The Saints

The quad was captivated. Will was dying to know what was going to happen just as much as they were. Gates looked up to the sky.



“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got your little boy.”



“We don’t know what you are talking about,” the motorcycle man’s muffled voice boomed. “Just let the kid go. This is uncalled for. We understand you’re upset, but this is only a temporary interruption, we have no intention of letting you go hungry.”



“Oh, thanks so much, really,” Gates said. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that, if you want to keep us locked up here like zoo animals. We’re done jumping when you say jump. You’re going to give me everything that I ask you for. Because I know that Sam here is your son.”



That idea hit the quad like a bomb. All eyes zeroed in on the man in the motorcycle helmet. The black face shield of his helmet revealed nothing. He didn’t move.



“Someone has been lying to you,” the man in the motorcycle helmet said.



“Really?” Gates said, swinging the hammer lazily.



“Yes,” the man said.



“Then you won’t mind if I give Sam’s face a little character.”



Gates flipped the hammer over in his hand, and struck Sam in the forehead with its claw teeth.



Will felt Sam’s whole body jolt and then sink against his grip. Sam made terrible grunts and yelps. Blood drizzled down from the twin triangular gouges above his left brow. It streamed over the folds and down the twists of tape that swaddled his face. He looked like a mail order jock that had been damaged in shipping.



The woman in the lilac motorcycle helmet yanked out the man’s microphone cord and plugged herself into the amp.



“Stop, please! Yes, he’s our son, Sam is our son. I’m beggi—” the woman said, before the man unplugged her and plugged himself back in.



There was an excruciating pause.



“What do you want?” the man said.



The crowd’s eyes switched to Gates now. So did Will’s. He had them in the palm of his hand, and he could ask for anything. The moment stretched.



“Pizza,” Gates replied.



The quad erupted with cheers and applause. Will marveled at Gates.



“And microwaves. You hear me? I want Kraft macaroni and cheese. Pop-Tarts. I don’t want canned beans, you’ll give us Frosted Flakes. The real kind. Waffles and whipped cream. Fresh meat we can grill. And grills!”



With every item Gates named the crowd’s cheers grew louder and more fervent. Just saying the names of those foods placed a sucking black hole in the belly of every kid on the quad.



“And porn. And video games,” he said.



Boys in the crowd hollered low.



“And raid every clothing store in this deserted town. Every closet. We want new clothes.”



Female cheers soared high. Gates looked around at the girls in the crowd and smiled. He might have winked at them too, but Will couldn’t see.



“What do you say, ladies, makeup? Bath products?”



The girls went a little crazy, like they were twelve again and at their first boy band concert. Gates beamed, soaking up every second of female adoration.



“And forty cases of liquor. Tequila. Bourbon. We’re gonna have a party!”



The quad went nuts. Will could see the whole range of reactions. Some thought the whole spectacle was hilarious, others lusted after Gates’s demands and relished the opportunity to stick it to the parents. But what seemed to get everyone in the spirit of things was that it was all at Sam Howard’s expense. Sam, who had hoarded everything for himself. Sam, who had terrorized everyone. Sam, who hated all of them.



“You hear that?” Will shouted into Sam’s taped-over ear. He wanted to make sure Sam knew it was him. “That’s how much they want you to pay. Nobody’s saving you.”



Sam’s head turned toward Will’s voice. Will couldn’t see his eyes, but he could feel his arm shaking. Will felt strong, in control.



“You’re going to give me what I want!” Gates shouted at the man on the roof. “You’re going to give my friend Will here what he wants. You’re going to give all of us what we want.”



There were shouts of joy. Will gave Gates a surprised look.



“Will, tell Sam’s daddy what you want!” Gates shouted over the crowd. The shouts subsided.



The sudden wide broadcast of Will’s name, the full focus on him, was more than he thought he was signing on for. He was undeniably a part of this now, people wouldn’t think of this event without thinking of him, and what his answer was.



The crowd listened. Gates listened. The parents on the roof listened.



Will knew what he wanted. It was only one thing. But the idea of asking for it mortified him. He didn’t want to say. Not here, not where his face had been dragged through the dirt, not where they’d all seen him fail and would never forget it. Not while he held Sam’s arm. This was the worst time, worst place to say it. But, he needed them.



“Carbatrol. Extended release. Chewable if possible. Or Klonopin. And if not that than Lyrica. They’re—They’re epilepsy medications.”



Will received no cheers. He’d killed their fun. He’d called the cops on the party. He could feel Gates’s eyes on him more intensely than any others. It made the skin on his cheekbone prickle. He glanced over.



Gates nodded at him slowly. His expression had gone grim, his eyes sorrowful, but he thought there was respect there as well. Gates craned his head back up to the roof parents. He rose his hammer over Sam’s head again and froze it there.



“You heard us,” he said.



“You don’t understand,” the man shouted. His voice was an angry, distorted blast. “Our resources are limited until we get this truck situation resolved. What you’re asking is only going to make it harder. You have to be reasonable.”



Birds chirped in the distance.



“Have it all by next week, or I’ll cut off your son’s head.”



17



KIDS FROM ALL GANGS LINED THE HALLS ON both sides. It was like they’d come for a parade, but there was no confetti in the air here, no music, no street food. These kids had come for the chance to see Sam’s walk of shame as the Saints brought him back to the processing facility. Gates was just ahead of Will, and giving Sam shoves when he wasn’t walking fast enough. A few Saints walked ten feet in front of Sam so that he’d have nowhere to go if he tried to run. Not that he could see where he was going with tape over his eyes.



As they passed the onlookers, Gates encouraged everybody to take a free shot at Sam if they wanted one, which most of them did. He was shoved, punched, and slapped. His shins were kicked, he was tripped, and stepped on. With his hands bound behind his back, he couldn’t defend himself.



“You’re not a very nice person!” a Nerd girl yelled. It seemed to be the worst she’d let herself muster, but her friend did one better when he stepped forward and emptied a full trash can onto Sam’s head. When the trash was all out, he slipped the plastic bin over Sam and left it there. Big laughs ricocheted down the hall. Sam kept walking, unable to say anything or fight back or get the thing off him. He was just a dark gray trash can with legs.



Will should have been laughing the hardest, except he wasn’t.



“This made it all worthwhile, didn’t it?” Gates said, slowing to sidle up to Will.



“It’s pretty good,” Will said, raising his voice over the noise in the hall. He was holding back, and it probably wasn’t difficult to tell. Now that they were off the quad and out of the moment, now that Sam wasn’t literally in Will’s hands, something about the extremity of all this made him uncomfortable. Without adrenaline to keep him high, his mind kept wandering to the long list of consequences that were bound to come from this.



“Hell yes, it’s pretty good,” Gates said.



Will lowered his voice. “You’re not really going to cut his head off, right?”



Gates let out a surprised laugh. “Dude. I’m not crazy. Give me some credit here.”



Will relaxed a little, but still something nagged at him. Gates clapped his hand on Will’s shoulder.



“Okay, so you’re my inside man, what are the odds one of these gangs is gonna try and snatch Sam? How much do we have to be on guard here?”



Will eyed the gawkers along the lockers. He didn’t see a single Varsity in the bunch.



“You’re not going to hear from Varsity,” Will said. “I don’t think Terry was bullshitting. If they’re trying to put distance between them and Sam, you just did them a huge solid. I guess as far as everybody else goes, nobody’s going to want anything to do with Sam either, because on the off chance he escapes? Who knows what that psycho will do for revenge. So … whatever you do, don’t let him get away.”



“Hey, man.” Gates smiled. “You’re part of this too.”



Will gave Gates an uneasy nod.



Will said, “I think we’re good for now, ’cause who knows if this will work. But if the parents deliver, then, everybody might come gunnin’ for him.”



“Okay, perfect, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Gates said. “And I don’t know what this ‘might’ stuff is, those assholes are gonna deliver. Have a little faith, man.”



“Yeah, well, right,” Will said. “That’s what I wanted to ask you … What’s the plan here? I mean, if they don’t deliver—”



“They will.”



“Okay then, say they do. Then what? Like I said, we can’t just cut Sam loose. He’ll—”



“Will—” Gates said, giving Will a shake. “One step at a time, man. Look around, they all love us. You won on the quad today. This morning, you were bitching about how worthless you were.” Gates furrowed his brow. “You’re not one of these whiners that can’t ever lighten up, are you? Please, tell me you’re not. That shit drives me nuts.”