Friday, June 5, 2009


Almost broke my back. The knuckles on my right hand are throbbing like hell. Ribs are tight. My left arm is tingling from the fingertips to the elbow.

I was lazy. You almost never heard from me again. From now on, eyes in the back of my head. Forever.

It isn’t easy being Trey.

Following Jasmine home, I was so focused on her that I didn’t feel the wolves behind me. Sig and Big Wes and The Eagle. They must have picked me up at the open-air mall. I was so conditioned to listen for the Valiant, I didn’t think they could trail me on foot. Stupid.

After Rodeo bailed in his Mercedes, I knocked on Jasmine’s door. Rodeo couldn’t be that far away and she could call him. Then he and I could make a fair deal and everyone would sleep happy that night.

Three knocks into the door and I feel the meaty hands of The Eagle on me. I smell the fried food that’s soaked into his jean jacket.

Oh, fuck. I’m thinking it, but I don’t have time to say it. The Eagle had me flying. There were steps up to Jasmine’s door and I didn’t need them on the way down. I was lucky I had my new backpack over a shoulder. It helped cushion the landing when I fell back onto the brick planter. That’s how I almost broke my back. I said that the backpack helped, but it wasn’t fucking comfortable to smash into the top of a brick wall.

For a second I saw a bright light and thought it was the light at the end of the tunnel, if you know what I mean. Then the silhouette of Jasmine stepped into the light and I knew she had opened her door to see who was knocking. Don’t think she liked what she saw.

Jasmine slammed her door and the next thing I saw was Sig’s ugly face. He grinned like a skull. Like he wanted to eat my soul.

Even flat on my back, pain shooting up and down my arms and legs, Trey ain’t easy to put down. As I twisted to get to my feet, I threw my left elbow out and tagged Sig in the side of his rotten head.

He stumbled away and I’m standing when Big Wes starts throwing. I’ve fought this fucker before. We brawled at a party by the river because the girls were looking at me and not him. Who do you think won that fight? That’s right. Trey.

That time, we were drunk. This time, I was still catching my breath. But I held my own. We traded punches and I got my hands into his shirt. Big Wes is a little taller than me, about six two. He’s got a lot of pounds on me, but I’ve got smarts. I put my knee into his hip and he whipped to one side, putting his beard into my face. Disgusting. I gave him the knee again and threw him to the ground.

And here comes Sig and The Eagle at once. The Eagle’s a big blond dude, all American motherfucker. Sig always looks like his face was just dipped in dirt.

They wanted blood.

Trey’s not ready to bleed. I turned into Jackie Chan, Clubber Lang, Michael Dudikoff, Bruce motherfucking Lee. I was all fists and feet and knees and swinging my backpack around. Got Sig in the jaw. Big Wes limped toward me and I poked my fingers in his throat.

The Eagle hits hard. Didn’t crack my ribs, but I think he bruised them. The next fist was aimed at my face, but I ducked and he nearly scalped me.

I faked like I was going to punch him, then kicked him right below the knee. Slowed him down a little. Gave me enough time to see Sig with his crazy eyes. He pulled at his shirt, at the waist of his jeans and I knew things were about to change fast.

Fight with what you’ve got. I yanked the dagger from my pant leg. It was fast and The Eagle couldn’t get away in time. The thing was made for stabbing straight into the soul of a dark elf and I tried with all my strength to put the blade through The Eagle’s ribs and into his heart.

The tip hit his body and I felt a shockwave slam through me. I didn’t even break the skin.
The fucking knife didn’t come out of its sheath. It scared the shit out of The Eagle, though, and the leather sheath must’ve hurt, but it didn’t kill the dude.

No time to laugh about it. Sig got the Glock out. I remember the gun. Three shots. The smoke lasted, even in the rain.

I didn’t even have time to get the sheath off of the dagger. I elbowed past The Eagle and grabbed Big Wes. We spun toward Sig and he didn’t have a shot. Big Wes got the sheathed knife in the gut, then I threw him into Sig. They tangoed for a second and I ran.

Believe me, I wanted to stay and put that blade through Sig’s eye, but that Glock could’ve come out fast and struck like a snake.

I ran. A tactical retreat as Dad would call it. He’d understand. He knows I’ll get my payback.

There was a victory in running. When I grabbed Big Wes at the end, I felt something on his hip and boosted it from him. So I faced Sig and The Eagle and Big Wes and I lived. I’m full of my own blood ate a couple burgers from the drive-thru, and I’m writing this from the roof of an empty shoe store. That’s right, I’m mobile and talking to you from Big Wes’ Blackberry again. The last message came from this thing. Fucking cool. I gotta get me one of these.

So if you see a story on the news about some homeless guys fighting in front of a hot chick’s condo, you’ll know I didn’t start it.

Now all I have to do is get to Jasmine without Sig and his fucks spotting me.