Zip, Zero, Zilch
Page 34
“Sorry we ruined the surprise. We’ve had bets going for a whole week to find out if you’d realize it before Reagan does.” Matt shrugs.
“One of you could have told me!” Pete cries. But he’s grinning like a damn fool. He points around the room at each of us. “So, which of you bet Reagan would know first?”
I raise my hand. I figured she’s the one with the uterus, so she’d realize it before Pete did.
“You lost, little brother,” Paul says. He walks by me and squeezes my shoulder.
“Doesn’t count if you tell him,” I complain.
Paul wraps his beefy arm around Pete’s head and gives him a noogie. Pete’s still in la-la land though, so he doesn’t even struggle.
“Stop and get a test on the way home,” Matt tells him.
“Okay.” Pete’s still star-struck.
“Wait,” I say. “If you didn’t want to tell us Reagan’s pregnant, what did you call me here for?”
Pete throws up his hands. “Hell, I can’t remember.” He stares into space for a minute with a goofy grin on his face, until he suddenly slaps his thigh. “Oh, I remember now.” He winces. “I have this man from the correctional facility…” He waits, watching our faces. But if we had a nickel for every time Pete says this, we’d be rich men.
“What does he need?” Paul asks.
“He needs a job.”
“Violent crime?” Paul asks.
“Gang-related.”
“Is he out?” Matt wants to know.
Pete nods. “He’s all the way out. But now he’s having trouble finding a job. This guy has so much potential. I don’t want to see him get lost in the system.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-seven?”
We’re all startled. Pete usually brings us juveniles he wants us to big-brother. Not adults.
“He’ll do anything,” Pete rushes to say. “He just needs a chance. And he’s an amazing artist.”
“So have him bring some art samples in,” Paul says.
“He’s out in my car, and he has samples with him. Sort of.”
Paul’s eyes narrow. “So bring him in.”
We all go back out to the main area and Pete walks outside. Then the door jingles a few minutes later when he comes back in. I’ve seen Pete with some shady-looking characters, but I’ve never seen anyone like this guy. He has a tattoo on the side of his face. It’s a cluster of teardrops. In our neighborhood, tattoos like that are usually gang-related and it means he’s killed someone. He has more than one teardrop.
But what’s even more surprising is that he’s on wheels.
Paul walks up to him and sticks out his hand. “Paul Reed,” he says. He introduces us all.
“Nice to meet you,” the man says. “My name is Joshua. Friends just call me Josh.” He shakes hands with each of us.
“Pete said you had some art samples,” Paul says.
“Oh yeah,” he says quickly, and he reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head the way guys do.
The guy is covered in ink. But when you look closely, you can tell it wasn’t done by traditional machines. It’s prison ink. But it’s fucking beautiful.
“Nice,” I say. I look at my brothers. I shrug. I’m impressed. I can’t help it.
He pulls his shirt back on. “I lost the use of my legs, and with my felony record, it’s not easy to find a job. Pete said you might need some help.”
“I can’t put you doing tats,” Paul says.
“Oh, I understand,” Joshua rushes to say. “I’ll do anything.”
“Give us a minute to talk it over,” Paul says, and we all follow him back to the office.
“He just needs a chance,” Pete says.
“Will anyone be coming for him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Paul nods. “Show of hands? Yes?”
None of us raise a hand.
“He needs to be somewhere that no one will see the chair,” Pete says. “He needs to learn it doesn’t define him.”
“Is he always nice?” Matt asks.
“No,” Pete says. “Sometimes he’s normal.” He laughs. “Just give him a chance. If you want, you can set it up so that he’s only here when I’m here.”
“You’re in charge of him,” Paul says.
“Okay.” Pete takes a breath. “So you’ll give him a shot?”
“Only when you’re here,” Paul says. “Where’s he living?”
“Transitional housing.”
I snort. I figured he would have been staying with Pete.
“I couldn’t take Josh home to Reagan. She’d beat the shit out of him if he flinches. He’s not like the kids I take home. He’s a man. A man who needs a second chance.” Pete looks hopeful.
Paul blows out a breath and walks back out to the front of the shop. “Josh, get with Pete about a schedule. If you want to stay today, you can start by sweeping, taking the trash out, and you can clean out the fridge.”
Josh looks wary, instead of joyful like I would have expected. “Yes, sir,” he says.
“Don’t call me sir,” Paul says. “Just Paul will do.”
“Where can I find cleaning supplies?” Josh asks.
Pete walks him back to the supply closet, chattering like he’s a tour director.
“One of you could have told me!” Pete cries. But he’s grinning like a damn fool. He points around the room at each of us. “So, which of you bet Reagan would know first?”
I raise my hand. I figured she’s the one with the uterus, so she’d realize it before Pete did.
“You lost, little brother,” Paul says. He walks by me and squeezes my shoulder.
“Doesn’t count if you tell him,” I complain.
Paul wraps his beefy arm around Pete’s head and gives him a noogie. Pete’s still in la-la land though, so he doesn’t even struggle.
“Stop and get a test on the way home,” Matt tells him.
“Okay.” Pete’s still star-struck.
“Wait,” I say. “If you didn’t want to tell us Reagan’s pregnant, what did you call me here for?”
Pete throws up his hands. “Hell, I can’t remember.” He stares into space for a minute with a goofy grin on his face, until he suddenly slaps his thigh. “Oh, I remember now.” He winces. “I have this man from the correctional facility…” He waits, watching our faces. But if we had a nickel for every time Pete says this, we’d be rich men.
“What does he need?” Paul asks.
“He needs a job.”
“Violent crime?” Paul asks.
“Gang-related.”
“Is he out?” Matt wants to know.
Pete nods. “He’s all the way out. But now he’s having trouble finding a job. This guy has so much potential. I don’t want to see him get lost in the system.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-seven?”
We’re all startled. Pete usually brings us juveniles he wants us to big-brother. Not adults.
“He’ll do anything,” Pete rushes to say. “He just needs a chance. And he’s an amazing artist.”
“So have him bring some art samples in,” Paul says.
“He’s out in my car, and he has samples with him. Sort of.”
Paul’s eyes narrow. “So bring him in.”
We all go back out to the main area and Pete walks outside. Then the door jingles a few minutes later when he comes back in. I’ve seen Pete with some shady-looking characters, but I’ve never seen anyone like this guy. He has a tattoo on the side of his face. It’s a cluster of teardrops. In our neighborhood, tattoos like that are usually gang-related and it means he’s killed someone. He has more than one teardrop.
But what’s even more surprising is that he’s on wheels.
Paul walks up to him and sticks out his hand. “Paul Reed,” he says. He introduces us all.
“Nice to meet you,” the man says. “My name is Joshua. Friends just call me Josh.” He shakes hands with each of us.
“Pete said you had some art samples,” Paul says.
“Oh yeah,” he says quickly, and he reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head the way guys do.
The guy is covered in ink. But when you look closely, you can tell it wasn’t done by traditional machines. It’s prison ink. But it’s fucking beautiful.
“Nice,” I say. I look at my brothers. I shrug. I’m impressed. I can’t help it.
He pulls his shirt back on. “I lost the use of my legs, and with my felony record, it’s not easy to find a job. Pete said you might need some help.”
“I can’t put you doing tats,” Paul says.
“Oh, I understand,” Joshua rushes to say. “I’ll do anything.”
“Give us a minute to talk it over,” Paul says, and we all follow him back to the office.
“He just needs a chance,” Pete says.
“Will anyone be coming for him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Paul nods. “Show of hands? Yes?”
None of us raise a hand.
“He needs to be somewhere that no one will see the chair,” Pete says. “He needs to learn it doesn’t define him.”
“Is he always nice?” Matt asks.
“No,” Pete says. “Sometimes he’s normal.” He laughs. “Just give him a chance. If you want, you can set it up so that he’s only here when I’m here.”
“You’re in charge of him,” Paul says.
“Okay.” Pete takes a breath. “So you’ll give him a shot?”
“Only when you’re here,” Paul says. “Where’s he living?”
“Transitional housing.”
I snort. I figured he would have been staying with Pete.
“I couldn’t take Josh home to Reagan. She’d beat the shit out of him if he flinches. He’s not like the kids I take home. He’s a man. A man who needs a second chance.” Pete looks hopeful.
Paul blows out a breath and walks back out to the front of the shop. “Josh, get with Pete about a schedule. If you want to stay today, you can start by sweeping, taking the trash out, and you can clean out the fridge.”
Josh looks wary, instead of joyful like I would have expected. “Yes, sir,” he says.
“Don’t call me sir,” Paul says. “Just Paul will do.”
“Where can I find cleaning supplies?” Josh asks.
Pete walks him back to the supply closet, chattering like he’s a tour director.
