch and not disturb them.
“You.” The leader was loud with his weakness; weak with his aggressive pointing. “I said piss off.”
“He’s got nothin’. Leave him, Jonesy. If he’s a bit simple, he’s all right then.”
Drum could see all three of them from where he stood. He wanted to keep it that way.
“I think he should just fuck the fuck off,” said Robbo. “He’s spookin’ me out.”
The kid came over, checked him out up close, as if he was a game and had buttons you could press. “Why’dja live here, dude? Good view but no net.” He laughed. He had good strong white teeth and his clothes were new. He didn’t need to be this way. “Where’d you get your porn from then? Get it, no net.”
The leader was taking his poison. Drum saw his chance. He kept his voice low. “Why are you with them?”
“Me?” The kid seemed shocked Drum had addressed him. He had a tribal tattoo marking on his neck, but he was soft. He could be saved. “What’d you care?”
“You’re better than them.”
“Yeah, right. You live on a rock, what would you know? You have to be gone in the head.”
“They’re not your mates.”
“They are my best fucking mates.”
“Look at your mates, taking your share.”
The kid spun around. The leader and Robbo were both on the ground now, laughing and pointing at the sky. Drum caught the kid’s arm, stopped him going to the table. “This is a bad place to get high. Men sometimes think they have wings.”
The kid reefed his arm away, but he was still sober enough, young enough, uncertain enough to listen. He walked between the table, where an easy fix waited, and back to Drum. He couldn’t decide. He poked his finger in Drum’s chest. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to take our gear. Sell it and buy some fucking stuff.”
“I don’t need any stuff. Anything you want you can take.”
“Hah, see, you don’t have anything I want.”
Drum grinned at him. “So don’t be me.”
“I’m not, dude. I’ll never have nothing and live in a freaking cave, like a loser fuck.”
“So don’t be them either.”
The kid scrubbed at his near to shaved head. “You don’t understand. They’re my mates. We’re together.”
“So that’s why you do what Jonesy orders.”
Palms to the back of his head, elbows out like open car doors, the kid frowned. “I don’t. He’s not.” He dropped his arms. “Fuck off, man. You don’t know anything.”
“I know this is bad news. Being here, them. I know you’re young enough to have a different life.”
“Oh what, like you? Big scary caveman.”
