Star
Star clutched to Tanner's bike as they tore down the highway. It wasn't a terribly long ride to the college where they'd spotted Brendon, but it was glorious any way she looked at it.
There was just something about the feel of the roaring bike pressed between her legs, the way the wind rushed over her body, and how this strong, manly biker seemed to fit so perfectly in her arms.
Out in the distance, storm clouds gathered, coming closer with each moment. But, Star didn't mind. Instead, her thoughts were filled with memories of the night before. Of how Tanner's hand felt as it held her hands above her head. How his cock had felt inside her.
She hoped that, after this stuff with Brendon was sorted, they could get back to the business at hand.
Of course, she also worried that revelations about her past, and her parents, wouldn't dissuade Tanner when he found out. And, if she meant to help him, there was no way she'd be able to hide the truth. She just hoped that stoic persona of his kept going, and that he avoided asking too many questions.
Once they hit town, she directed him to one of the sleazier neighborhoods. It wasn't near where Brendon had been spotted, but she knew a guy who had dealt to her mother in the past, a guy who might know something.
One of their many “field trips” during her junior high years was when her mother dragged her out here. She couldn't afford a babysitter, because that would have taken away from her drug money. And she couldn't leave Star home alone, since that might get CPS called on her.
Even back then, the irony hadn't been lost on Star.
“Right here,” Star shouted into Tanner's ear as they pulled up in front of the shotgun shack of a crackhouse. The sickly green paint was peeling, one of the sets of windows was covered in aluminum foil, and the foundation had long ago begun to crumble.
“Here?” Tanner asked, his voice full of disbelief. “You know people that fucking live in this place?”
“Unfortunately,” Star replied as she hopped down off the bike, “yes.” She turned and started to head in.
Behind her, he killed the bike and put up the kickstand.
She turned around when he heard his boots crunch gravel. “No, Tanner. I got this. Quentin's cool, okay? I've known him since I was a kid.”
“I'm not sending you in there alone,” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then I'm not going in. A big biker dude is going to spook him, and then we won't know anything about Brendon.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly accepting the fact that he had to give some control away on this. “Fine. Just get what we need so we can get out of this shithole.”
She spun on her heel and headed to the front door. She knocked quietly on the door. If you pounded on the front door of a place like this, they were liable to think you were the cops and head out the back door. Not that the cops really gave a shit about this place. Places like this were part of the landscape. The sordid little den had been here for years, and it would be here for many more.
Feet sounded on the other side of the door and her side of the peephole darkened as someone looked outside. “Who're you?” called a man's voice from the other side.
“Star Bentley,” she said. “My mother used to bring me here a couple years ago.”
“What d'you want, chickadee? You wanna carry on the family tradition or something?”
“Just want you to open the door, so I can ask you a couple questions.”
“Questions? You a fucking five-oh or some shit?”
“Five-oh? Quentin, isn't that a little gangster?” she asked the door. “You're one of the whitest guys I've ever met. You like the Grateful Dead, Phish, and The String Cheese Incident. Just open up. I'm trying to find someone.”
“Fine, fine,” Quentin said. He slid back the chain on the other side of door, and multiple deadbolts sounded as he flipped them open. He swung the door open just a crack and stuck his head out. The drug dealer was just a normal-looking hippie guy with a three–day-old beard on his face and long, stringy hair. He took a good look at her and said, “Oh, shit, girl, I remember you! How's that hot-momma of yours doing?”
She was pretty sure her mother had fucked Quentin a few times, when she'd been short on cash. Star didn't like to think about it, though, or what it meant.
“Hopefully, she's dead,” Star replied, her voice flat. “Now, are you going to let me in?”
“Who's that?” Quentin asked, gesturing with his chin to Tanner.
“My ride. Now, come on, Quentin. Do you want people seeing us out here?”
“Nah, you're right,” he said, pushing the door open wide for her. “Come on in. Mi casa es su casa.”
She stepped inside the dark, dank, smoky house. A wave of body odor hit her like a city bus as she looked around. He had the same old couch he'd always had, the one his cat had torn up on one side and a junkie had lit on fire on the other.
He closed the door behind her, completing the doom and gloom and depression of the place.
She shivered and shoved down the memories of this place, of having to do homework at the wobbly table in the dining room, at having to worry about whether or not her pencil was going to get stolen by a rat. Or if she'd get raped by a junkie while her mom shot up in the bathroom.
“Now, whatchu need, girl?”
She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. She flipped it on and pulled up the picture of Brendon that Tanner had sent her that morning. “Seen this guy?”
Quentin shook his head. “Nah, I ain't ever seen him before.”
“Look again, Quentin, it's important. This was back before he started, so maybe his hair is longer, got a beard maybe? Definitely thinner now than in this picture.”
He reached up, scratched the hair on his chin. “He have a girl or something? Some real trashy chick, real down-to-fuck when he's not around?”
She shrugged. “Maybe?” From what little Tanner had told her about Brendon and Willow, the woman he'd run off with, it could be true. “This look like that guy? Do you remember what his name was?”
“I dunno,” he said, shaking his head. “Judd, John, Jack? Some shit like that, started with a J, I think. Knew his girl a whole lot better than him, you know what I'm saying.”
She ignored the last part of his comment. She didn't need a mental image of Quentin fucking anything, let alone Tanner's younger brother's woman. “Are you certain? Do you know where he normally hangs out?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I'm sure.” He gave her the address. “He owe you guys money or some shit?”
She shook her head and stepped past him, heading for the door. This place gave her the creeps. “No, just a favor for a friend.”
“Cool. Well, you guys need anything, you let me know,” he said from behind her as she stepped out into the bright light of day.
“Yeah, I will,” she said as she headed down the cracked walkway, back to Tanner, who was already getting the bike up and going. “Thanks Quentin.”
“Say hello to yo' momma when you see her, too,” Quentin shouted after her before slamming the front door shut. The deadbolts and chains slid into place one after the other as she walked away, helping to seal shut the memories of that awful place.
The sun washed over her, cleansing her as she walked the short distance to the bike. She felt like it rejuvenated her, helped to remove all the grungy memories. She reminded herself that it was her past, just her past, and those things had made her who she was. They helped to form her, but they didn't control her.
Tanner kicked the bike and it roared into life. He twisted the throttle up a notch.
She threw a leg over the seat behind Tanner and hopped on.
“You get something?”
“Yeah. He's down a few blocks from the university, near an old hardware store.”
“Who was that, anyways?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to think about the past or all her memories of her mother. Those were supposed to remain in Quentin's house. “Sort of a family friend, unfortunately.”
Tanner grunted but, thankfully, didn't reply. Thank God, he knew how to keep out of her private life, even if it had taken her a moment to respect his.
And, with that, they were off to find Tanner's prodigal brother, Brendon.
# # #
Tanner
Tanner and Star pulled up in front of the hardware store that Quentin had given them the address for. He looked around at the crumbling businesses, at the trash on the street. Though it was only a couple blocks from the university, the place looked like it had been deserted by city services years ago.
Fuck. It was just like little brother to have gotten himself into this shit. First, it was that whore Willow. Now, drugs. He didn't doubt that she'd gotten him wrapped up in it, too.
They got off the bike and looked around.
“Junkies don't just hang out inside stores,” Star said. “They don't let them loiter. He's probably in an alley or behind a business here.”
“A fucking alley?” Tanner asked. “You've gotta be shitting me.”
“Did you not just see where we came from? Quentin's place is high society for some of these people.”
“They're not 'these people,'” he grated. “We're talking about my brother here.”
“Sorry,” Star said, clearly trying to make a real apology. “You're right. I should know that better than anyone. Everyone is someone's child, right?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Some just make bigger mistakes than others.”
“Well, let's just see if we can find him, okay?”
As Star finished speaking, a trash can rolled over in the alleyway behind him. He raised an eyebrow at Star.
“As good a lead as any,” she said.
Together, they walked to the mouth of the alley and looked in. Rotten garbage, old oil, and God-only-knew what else assaulted their senses like the military forming a beachhead.
“Jesus,” Tanner groaned under his breath at the smell. He looked farther into the alley, near the back.
About thirty feet in, a crumpled human form in ratty old clothes was curled up next to one of those steel trashcans you could find at any home and garden store.
Tanner's stomach sunk as he headed into the alleyway. “Brendon?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “That you, bro?”
Star, more cautious than Tanner, warily followed behind him. Up ahead, the form rolled over and groaned in a raspy, stricken voice.
“Brendon? Bro?”
“Who . . . what? Tanner, that you?”
“Brendon!” He broke into a run, splashing through who-knew what, glass vials crunching under the soles of boots. He came to a stop over the dilapidated form of his brother curled up in the fetal position. “What the fuck are you doing, bro? How fucked up are you?”
“What?” Brendon asked as he sat up and ran a hand through his greasy hair. “Stop yelling, Tanner . . . I'm fine, man. Just, you know, taking a nap.”
He didn't look fine, though. His shirt looked like it had seen better days, like maybe a decade before, and his shabby coat was missing one of its sleeves. The smell coming off him was atrocious, like he hadn't showered in weeks or months.
Could Blade have been right? Was Brendon really a junkie now? Tanner had to find out. Brendon squawked in protest as Tanner reached down and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling up his sleeve. Red, black, and blue track marks covered the inside of his forearm and the crook of his elbow.
“What the fuck, Tanner?” Brendon yelled as he snatched his arm out of Tanner's grip.
Tanner could feel the blood pulsing behind his eyes. What would Pops have thought? Mom was on death's door already, and this was going to fucking kill her when she heard about it. He lost control and started yelling. “What the fuck? Did that whore do this to you? Did she get you into this shit? I couldn't even find you to let you know about Pops!”
Brendon just blinked under the verbal barrage, his eyes bloodshot and vacant. “Pops? What about Pops?”
“He's dead, bro. Pops fucking died.”
“Oh . . . shit.”
“Yeah, shit is fucking right,” Tanner yelled. “You left us for that woman, said you were leaving for a better life. What is this shit, man?”
Brendon just numbly stared at him. “Wasn't her,” he said after a moment. “I did it.”
Tanner's stomach sank further. How was he going to tell their mom about this? How could he explain to her that her son became a fucking junkie?
Star stepped up beside Tanner. Whatever Junkie Whisperer powers she had, maybe she could use them to help his brother. “Brendon?” she asked. “Hey, Brendon. Can you tell us how you got into the drugs? If Willow didn't do it?”
Brendon seemed to think about the question for a long moment, then shook his head. “No, she's fine. Was some guy at a party. Willow was there . . .” He peered off at the brick wall behind Tanner for a long moment, staring right past him, before he shook his head again. “No, not her. She wasn't there. I remember. He was in an MC, too. Like I used to be. Like we used to be, bro.”
Tanner perked up. Finally, there might have been a clear antagonist for him to focus on. Maybe, after they got his brother clean, they could get some good old-fashioned retribution. Some justice. “What MC, Brendon? Do you remember?”
“Real friendly,” Brendon slurred. “Had a jackal on his vest. Remember now. Hooked me up for free, even.”
“The Roaming Wolves, Brendon?”
Brendon shook his head. “Don't remember, bro.” A moment later, though, he nodded, like something had just clicked inside his brain. “Yeah. Roaming Wolves.”
Tanner roared and kicked a trash can on the other side of the alley, sending its contents flying across the brick face. The Roaming Wolves were the Blood Warriors' biggest rivals. Bar fights, racing, all the normal turf bullshit. Most of the time, at least.
There had to be a reason. It couldn't just be coincidence that Brendon would end up getting hooked on drugs with the help of a rival biker gang. He spun back around, hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles cracked.
“That's it,” he growled, “Brendon, you're coming with us. We're taking you home to Mom, to get your shit sorted out.”
Hands in front of his face, Brendon recoiled back against the alley wall, like he was trying to crawl through it to the other side. “Touch me, bro, and I'll scream bloody fucking murder.”
Tanner ignored his brother and grabbed him by the collar, tried to yank him to his feet.
Brendon yelled for help. “I'm being mugged! Call the fucking police! Someone call the motherfucking police!”
Star grabbed Tanner's vest from behind and tried to pull him away. “Tanner! What the hell are you doing? Your brother's high as a kite! If the cops show up, he's going to jail!”
Tanner gritted his teeth. He felt like punching through the wall till he reached the hardware store's interior. He could have, too, if his hands would hold up to the abuse.
“Hey, hey,” Star continued to soothe, “we'll find a way, alright? We'll get Blade, maybe your mom, okay? We'll get him out of this shit.”
“Fine,” he spat. “Brendon, we're going now.”
“You got twenty bucks?” Brendon asked as Tanner turned to leave.
“What?”
Star caught his eye and shook her head as she mouthed the word, “Drugs.”
He sighed and turned back to his brother. “Nah, man. We'll get you out of here soon, though.”
“Fuck you, then.”
“Ignore him,” Star said, grabbing him by the vest again and leading him back to the bike. “Drugs make people say stupid shit.”
Together, they stopped back in front of the bike. He looked up at the sky. A chill had blown in while they'd been riding around town, and it looked like it had brought rain with it.
Today was just not Tanner's day.
He looked back at the alley, his brother's wreck of a face appearing in his memory. Unfortunately, it looked like it wasn't Brendon's, either. Off in the distance, a bolt of lightning split the sky, and a peel of thunder rolled out over the town. They weren't going anywhere. Not on a motorcycle, at least.