He broke right, wanting to keep as much distance as he could between him and Buddy. The sun had dipped below the tree line to the west and the streets were lined with shadows, a possible ally now that he was off the open field. As he sprinted by the gate at this end, he still had twenty yards on Costa. He heard Crawford hit the fence, then land on the other side with a grunt. Buddy would be the furthest back. He crossed the street and cut left down the first side street he came to, bolting up the first driveway on his right. It was a risk: if there was a dog or a fence to slow him down, they’d be on him. His luck was back, there was only a low chicken-wire fence separating the driveway from the backyard. Denny hurdled it and sprinted across the yard. He heard voices behind him as Crawford’s gang united and three sets of footsteps grew closer. There was a stockade fence around the rest of the yard but the stringer rails were on this side, making it easy to climb. He was up and over quickly, landing in the next yard where he found himself in a maze of small fir trees. He was winded now, and the yard was a maze of shadows. A new plan was forming: hide here and wait them out.
He found the largest of the firs and squirmed through the low branches to get as close to the trunk as he could. The smell of pine was overwhelming. Denny heard voices on the other side of the stockade fence. He considered running but decided to stay put and see if they got sick of looking for him.
“I swear he came up this way,” Costa gasped, out of breath.
“Could that little fuck have gotten over the fence that quick?” Buddy growled.
“Let’s spread out. I’ll go up this street and check the yards. Buddy, you’re fastest, you go back around Oak Street in case he didn’t cut down this street. Tony, you go over the fence in case he did go that way.”
“But why—” The sound of an open palm striking Costa’s face silenced his whine.
“Shut the fuck up and find him. Or I’ll fuck you up instead.”
Denny heard footsteps retreating and finally the sound of Costa making his way over the stockade fence. Luck was with him again; Costa was the dumbest and laziest of Crawford’s minions, fueling Denny’s hope that he might just get out of this with his face intact. He remained still as Costa wandered around mumbling, halfheartedly looking for Denny.
A sudden urge to giggle took Denny by surprise. He remembered a time back in second grade when he and Costa were both in Mrs. Nolan’s class. Battleaxe Nolan was a terror. She was old and fat, really fat, but she took shit from no one. Costa wasn’t a thug back then, just a class clown who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. He’d been on Battleaxe’s nerves all day and she’d finally had enough. She didn’t like to punish the bad kids in the ways most teachers did. She rarely kept kids after school and never sent them to the principal or called their parents. Her disciplinary measures were based solely on humiliation. And boy was she good at it. She’d already moved Costa’s desk right next to hers but that didn’t stop his nonsense. So she dragged him by the earlobe around to her desk, and made him sit on her lap. “If you’re going to act like a baby, Anthony, that’s how I’ll treat you.” She cradled him in her flabby arms like an infant, actually rocking him back and forth, goo-goo-ga-ga-ing at him. When she squeezed his earlobe until he did what she wanted—suck his thumb—he broke. He sat on her generous lap sucking his thumb with tears and snot running down his face while the rest of the class laughed.
If Costa hadn’t been such a jerk, Denny might have felt bad for him. Now, he pictured the teenage version of Costa suffering the same fate and couldn’t control himself. He began giggling into his hands, trying to stifle the sound, but it only turned it into a snort. Costa was dumb, but not dumb enough to know trees didn’t make that kind of noise. He was still muttering when he stepped in front of the tree Denny hid in. With no alternative, Denny squirmed out of his hiding place, his clothes caked with sap and smelling of pine. He took one look at the dopey expression on Costa’s face and fell into a full-on laughing fit. He should have been scared, hell, he should have been terrified, but that look, that slow-witted, open-mouthed look of stupidity, was too much. It was the same look he wore before Battleaxe made him suck his thumb.
“You think this is funny, shit-for-brains?”
Denny looked at him, then laughed in his face. He was literally doubling over he was laughing so hard.
“You won’t be laughing for long. Crawford is gonna waste you.”
Denny’s laughs subsided into a hiccup as he stared at Costa. “Why don’t you do it yourself, asshole?” The words were out before Denny had even thought them. Touché, the Great Oz commented. It was the scene at Teddy’s Spa playing out again. This time Costa didn’t have Buddy or Crawford, but he didn’t have Billy or Teddy.
Costa’s face was an open book; he did not expect this. He was not used to one-on-one fights, he was used to the mob mentality Crawford inspired and ganging up on outnumbered opponents. He had the size and weight on Denny, but his eyes were full of doubt. Denny took a step toward him, and Costa’s eyes flicked back and forth, no doubt hoping to see Crawford or Buddy coming to the rescue. Denny saw what was about to happen—Costa was going to yell that he found him, and that would be the end. Lights out, party over.
For no reason other than to prevent this, Denny swung. There was no real hate in the punch, not even anger, just calculated self-preservation. His fist connected squarely with Costa’s mouth and he felt Costa’s lips mash against his teeth. Blood was flowing before Denny’s second punch came, a flailing roundhouse that grazed the top of Costa’s head. With blood flowing freely down his chin from his mangled lips, Costa lowered his head and charged. Denny knew once Costa got his hands on him, he would be overpowered. Costa would sit on him, squeezing the breath out of him until the others arrived to finish him off. He sidestepped the oncoming tackle, at the same time putting everything he had into a mighty uppercut. The punch, combined with Costa’s forward momentum, landed with a sickening crunch to Costa’s nose. Yet another memory flashed in his mind at the sound: being out to dinner for his mom’s birthday. His dad had splurged and ordered lobster. The sound it made when Dad cracked the tail was the same sound Costa’s shattered nose made. His head snapped backward, blood already spraying from both nostrils, and he sprawled awkwardly into the tree Denny had been hiding in. He rolled off the branches, landing on his back. Denny pounced, not willing to lose the advantage. He dug his knees into Costa’s shoulders with all of his weight. Costa’s face was a wreck. Blood was pouring from his mangled nose and his shredded lips. His eyes were twin windows of terror. He couldn’t speak, only making gurgling sounds and coughing on his own blood. He shook his head back and forth, eyes wide, waiting for more blows.
“You listen to me, Costa. I’ve had enough.” He slapped him hard in the face to make sure he was listening. “You tell Crawford to stay away from me and Billy. And Paul Greymore. I’ve had enough.” Suddenly the situation hit him, and he felt hot, salty tears burning his eyes. He was shocked at the damage he’d done to Costa, but part of him wanted to do more. “Do you understand? I’ve had enough!” Costa nodded, spraying droplets of blood back into his hair and forward to the front of his shirt. Denny cocked his fist back, feeling his entire body starting to tremble. He relished the fear on Costa’s face, how he squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the pain. But in the end he couldn’t do it. He climbed off Costa and stood over him. “You tell Crawford. No more.” Then he turned and walked away through the pines. The smell to Denny was the smell of Christmas, and a memory rose unbidden. He and Jimmy tore through presents while their mom and dad watched, snapping an occasional picture, both smiling and sipping coffee. With wrapping paper and bows flying, neither noticed Dad slip away. “Open this one next,” Mom said with a sly grin, pulling a small gift wrapped in silver paper from behind her chair. The boys exchanged glances and both ripped at the paper together. Denny held the leash in his hand and saw his own confusion mirrored on Jimmy’s face. They heard the cellar door open and suddenly a small tornado of black fur with a red bow around its neck bounded into the living room. The boys exchanged another look, this one of utter surprise, then fell to their knees to play with their new puppy. When Denny looked up, his parents were arm in arm and Mom wiped a tear of happiness from her cheek. “Thank you Mom, Dad,” Denny said quietly, then the ball of fur was on him and he and Jimmy were lost in giggles.