Cape Cod Noir - By David L Ulin Page 0,12

rolled onto its feet and started walking again.

“That’s like some voodoo or something,” DeShawn said, moving away from Bobby like he was a man possessed.

Bobby had power over that chicken just like Freddie had power over Tiny and Chad had power over me.

Chad and me used to be like Freddie and Tiny: inseparable. I followed Chad everywhere, did whatever he did, and whatever he wanted me to do. Now he’s doing time on a twenty-year sentence on account of our accident. On account of me.

Sometimes we got Saturday-afternoon passes to Woods Hole on the mainland. Saturdays in “the Hole” were good until Freddie convinced Tiny to steal Second Chance and take it over to Osterville where they said they were going to break into some boats cause Ryan Peasely told them how much money he cleared dealing from his dad’s summer house out thataway.

As we ferried over that late September day, Tiny said, “I ain’t doin’ it.” Stubby Knowles, our mechanics and fisheries teacher who also captained Second Chance, was inside the wheelhouse and couldn’t hear us over the sound of the engine, the wind, and the squawking gulls.

“Whassamattah? You chickenin’ out?” Bobby asked.

“Fuck you,” Tiny shot back.

Tiny didn’t like Bobby much. After the chicken-swinging incident, Tiny asked if taking care of the chickens could be his chore and his alone, like he wanted to keep the birds safe from Bobby. No one fought him for the honor.

“Bawk!” Bobby said. Freddie snorted with laughter. They high-fived.

Tiny stared so hard at Bobby he could have burned two holes straight through him with his eyes. Bobby shrank. Tiny was twice his size and could have easily snapped him in two.

Tiny started to laugh that kind of laugh that sounds weirdly close to crying. “Fooled yas, I did,” Tiny said. But Tiny hadn’t fooled anyone. He was only staying in because he didn’t want Bobby to take his place as Freddie’s best.

As soon as we stepped off the boat, Freddie said, “Listen, homies, we gonna bust this shit up like something real,” like we were a bunch of brothers who had escaped Rikers on some wooden raft and sailed our way up to the Cape to terrorize all the rich people.

“DeShawn, my nigga, you reel in da ho’s for me.”

Freddie always talked like a gangsta rapper to DeShawn, so did Bobby. Two boys, as white as they come. Even Freddie, though he’s Italian, as pale as the moon. Tiny just stood to the side looking confused, waiting for them to get it over with and talk like their old selves again.

Bobby and Freddie worshipped DeShawn cause he’s black and from Dorchester. DeShawn wouldn’t say anything about why he was here, but you could always see wheels turning behind his eyes, going somewhere way the fuck far away and running us over on his way there.

Whenever DeShawn got that look on Freddie always said, “Like, DeShawn my man, you and me relate, homes, cuz your shit is real, brother, just like my shit is real, a’ight?”

Freddie never seemed to notice the look that came over DeShawn’s eyes when he talked to him. Then again, if he did notice he didn’t seem to care. It’s kind of like Chad saying what you don’t know can’t hurt you, only with Freddie it was pretending that you don’t know, like pretending that DeShawn didn’t hate him would help keep him from getting his ass kicked all over the Hole.

The night of the accident, back in August, I pretended everything was okay.

“Dudes,” Chad had said to some friends of his who pulled up next to us in front of the Cumbie Farms, “I bet you a thousand dollars my little brother and I can jack a car faster than you.”

It had been a long time since Chad and me had broken into a car and I doubted he and his friends had any money, unless they were dealing, which they probably were, but I didn’t want to know. I hadn’t seen much of Chad in three years, not since he had turned eighteen and joined the Army.

“Why you wanna go fight the war?” I asked him before he left.

Chad pointed to his head and said, “Gotta be easier than fighting the war inside.”

It wasn’t that Chad was a bad guy, it was that he was good at things you weren’t supposed to do like breaking into places and stealing shit. And Chad had this ability to not get caught, which, in a twisted way, made me and Caroline