Page 65 of Running from Drac
He snorts. “You think I lost this eye by accident?” He points to the dead one, the glassy white orb sitting useless in his skull. “Bleach, Eddie. Straight bleach was poured into my eyes by a guy rocking that patch you idolize so much. Even your mother doesn’t know the whole story about this.” His jaw clenches in frustration. “I fucked with the wrong person, and let a good deal go bad. It would’ve made me a lot of money, but my conscience got a hold of me and I called everything off. The man was pissed, and this is what I got from it. I’m completely blind in one eye now. Is that the kind of loyalty you want? This is what brotherhood looks like when it rides on the opposite side of the law.”
I look down, kicking at the gravel with my boot. “Maybe I’m not like you. Maybe I’m just like Wesley.”
“Then you better start thinking like a survivor, not a soldier. If you want to do this, fine. But you’ll ride under me. I won’t let you walk into that life blind. I’m enough of that for the both of us.”
“Fine,” I grumble. “You know I never wanted to lead, anyway.”
He doesn’t say anything, just claps a massive hand on my back. The sting of it lingers long after he pulls away. “Go see your friend. Tell him he still has a job when he gets back, despite my better judgment. As much as I hate to admit it, I love the shit out of that asshole. He just pisses me the fuck off.”
My dad storms off, muttering more shit about Wesley under his breath. Rich and I exchange a look, but don’t say a word. Nothing needs to be said. Soon we’ll be under the same rocker, riding as brothers for life, whether my dad likes it or not.
We pull into the parking lot of Parr Blvd, Washoe County’s local jail. The place looks like a concrete grave. No windows or soul. Just a tomb for the damned. I already feel the soul being sucked out of me as we make our way to the door.
Inside is all antiseptic lighting and cinderblock corridors. We sit for at least thirty minutes before we’re pulled over to a television sitting in the lobby. Years ago, you could go back and talk to people through plated glass; now it’s just a shitty monitor around a bunch of bitter wives and upset people.
The receptionist had us fill out the rest of our paperwork before we could talk to him—unnecessary paperwork if you ask me. Just put my name on the list and let me see my friend. It’s not like we’re going to be sitting in the same room. We’re literally sitting on squeaky, uncomfortable chairs that stick to our skin, in front of a monitor with crappy reception and a shitty ass plastic phone that probably hasn’t been sanitized in weeks.
A few minutes later, Wesley is brought in, his bulky form taking up the whole screen. The second he sees us, he’s grinning, blood staining his teeth, his right eye purple and bruised.What the fuck happened to him?He’s dressed in all orange, cuffed at the wrists.God, he looks like shit.
He picks up the phone and motions for us to do the same. Rich and I press our ears to the receiver, doing our best to share it. “Boys. Long time no see, not that I’m seeing much of anything right now.” He laughs, then winces, sort of favoring his right side.
“You look like hell,” I tell him, because there’s no point in sugarcoating it. “What the fuck happened? I know that guy onlygot in one punch, and it wasn’t good. So, why do you look like you just got out of a boxing ring?”
Wesley chuckles, his voice hoarse. “You should see the other guys.”
“Who did this to you?”
He shrugs. “Some people I shouldn’t have fucked with. Don’t worry, I haven’t dropped the soap, but my asshole’s virginity is being auctioned off as we speak. I think I heard someone say we were up to five packs.”
“Dude, I hope you’re fucking with me,” I shout, unable to catch my breath and wanting to punch the screen. “I swear if anyone touches you again…”
“You’ll what? I’m in here, and you’re out there, Eddie. I’m okay. I promise. I can hold my own in here.”
Rich leans in. “What are they saying?”
Wesley hesitates, his smile fading. His thumb rubs the cord of the phone like it’ll anchor him. “They’re throwing the book at me,” he says. “The DA wants to make an example out of me. Aggravated assault. Resisting arrest. They’re talking about adding intent to maim, too.”
“Intent to maim?” I echo.
He nods. “Said the guy needed a CT scan. His orbital bone is shattered. He’s got memory loss, too, apparently.”
“Fuck,” Rich hisses. “How long?”
Wesley swallows hard. “Minimum of three years. Could be more, depending on how the charges stack. You know my record.”
Three years.
My blood freezes. I press my forehead against the screen. “No. This isn’t right. He touched her. You were only defending Poppy—”
Wesley cuts in. “That shit doesn’t matter.” His voice is hollow and broken. “I don’t get to claim self-defense unless I’m bleedingtoo. They look at me, and they see someone who has already messed up twice. They’re not asking for my side of the story. They’re writing their own.”
Rich runs both hands through his hair. “We’ll get you a real lawyer. Not one of those overworked public defenders who can’t remember your name.”
Wesley shakes his head slowly. “Don’t waste the money. I’m not getting out of this one. I snapped, Rich. I lost fucking control. Doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter if it was for her or not. In their eyes, I’m no better than the caged animals already in here.”
His eyes shift my way. “Is Poppy okay?”
I nod. “Physically, yeah, she’s fine. She’s a bit shaken up, though.”
