East drew in his shoulder and carefully dried his mouth on it. A spark fired in his stomach; a snake curled.
“You can say yes or no. But once you do, you’re in. Or out. So think.”
“I’m in,” East said automatically.
“I know you are,” said Fin. And he drank down the rest of his tea, then shook his head twice, a long shudder that might have been a laugh or might have been something else entirely. East felt Fin’s gaze then and swallowed the hard beating inside him.
“Be ready tomorrow, nine o’clock. You’re gonna clear out straight. So bring clothes, shoes. That’s all. No wallet. No weapons. We gonna take everything off you. Bring your phone, but you can’t keep it. No phones on this trip. And no cards — we’ll give you money. You hear?”
“All right.”
“Keep your phone on, and Sidney will call.”
“Sidney ain’t too pleased with me right now.”
“Sidney ain’t got no choice,” Fin said. “Okay? Be some other boys too going along. They a little older, more experienced. You might not feel you fit in. They might wonder too. Especially after today.” He swabbed the moisture from the inside of his cup with his fingers. “But I think you got something they need.”
This praise from Fin warmed him.
“Gone five, six days. You got a dog or a snake or something, find someone to feed it.”
East shook his head.
“Good,” said Fin. “Then we ain’t talking about nothing in here. Just catching up. Stay a minute and drink your tea.”
East picked up the heavy cup. He wet his tongue. The tea tasted old, like dust at first. Like something collected from the ground.
“You like this?”
East didn’t, but he tried not to show. “What is it?”
“No name. It’s good for you, though,” said Fin. “That woman, she owned a tea shop. Then she fell into some things. I helped her. She knows business. She knows about bringing in off the docks. And she knows how to brew.”
East nodded. “She’s from China?”
“Half Thai. Half everything else,” said Fin lazily. “How’s your mother?”
East coughed once. “She’s all right. She got a little sick, but she’s better.”
“House holding up?”
“Holding up,” said East. “Hold up better if she cleaned a little.”
“You the man of the family,” said Fin. “You could up and clean it. Stop and see her before you go.”
“Yes, sir. All right.”
“All right,” Fin said. “This is a big favor, man. This is not easy, what you’re doing. I want you to know that it is important to me.” Fin’s hands clasped his feet and stretched them, twisted them. Like bones didn’t matter, like they could be shaped any way you wanted. “I will remember it was you that did it,” Fin said again. He put his cup down with East’s. The two cups touching made a deep sound like the bell of a grandfather clock.
“Boy, go,” Fin said. “Not a word. Nine o’clock. Sidney will see after your crew, take care of them. Don’t worry. Stay low.”
East stood. He felt childish in his white socks.
Fin brought out a thick fold of bills. He counted out twenties — five hundred dollars. He handed it over without looking at it.
“Some for your mother there.”
“All right.”
“One more thing you want to know. Your brother, he’s in. He’s part of the trip.”
East nodded. But a little pearl of anger splattered inside his chest: his brother. Babysitting. Not that his brother was any baby.
“Maybe you ain’t gonna like it. Figured I’d give you a night to get used to the idea.” Fin rubbed down his feet, popped a toe. “You know why he’s going.”
East put the money away and laid his hand over his pocket. “Yeah, I know.”
—
A bad street. Dogs bashed themselves against the fences. Televisions muttered house to house through caged doors and windows. East was the only person moving outside. He stepped up to a porch and unlocked the door.
In the living room, in a nest of dull air, his mother lay watching a game show. She looked older than her thirty-one: runny-nosed, fat and anemic at the same time. She drank from a plastic cup, a bottle of jug wine between her knees.
East approached from behind. She noticed, but late.
“Easton? What you doing here?”
Her fierceness, as always, was half surprise. She sat up.
“Hello, Mama,” East said. He looked sideways at the game show.
“You come and sit down.”
He sat beside her, and she smothered him in a hug that he received patiently, patting her arm. She did not turn down the TV: it made the windows hum. When she released him, her nose had grown wet again, and she was looking for somewhere to wipe it.
“I thought I might see you. I made eggs and bacon.”
East stood up again. “I can’t eat. I just came by to check.”
“Let me take care of you,” she reproached him.
East shrugged. The TV swerved into a commercial, even louder. It made him wince. He split off half the fold of bills Fin had given him, and she took it without resistance or thanks. The money curled unseen in her hand.
East said, “Nice day. You see it?”
“Huh?” his mother said, surprised again. “I didn’t get outside today. Maybe. Where’s Ty? You see him?”
“I ain’t seen him. He’s all right.” He retreated to the kitchen, a little preserve behind a white counter littered with empty glasses. He could see her craning her neck, tracking him.
“He ain’t been to see me.”
“He’s doing fine. He’s busy.”
“He my baby.” Her voice rose frantically.
“Well, he’s doing fine. He’ll come around. I’ll tell him.”
“East,” she commanded, “you eat some eggs. They’re still in the pan.”
Let me take care of you.
When he flicked the switch, one of the two fluorescent tubes on the ceiling came to life. The kitchen was a wasteland. East bagged what could easily be thrown out. With a napkin from a burger bag he smashed ants. The eggs on the stove were revolting — cold and wet, visible pieces of shell. He turned away.
His mother had gotten up. She stood in the doorway.
“Easton,” she breathed, “you gon stay here?”
Embarrassed, he said, “Mama, don’t.”
Proudly she said, “There’s sheets on your bed.”
“I can’t tonight.”
“I ain’t seen either one of you,” she sniffed.
Like every minute weighed a ton. “Mama, let me get this trash out.”
“Whyn’t you have some eggs?”
“Mama,” he pleaded.
“Don’t neither my boys love me,” she announced to something on the opposite wall.
East dropped the bag of garbage. He found a fork in the congealed eggs, hacked out a mouthful, and shoveled it in. Sulfur. He tried to chew and swallow, eyes closed, and then turned to his mother. Eggs still milled around the sills of his teeth, horrible.
“You see.” His mother beamed.
—
East’s room was small but neat: twin bed with pillow, two photos on a shelf. A carpet he’d pulled up because he didn’t like the pattern and laid back upside down. A little dust but no clutter. He shut the door, but the TV noise still buffeted him. He picked shirts, socks, and underwear out of the pressboard dresser and stuffed them into a pillowcase. He looked around for a moment before the door opened.
His mother, weary on her feet but still pursuing, stood in the doorway.
“Any of Ty’s clothes here?” he asked.
She let out a sickly laugh. “Ty’s clothes — he took them — I ain’t seen — I don’t know what Ty wear.”
“Shirts? Anything?”
Two years younger, but Ty had left first. Even the room they’d shared for ten years — Ty barely ever seemed to live there. No toys, no animals, nothing taped to the wall. Like it was never his.