Half-Resurrection Blues_ A Bone Street Rumba Novel - Daniel Jose Older Page 0,2

universe and he is a total jackass.

Trevor turns to me, his face suddenly sharp, and says: “It’s time. Let’s go.” His glare is penetrating and reveals nothing. A total blank.

We move quickly, with purpose. He either already knows I’m extraordinarily agile, or he didn’t even notice the cane. I’m dodging a hodgepodge of hipsters and homeless rich kids, keeping my eyes on Trevor’s paisley cap bobbing up ahead. He’s still laughing and calling people douche bags, and I have no idea whether I’m giving chase or being led into a trap. Or both.

“What’s your name, man?” I slur, playing up the rum on my breath.

He eyes me and then says, “Trevor.”

“Carlos,” I say, and I realize with a start that he’s probably reading right through my every move just like I’m trying to read through each of his. The shock of this makes me feel momentarily naked; I quickly gather myself and cobble back the wall of deceit.

I have never dealt with someone like me before.

“Why so serious?” Trevor says again, this time at me. He’s still laughing.

“Not at all,” I say. Then I swig from my flask and he swigs from his.

He’s meeting someone. The realization comes clear like a whisper inside my head, and I can’t help but wonder if the same voice is murmuring he’s onto you in his.

We break from the crowd, cut a sharp right on Third Street, and end up beneath an ancient willow tree leaning out of Prospect Park. The wide avenue is deserted except for a few loping stragglers from the party on Seventh. It’s a cool night. The light rain isn’t falling so much as hovering in the air around us in a teasing little cumulus.

“This is the year, people!” Trevor yells at no one in particular. “The time she has come! People, get ready!” He kicks an empty beer bottle into a nearby bush, upsetting a family of night birds. I should just kill him now; that static filling the air hints at untold horrors. Also, I have no idea how hard he’ll be to take down. I don’t even know if I can fully die again. I’m bracing myself to make my move when a few figures emerge from the shadowy park.

“That you, broham?” one of them calls out as they get close. Broham? Is that Trevor’s real name? I try to make myself as unnoticeable as possible, but we’re a party of two, and we’re both inbetweeners. “Who’s the dude, man? Thought this was a secret and shit.”

“It’s cool, Brad,” says Trevor or Broham, or whoever my new friend/prey is. “He’s with me.”

No one’s ever said that about me. I’m flattered and repulsed at the same time.

Brad is tall and thick. His blond hair is close cropped in a military buzz cut. Of the crew behind him, three are basically Brad clones with different color hair, one is an Asian Brad, and another little guy is definitely Indian/Pakistani or maybe Puerto Rican. Or half-black. Whatever he is, he gets randomly searched every time he’s within twenty feet of an airport. Finally, there’s a hipster—the cats are everywhere—looking extraordinarily out of place and awkward.

“Okay, bros, let’s do this thing,” Brad says. Shady supernatural shenanigans in the Slope and it involves a bunch of frat boys? Curiouser and curiouser.

CHAPTER TWO

We make our way along the edge of the park. One of the Brads falls into place beside me. “Michael,” he says, extending an awkward hand as I amble along.

“Carlos,” I say. I nod, but don’t touch his hand. People tend to notice how chilly and dry my skin is. And I tend to pick up way too much information about folks when we touch. Sometimes it’s better not to know.

Michael’s forced smile fades. “Are you going to, you know, help show us, uh, the other side?”

“Whose big idea was this, Michael?”

“Well, David, really.” Michael nods toward the skinny hipster. “He gathered us together late one night at his house. He’s Brad’s homey. I don’t really know him that well. Anyway, he said he had a big opportunity, a chance for us to see things no one else had seen. But only if we could be trusted, right?”

“Right.”

“Said he’d met this dude—no name or nothing, just this dude—and that he was going to take us to, you know, the other side.”

I make an ambivalent half grunt and Michael frowns, like maybe he revealed too much. He quickens his pace to catch up with the others. Darkened Victorians peek out from behind