Vince the Fateful

It's the middle of June and I'm not sure if I have legs anymore because these sun rays seem to be hungry for more than just the dead grass at my feet. "Boujee get your ass up here!"I call across the grass field, we're behind the country club houses a block from Golden Cactus. That's what we call my little brother Steven. He's fifteen and twice the trouble. We call him that because he sure as hell can take more alcohol than his age would usually allow and he's got all the little ninth grade girls wrapped around his finger. He's got eyes the color of slate in a December storm but a fire in his soul that melts the hearts of the coldest hands. "Pepper! I'm tired as f**k. but not as tired as Mrs. Daniels is gonna be when she's done scrubbing that s**t off her house!" His voice lightens at the end and he's laughing at himself. Damn I love that kid. He's talking about the house we've just egged. Those babies baked in the hot sun for days. Not even Jabba, our dog who eats anything he can reach, would touch them. They smelled so bad we used rubber gloves and bandannas to do the job. If you took a pig and gave it a human face, feet, hands, the works. And you rolled it up with a chickens neck and bony lizard hands, you'd get our lovely Mrs. Daniels. She's known for sending people backing away slowly against the wall as she screams her lungs out and everyone else in the room thanks god its not their turn. Usually I couldn't give less f***s about an ugly ass teacher b***h with separation anxiety about her three divorced husbands, but when shes screaming at Boujee, I start to give some f***s. Last week she threw his book on the ground. His book. Yeah. Boujee loves to write, and I'm afraid that with all his other grades, it's all he's got. So she's threatening his future, and so I'll do a little more than threaten the paint on that lovely thousand dollar house she's got. "Nice job guys, sodas at Golden Cactus?" I wave a twenty in the nonexistent breeze. My other brother Canine grins and squints in the sun. Boujee hollers and pumps his fist in the air. Canine is my middle brother, he's seventeen, one year younger than me. His eyes are the color of a purple fluorescent light filtering through a sheet of water in autumn, and his hair is shoulder length and falls in shiny waves that catch the sunlight in a deep brown hue. All of us have hair the color of grizzly fur and dark skin like the Mexican Gulf sand we come from. I miss those shiny teal waves of warmth and the palm trees swinging overhead. But I don't miss my dad and the way he hit my mom. I don't miss cowering under our twin bed with Canine and Boujee. And I sure as hell don't miss the way we dug for food like raccoons in the dumpsters. Mexico is filthy if you're in the wrong place. "Peps could we drop by Angelo's place on the way back, I left some s**t there." Says Canine, his breath reeks of cigarettes and he runs his fingers through his hair. "Sure, sodas first man. And I swear to god if you gave Boujee another drag I'll knock the stupid right out your ass. It's bad enough you're at it again." I say, slapping the side of his face playfully. I hope he understands why I'm scared. I hope with everything I've got. The Golden Cactus is the only gas station in Setrone that isn't fought over 24/7 by gangs. Mostly because it's the cruddiest looking place you've ever seen and it's literally caving in on the left side. We enter through the front doors and I hold it open for Boujee before Canine stops and lets me in ahead of him. He's glancing over his shoulder and all around before he lets the glass door swing shut behind us. I feel so weird walking into the gas station today. People come through Setrone all the time, just passing through to get to god knows where, but a hippie van with blacked out windows was far from the weirdest thing we'd seen. And here we are for some reason, my body shaking, my mind crawling with sick outcomes. "here. uhh grab me a Fanta." I say, handing Boujee the twenty from earlier. He takes the bill and struts over to the cooler while I head over to sit down. It's just us in the store besides an old white woman with a sunken face and wispy whitish hair. She watches us intently and her eyes never leave Boujee's hand when it reaches into the cooler. "Hey Canine what soda did you-" Boujee is cut off by the sound of bullets. Three shots shatter the front store window and my whole world is flipped into slow motion. The sheet of shattered glass falls in a wave, and the sleeves of Canines leather jacket ripple when his body hits the floor. Boujee hits the ground too and his slicked hair bounces, the spit flies out of his mouth and hangs mid air. Before I even know what I'm doing I'm on the ground too, my forearms smack the tile and my legs crack, stone against bone. My long hair spreads on the ground in front of me in the shape of a blood pool. Everything snaps back to speed and I place my sweating palms on the back of my head. This brings flashbacks from Mexico. "Everybody on the ground!" The gunman screams, heavy boots pounding into the scene. The sound of rubber on tile brings a cacophony of fears riling to life in my head. f**k this anxiety. 'please, please mom let us come home to you' I pray to myself. When the gunman steps over us the cashier moves aside behind the counter, I'm surprised she doesn't blow away when he yells at her, she's so thin. I wish there was something I could do. It still escapes me why someone would want to rob this place, he must be from out of town. "Now b***h!" He slams his gun on the counter. His voice is loud and deep, but still holds a nasally tone. It would irritate me if I wasn't so focused on trying not to puke in the midst of this anxiety attack I'm having. The woman rushes to unhinge the cash box and he fires a half clip into the ceiling. She flinches on every shot. We all do. Canine nudges my foot and in a barely audible whisper: "one shot left.." leaves his lips. My body freezes and I almost lose control of my bladder when I see the gunman go motionless. He's heard Canine. He's heard the whisper we thought a breeze could flush away. And just as he turns around, things take a gory turn. Without turning my head I know someone new has entered the room. The air feels more crowded, and I'm on the brink of moving to see what it is when a portion of the gunman's head flops to the floor. its a juicy squishing sound when it hits the tile, and the only noise beforehand is the gunman gathering breath for a scream. His head is cut in two, a clean slice as straight as a tightened string. His body collapses at the knees and bends awkwardly as it meets the floor, blood sluicing out of his head like a spilled glass. My stomach tightens and Canine grabs my hand. we're squeezing the life out of each others knuckles and our foreheads are pressed to the tile as we pant in exasperation. I can feel Boujee latch onto Canines other hand, and in that moment we're ready. whatever fate may find us, we're ready together. "You guys can get up now. Like I'm sorry for being a bit of a killjoy... Sodas are cool." A new voice fills the dead-silent room. A tall man about nineteen is perched on the edge of the cashiers desk. He's got dark brown hair that's greased back and icy blue eyes. He wears a long leather overcoat with weird stitching that drapes over the edge of the counter like Rapunzel hair. He's got thick muscled arms and light skin dotted with tattoos; the few I can see are a couple of tears by his eyes and a random word in really scripty writing above his eyebrow. Its something in Latin I can't quite make out. He looks threatening, but his voice and the way he holds himself assures me he's got good intentions, or at least ones that will keep us alive longer than that gunman planned. Canine and Boujee and me are all panting and shaking like mad. We're scared shitless. Whatever person can slice up people like that could cause a lot more pain than a f*****g bullet. My eyes wander to the lifeless body of the gunman. one shot left. I had been one shot away from death before doctor cheese-grater-your-face showed up. He's got plans, nobody wastes their time saving a trio of high school kids. And whatever they are, I want in on them. "I'm Vince." He stands and bows "Vince the Fateful."