The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

The Gangland Play

Previously: "The End of One Road" 

There is already something Satanic about David Kirkham, so he seems like a natural first recruit to your Brotherhood.

And he's the scariest of the assholes who tackled you.

But how do you get him alone?

"Leave it to me," Sydney says, and your heart stops in your chest when she says it. She glances around the school basement. "This is probably as good as any other place to do it."

"Do what?"

She gives you a look. "What do you think I mean? We'll need to find someplace for you to hide, though, while I'm busy with him."

So that's the second horrible half of her plan: To tempt David Kirkham out and down into the school with some kind of promise, so you can leap out and ambush him with a mask.

* * * * *

You have plenty of time to dread the trial to come, for it takes most of the evening for Sydney to track down (through friends) contact information for David Kirkham, and by the time she gets it the hour is too late (she deems) to make a play for him.

On the upside, with nothing else to do on a Friday night, you do get to spend an hour with her in the cab of your truck, parked in the lowering dusk next to the school, embracing each other and exploring each other's mouths. It's slow and awkward work, but wonderful, with your breath and your joints creaking as you bend and twist to get at each other, to rub at each other, to bite at each other, and to breath the scent of each other. She groans under your caresses, and you're sure you're making noises of your own, but you're too intent on drawing her out.

You're woken early the next morning by your mother, who has some light chores and errands for you to run, but that's okay, for it's not until nearly two o'clock that you get a text from Sydney confirming that she's set up a time to meet Kirkham at the old school. Your fingers writhe as you wrestle with questions for her—What did he say? What did you promise him? What is he expecting?—before you answer with a perfunctory ok.

And though the questions still gnaw and bite at your soul when you meet her at the school, you're too tongue-tied to ask them.

"Okay, we should agree on some kind of signal," she says as she looks over the little hiding place that you've set up. It's a kind of three-sided box made of some small bookcases with loose boards laid over the hollow between them, and it's directly behind the conference table that you've been using as a makeshift operating table. You can curl up inside it; and at a signal you can emerge to surprise anyone who might be lying or squatting on the table. Just be sure not to sneeze, Sydney had said.

"Maybe you should just say 'Now!'," you suggest. "Or you could call my name."

"I could also just tell him to hold still and wait for it," Sydney retorts. She grabs you by the ears and gives you a hard smooch directly on the lips. "If this guy's as bad as everyone says—"

She breaks off and gives you a hard look with her hand on her hips. "Do you know the kind of grief I was getting from Catherine and them last night when I said I was looking for this guy? Honestly, Will, you all should be embarrassed to have guys like him at your school."

We're too busy trying not to shit ourselves, you silently reply. Aloud: "Didn't you have guys like that in Kansas City?"

"Not at my school. But it was a magnet school for the gifted. The worst anyone ever did was leave their test papers face up so everyone could see their scores. But what's our secret signal going to be?"

"What are you planning on doing with him?"

She does a double-take at you, and frowns.

"Honey." She rakes your bangs back, then grabs them. "Don't get jealous on me. Believe me, it's going to disgust me more than it's going to disgust you."

That sounds like confirmation of your worst suspicions, and when she suggests the phrase I've got something I really want to show you as the signal for you to spring out, you truculently agree.

But maybe you'll scream for help first, you find yourself thinking. Instantly, you are both ashamed and horrified.

* * * * *

Three o'clock—time for Kirkham to show up—comes, and you're watching through the basement window while Sydney waits in her SUV. (You walked from your house, so it's just her vehicle out there.) The minutes pass, and there's no action outside. Sydney checks her phone, and you tense—did she get a text from Kirkham? But she lays it aside and goes back to staring off into the distance.

Ten minutes after three you hear the growl of a motor, and watch as Sydney looks up and over. The grill of a large pick-up truck hoves into view and jounces to a hard stop. The motor shuts off, a truck door opens—

And half-a-dozen guys come boiling out, hooting and shouting.

Oh, Jesus! you mouth to yourself.

Kirkham didn't come alone. He brought a whole posse with him!

There's Brophy Maddox and Joe Thomason and George Mendoza; Tanner Evans; two burly assholes whose names you don't remember because they left or dropped out of school last year; and last of all, David Kirkham himself.

Sydney's face is white and her expression very tight as she climbs out of her SUV. The guys crowd up close—like feral dogs sniffing at potential prey—before backing off. You don't like the grins on their faces.

Kirkham shoves Maddox aside and swaggers up to Sydney. He's showing off rounded muscles in a tight t-shirt and shorts, and he rolls the ever-present toothpick around in his mouth. The mirrored sunglasses turn his expression blank. He says something to her, but his words are inaudible, but his friends grin and nudge each other.

You press up close to the window.

Sydney relaxes—though it looks like she's forcing herself too—and with folded arms replies to Kirkham. He chucks his chin at her and says something back. A murmur runs through the crowd, and Sydney's eyes dart about.

They light on you. She frowns.

It takes you a moment to realize it: She can see you through the window.

Which means anyone else watching can see you too.

But still you hesitate, wondering if you should rush up and out to help her.

Even when she grits her teeth and looks away you're not sure how to read her signal. Does she want you out there? Or not? The blood pounds in your ears.

Only when Sydney uncrosses her arms and relaxes back on her heels do you decide that she thinks she's got it under control, and step back into the shadows of the basement.

But you've moved too late. The basement door opens and a voice calls out: "Hey!" You hold your breath in as your heart explodes. "Yo! Who—?"

A loud burst of laughter erupts outside. Under its cover you scramble under the conference table and into your hiding place.

Heavy footfalls sound on the creaking wooden steps; then shoes scuff across the concrete floor, and stop. Someone mutters. Wood creaks, and there's a crash, as though the ceiling has fallen in. Upstairs and outside, someone whistles shrilly.

You peek out under the conference table, and can just make out the calves of someone's legs: bare and brown. They are turned away from you. As you steady yourself on your haunches, your hand touches the mask that you have at the ready.

You hesitate. It might be Kirkham there in front of you, but it probably isn't. But you pick up the mask and clutch it to your side.

The feet shift, and whoever it is mutters again under his breath.

Next: "Manhandling Mendoza, Part 1" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"