2
If Alan heard the phrase, “Life isn’t fair,” one more time, he was going to scream.
In his experience, life sucked, and he was fully aware of the fact. He didn’t need to be told it, time and time again. It wasn’t going to make anything better, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to make him okay with what was going on. All it did was make him angrier.
No shit life isn’t fair.
He checked his watch as he ducked into the garage he’d started hanging around months before. There was only one thing he really had any skill at, and it was racing. Once upon a time, he’d dreamed of being the fastest racer in the circuit, but he wasn’t a little kid anymore. Besides, he didn’t race for the fun of it.
It was hard to explain, but behind the wheel of a good car was when he really felt alive. When the world started to make sense, where he could leave his anger behind and not have to think about anything. He didn’t have to remember that his dad had just vanished on them, or that Grandma was really sick, or that his brothers were all going to be pissed when he got home. He didn’t have to feel guilty. Nothing could touch him.
And he was good at it. Really good. As in he had a reputation now as one of the best in the area. As in some of the regulars now bet on him. He’d earned his keep.
“You’re late,” the garage owner called as he walked into the room, pulling on his gloves.
“Sorry,” Alan muttered. He didn’t bother with an excuse. This wasn’t the kind of place you brought up your home life. And how was he supposed to explain that he hadn’t left until his brother had made it home because his grandma couldn’t be alone?
“Got a big one tonight,” the owner said, tossing a set of keys at Alan. Alan caught them, inspecting them.
He didn’t know the garage owner’s real name; it didn’t seem like anyone did. Everyone in the circuit just called him the Mechanic. He’d taken a chance on Alan one day when he’d been racing his brothers’ car, and now Alan was his number one driver. In exchange, Alan didn’t ask questions, and won races. That was all that was expected. Simple.
“Aren’t they all big?"Alan asked as he pulled on his jacket. The Mechanic didn’t laugh. He never did. It was a little unnerving.
He took his red helmet off of the stand it stayed on and held it under his arm as he headed to the car for the night. Alan got to play with all sorts of different cars, all of them as amazing as the last, but his favorite was the one he’d first raced in, a Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat, souped up, modified, and gorgeous. She was as red as his helmet and as smooth a ride as he’d ever had. He didn’t care what anyone else thought about her; his record with her spoke for itself.
"Don’t lose tonight, kid,” the Mechanic said. “We’ve got some big numbers on this one. You’ll get a sizeable cut.”
Alan nodded as he climbed in. His cut went towards buying the car he was currently getting situated in. He was nowhere near getting it, but it wasn’t like he could take the money he made home. Scott was a cop, and his grandma would never accept it. They couldn’t even know about the racing. They’d kill him.
He pulled up at the usual spot, taking his place in the line before opening his window to acknowledge the starter. He closed his eyes, pushing away all of his irritation and guilt and focusing just on the race.
After that, it was just as simple as hitting the gas.
Street racing had rules, despite popular belief. They were mostly common sense: don’t race on busy streets, don’t have passengers, don’t play dirty, don’t race in an area you don’t know. Alan knew this area very well. He’d made it his business to know every inch of every possible route. It was part of his secret of success.
There was a curve at one point, and it was a nasty thing, sharp and with a ditch just off of it. Alan had seen one guy go spinning off of it (he hadn’t been the best driver, not nearly careful enough in his turns and in a car he didn’t know how to handle). He’d survived with only his ego taking a blow, but Alan lived with four emergency workers. He knew – albeit through secondhand accounts – how nasty car accidents were. And ultimately he knew that even the glory of winning wasn’t worth doing something as stupid as taking the curve too fast.
Unfortunately, that night, he seemed to be the only one who knew that. And even more unfortunately, he missed the inside. So, when the inside guy’s tires started to lose their grip on the road, Alan was the one he spun into, hitting Alan’s front right side with his back left. And Alan was the one who lost control of his car.
Alan had just enough time to think, Oh, shit, this is gonna hurt. Then, nothing.
None of the others seem to understand why he goes out looking for Alan.
It’s not because he expects to find out where he is. It’s because he’s trying to learn to predict where the damn kid’s gonna go. And he’s getting better. He’s gradually narrowing down a list of his little brother’s favourite haunts; knows which of them are okay, which of them are kinda sketchy, which one his little brother needs to have his ass hauled out of. He usually tags Gordon in for this duty, if he’s available, and John if he’s not. If neither of them are around, then he let’s Alan slide.
Scott should be able to figure it out, being a cop and all, but then, Scott refuses to go out for detective. He says it’s because he likes patrol work, likes being on the front line. Virgil suspects it’s got more to do with the requirement for a degree. Once upon a time that wouldn’t have stopped him.
Half the time Virgil goes out, he does find Alan. Alan will be in an empty lot, skateboarding with a handful of kids he knows from school. Or Alan will be tagging meaningless graffiti in a back alley somewhere. Or Alan will have gotten on a bus and headed downtown, and Virgil will just need to wait until the same bus brings him back again, eventually.
It’s the half the time Virgil can’t account for him that’s starting to be concerning. Because Virgil’s starting to piece together a sense of structure, around the times when his little brother takes off. There’s a pattern. It’s a pattern designed to look like randomness, but there’s a shape to the negative space around the times he can’t find his brother.
He’s pretty sure it’s got to do with the reasons his brother goes downtown.
Well.
He’s finally got the time to find out.
So when Alan’s favourite bus pulls up to the bus stop, this time, Virgil gets on. He nods to the driver and drops the fare in, and looks up with a smile he’s been told is charming. He holds up his phone, hopes the crack in the screen doesn’t obscure his brother’s face too badly, and gets straight to the point, “Hey. This is my brother. He on this route often?”
The scoff and the eyeroll are as good as a yes, and Virgil winces. “Yeah. Sorry if he’s—”
He’s cut off with a grunt from the driver and the doors pull shut behind him. The older man gives him an appraising once over, challenging. “You gonna rope that kid in?”
Virgil shrugs, slips his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “If I can find him, yeah.”
A nod. “Sit up front. I’ll let you know where he usually gets off.”
“Thanks, man.”
Another grunt and the bus’s hydraulics hiss and lurch as the bus rolls away from the curb. Virgil drops his phone into his pocket and takes a seat up front.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Scott rolled his eyes, clutching his paper cup like a lifeline as Gordon picked his way across the debris-strewn road towards him. “You got here quick.”
Gordon shrugged. He had a speck of blood on his sleeve, but otherwise it was hard to tell he’d been on call all evening. “Tiny little spray of rain, and every idiot in a V8 takes a header into a ditch. Was on my way back to base when I got the call. So,” he asked, eyes scanning the scene. “What have we got?”
“Kayo’s liaising with the fire service now,” Scott said, draining his coffee and crumpling the cup. “Bunch of guys street racing. High end stuff,” he added, tapping a hubcap with his boot. “From what we can get out of the few bystanders we caught, the guy on the inside lost it and wiped out the rest of his cluster. We’ve got a bunch of drivers trapped, no idea if there’s anyone seriously wounded, but from the swearing I’d say that at least the ones we’ve found are more concussions and bruises than anything.”
Gordon was already getting gloved up. “Concussion ain’t nothing to joke about, Scotty.” He grinned up at his brother, too bright in the dark night. “You should know, brother.” He rose as Scott chuckled darkly. “Point me at the victims. The other wagon was across town, they won’t be here for at least another fifteen, even with full sound and light.”
A yell further down the slope caught their attention, and they fell into step towards the hubbub without another word. “Got someone for me, Miss Kayo?”
Kayo rolled her eyes, unaffected. “A few managed to climb out once we broke the windows, but they’re all declining treatment.” Gordon made a face; Scott knew how it irritated his brother that people, hurting or in pain, were still thinking more about their insurance, or lack thereof, than their health. “Scott, these are some high end rides with a bunch of punks and street kids behind the wheel. Something’s not right here.”
Scott frowned, brow furrowing. “Well, then, probie. Go follow your nose.”
Kayo’s eyes widened almost imperceptible, but she nodded and headed off back up the slope. Gordon watched her go. “I like her.”
Scott ignored the subtle hook. “Come on, let’s find you a willing patient. Hate to have rolled you away from your midnight coffee for no good reason.”
Gordon let out a low whistle when he saw the vehicle the fire crew was working on. “Would you look at that baby. Cherry red means she goes faster,” he added as an aside.
“Fast enough to leave one hell of a dent,” Scott replied seriously, playing his torch along the gouge the crashing car had carved into the landscape.
The now-familiar sound of the hydraulic jack was followed moments later by the door popping. “Welp,” Gordon said, tugging on the strap of his kit. “They’re playing my song.”
He nodded his thanks to the fire crew, already heading off to continue stabilizing and cracking the wrecks as Gordon knelt down next to the now-open drivers seat. “Evening there, I’m Gordon. Can you tell me your—?” the words died on his lips as Gordon’s torch played over the blood-smeared face of his baby brother.
She only knows them because they live one floor up from her apartment. 501 to her 401.
The first encounter she had with the Tracys was with the fourth of them, because he’d come home at four in the morning, and the lock on her front door had been broken.
She’d woken to the sound of someone stumbling through her front room, and her hand had fumbled by her bedside for the baseball bat, leaning against the filing cabinet she’d found by the curb, pulling double duty as a dresser, and tripe duty as a bedside table.
There’d been a tremendous crash of someone tripping over her coffee table—well, rather, her piece of plywood and lopsided collection of cinderblocks—and she’d suddenly been infuriated by the sheer nerve of anyone who’d try to break in and rob her of what little she had.
So she’d climbed off her sagging futon, hoisted her baseball bat, and kicked open her bedroom door.
It’d been the uniform that had spared him immediately having his head bashed in, the uniform that had given her pause.
Certainly it had been nothing to do with the way he’d been startlingly handsome, all blond and bewildered and sprawled out on the cracked linoleum, when she’d managed to fumble the light switch on and demand to know what the hell he was doing.
It had turned out to be a perfectly understandable mix-up. One floor off. Broken lock. Four in the morning, and him just coming off a double shift. He’d even been decent enough not to mention the fact that she was only in her underwear and a t-shirt and had accepted a hand up to his feet, sheepish and shy.
The next morning there’d been a knock on her door, and brother number three had turned up, toolbox and a brand new lock in hand, and with a few choice comments to make about the landlord. She’d made him tea (lacking much else, Penelope at least always has tea) and they’d chatted politely, and she’d met her first neighbour. He’d introduced himself as Virgil and mentioned that his younger brother was Gordon, and she’d told him her name was Penny.
By the time he’d gotten done, her door had a new lock, her leaking sink had been tightened up, and the spider that lived in her bathtub had been relocated. And Penelope had finally made friends with her neighbours, all five of them, plus their grandmother.
And sometimes Penelope will catch a ride to work with John, or sometimes there’s a lightbulb that needs changing and she’s too short to change it herself, so Scott will stick his head in. And sometimes she’ll order a pizza and split it with whoever happens to be home when she does. Sometimes she’ll just come and sit with their grandmother, missing the company of another woman, in this big strange city where she’s so obviously out of place.
It’s brother number two who’s knocking on her door this time, though at an hour of the evening when it’s usually Gordon she’s expecting. Gordon gets home late. And Gordon doesn’t knock. Gordon has her spare key. Gordon talks in his sleep and half the time he’s too tired for any of the reasons she likes to have him over in the first place, but Penelope’s beginning to wonder if it’s not just falling asleep beside him that she might like best.
But it’s not Gordon, because Gordon’s working. So it’s John.
And when she opens the door, his eyes are bright and his hands are shaking and Penny’s not sure if she’s ever seen him so badly scared.
So of course she says yes when he asks if she could possibly come and sit with his grandmother. It’s just the neighbourly thing to do.
Originally, Kayo had joined the force to make a name for herself. Or, more accurately, to redefine what her name meant. She needed to show everyone, herself included, that she was nothing like her uncle and never would be. And she’d needed a way to shut up the cruel little voice in the back of her head that sounded exactly like her uncle, mocking her every move.
Despite that, she loved it. And she’d been pleasantly surprised by her partner. Sure, she’d had to prove herself, but Scott Tracy was a good man. He treated her with respect and unlike so many people in her life, never talked down to her or treated her like she was lesser than him. He was a little reckless sometimes, a little distracted others, but he was a good teacher and a great partner, and Kayo was appreciative.
He was also extraordinarily easy to read. Which was why, when she came back to let him know what she’d found, she immediately knew something was wrong.
He was wide-eyed and pale, staring at the back of the ambulance she knew his little brother drove. Kayo had a bad feeling about this.
“Scott?” she said, ignoring formalities. If he had a problem with it, he’d let her know.
“Huh?” Scott said, not looking at her. He only barely seemed to register her presence.
Kayo glanced at the car he was still standing next to, then at the ambulance. “What happened?”
Something had to have happened. Because she’d seen Scott handle horrible scenes before, and nothing had ever shaken him like this. There had been times when he was exhausted and they came up on a crash or a fight and he’d been a little quiet and tense, but never this bad. Not once.
“What?"Scott said, and he finally looked at her. And when he met her eyes, Kayo could see the truth.
Scott Tracy was scared.
"What happened?"she asked, aware that he was superior and that the tone she was using was possibly inappropriate to be directing at him. But he wasn’t acting like her superior and Kayo didn’t know what to do.
Scott turned his gaze back to the ambulance, its lights flashing. It started to pull away, the sirens turning on, and somehow he seemed to pale even more.
"My little brother,” he said. “Alan.”
The youngest, she reminded herself. Sixteen, rebellious, reckless. The one time she’d met him, he’d seemed distant.
Scott insisted he was a good kid. Kayo was pretty sure he was biased.
Then she realized what he was saying. She felt her stomach drop.
“He was here?”
Scott nodded, still watching the ambulance. “He was…he looked pretty bad.”
Kayo didn’t know what to say. The usual things they said to families wouldn’t work here, not when Scott knew exactly what she wasn’t saying. They didn’t know how it would turn out, they would do their best, they wouldn’t make promises because some things were out of their control. Scott knew all that. And Kayo didn’t have any family to compare the way he was feeling to.
So she did what she always did, and barreled on ahead.
“I found something,” she said.
Scott tore his eyes away from the ambulance, as lights and sirens came on, the vehicle pulled away from the scene and out of their sight. “And?”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
Rent Day Blues 