Page 27 of Rough Rider (Bad Boy High)
“I don’t know. Like the suburbs.”
Bam barks out a laugh. “They do drugs in the suburbs. Look at where we are now.” He waves his hand. As we get farther from the school, the lawns are bigger and so are the houses. Some of them have three car bays attached to the main structure.
“But not like this.” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the laundromat, a mile away, where nothing grows because the concrete is everywhere and anything green is trampled under a million dirty shoes.
“I don’t wanna live in a fuck-ass suburb. I belong here.” Bam crouches down and taps his fist against the sidewalk. “Besides, you can’t get good tacos in the suburbs. No imagination out there, no flavor.”
I wish I had a house that looked like everybody else’s house.
“Not everyone likes spicy food.”
“Then they got no taste.” He hops up and strolls up the walk to a two-story house with a double porch. It looks almost as big as Sunshine Highrise. Bam knocks on the front door. No one answers, but I see movement in the long skinny window bracketing the entry. I give a chin nod. Bam backs up and slams his boot against the handle, breaking it off. “Just don’t make them like they used to.”
Whenever that was. I shoulder the door open, and we race after the sweatpant-clad figure who darts toward the back.
“Don’t make us run, gerbil. We’ve got school in thirty minutes,” Bam yells. It only takes a couple minutes to catch the asshole but another eight as he fumbles with his dad’s gun safe. We take two Berettas in lieu of the cash. The other collection is much smoother. The lady, a lawyer, has the money ready for us.
“I told you I was good for it,” she says in a snippy tone as she tosses the brown envelope at us.
“Everyone says that, ma’am, but unlike this lug, I believed you.” Bam winks at her. “You can call me any time you need something more collected.”
Her Stanley mug nearly beans Bam in the forehead after that remark.
“Did I come on too strong?” he asks as we’re leaving. Bam is flirty, but I’ve never seen him actually act on it when I know he could.
“She might have been touchy about the debt collection.”
“We were nice,” he protests. “I didn’t even call her a gerbil to her face.”
“People are just ungrateful these days,” I console him.
We drop off the guns and cash at the laundromat and then hustle off to school. We’re late, but at least we’re attending today.
“You think Clark ever goes to school?” Bam asks as we walk across the patchy grass expanse that’s supposed to be our soccer field. “Because I think he just lives in the laundromat. I’ve seen him there at five in the morning and five in the afternoon or ten in the morning and ten in the evening. When do you think he’s got time for classes?”
“Since you see him there at those times, probably the same amount as you.”
“I’m not really here much.” He kicks a rock and sends it flying toward the net. Bam is seriously athletic but has no patience for organized sports.
“There’s your answer. Why are you so curious? You want his job?”
“Nah, but I was thinking we don’t know anything about Clark.”
“We know the important stuff. He’s as reliable as the bank clock. If he says he’s gonna be somewhere, he’ll be there. If he says you’ll get paid five big ones for a job, you’ll get paid five big ones.” I like that there’s no surprises with him. That’s probably why he’s got the position he does. He's dependable—as much as a leader of a gang can be.
Bam and I sleep through our classes. Before dinner, we check in with Clark, who doesn’t have any more jobs for us today.Bam cons me into buying him dinner because of my acquisition bonus.
“Who's the extra burrito for?” He polishes off his bowl in about two seconds.
I don’t answer, too busy shoveling the food into my mouth.
“Can I eat it?”
“No. If you want more food, buy it yourself.”
“But you got an extra one sitting right there.”
“It’s not for you.”
