– You don’t remember any of it?

Andy thinks about what he remembers.

– No. They hit me really hard.

– Are you going back to school ever?

– No, I don’t think so. I just got caught up with everything I missed. If I work hard I can finish all the requirements for my diploma by January.

– Wow. I wish I could graduate early. I suck at math and science.

Andy bends and scratches his shin.

– I could help.

– Yeah?

– Sure. If that’s cool. I could.

She holds up her books.

– Algebra?

– Yeah. Sure.

– You’d have to…Um. I can’t go to, you know, I can’t go to a boy’s house.

She looks up.

– I mean, not even to study, you know. So. You’d have to come over.

– OK.

– OK.

They look at everything but each other.

She fluffs her hair.

– So, you need a number, or?

– No, I know it.

– OK.

She starts to walk away, backward, looking at him.

– Call me after dinner?

– Sure.

– Cool.

She turns and runs.

Andy pushes off from the curb, the cap in his hand so he can feel the cool air on his head.

He crosses Murrieta, takes Delaware over to the elementary school and zigzags through the little kids on the blacktop. A teacher yells something at him, but he ignores her and rides off the schoolyard onto Rincon.

Aunt Amy’s car is in her driveway, but he doesn’t stop to say hi. It’s OK for them to go over there now. Now that their dad has made up with her and she’s stopped selling pills. Not that their dad said anything about the pills to them. He probably still doesn’t know what George was doing over there in the first place. But things are cool with her now. As long as their dad doesn’t find out that she stopped selling the pills because she makes so much more money off the meth she’s dealing.

He rides past without stopping. He’ll see her this weekend when she comes over for dinner.

When he turns the corner onto North P it’s like someone has thrown a rock through the surface of the day. The face of it shattering, the pieces falling to the ground, revealing another day behind it.

Weird.

Down the street, Timo is bunny hopping a bike on and off the curb.

Really weird. Like he can almost remember some things.

He looks at the sign on Fernando’s old front lawn, the one telling people the house will be sold at auction by the state. Tries to remember something about that house. Or is it another house?

Then the day puts itself back together and the stuff behind it is gone.

Andy raises an arm.

– Hey, Timo.

At the sound of Andy’s voice Timo flinches. At the sight of Andy he almost dumps the bike. He wrenches the handlebars to the side, rights the bike, and pedals blindly into the intersection at the next corner, almost getting creamed by a beat up ’64 Ford that roars by.

Andy watches his back disappear down the street and imagines the arc Timo’s body might have made if he had been traveling the necessary velocity to have intersected with the Ford, and he flinches when he sees the spray of blood that would have exploded from his head when it hit the ground.

George rides up.

– Hey.

Andy smiles.

– Hey, what’s up?

– Over by the park with some chick, saw you go by.

– Cool.

George nods down the street.

– That Timo?

– Yeah.

– He fuck with you?

– No. Saw me and took off. I was gonna maybe say something about his brothers and stuff. How much that must suck.

George looks at the Arroyos’ old house.

– Yeah. Don’t do that. Don’t talk to him. It sucks his brothers died, but he’s still a dick. Stay away from over here.

– OK. I was just riding around.

– How’s the bike?

– Fucking awesome.

George spits on his thumb and rubs some dry mud from the Redline’s handlebars.

– Take care of it.

– I am.

George stands on his pedals and pumps a couple times and pops a wheelie and starts to ride away.

– Let’s go home. It’s almost dinner time.

Andy looks back at the Arroyo brothers’ house.

George yells.

– Hurry up, I’ll teach you some tricks after we eat.

Andy looks away from the house.

– Cool.

He pulls the dead man’s cap down low over his mutilated head and follows his brother home.

CHARLIE HUSTON is the author of the Henry Thompson trilogy, which includes the Edgar Award-nominated Six Bad Things, as well as The Joe Pitt casebooks. He is also the writer of the recently relaunched Moon Knight comic book. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife, the actress Virginia Louise Smith. Visit him at www.pulpnoir.com