can get another word out, Hael's mother starts screaming.
“They're coming for me!” she screams in a strange accent, digging her fingers into her hair, eyes darting wildly around the neighborhood. “They're already here; I can smell them. I can smell them. Je les sens.”
“Arrête ça, Maman,” Hael pleads, his teeth gritted, shame coloring his face. This isn't something he ever wanted anyone else to see, let alone Mitch and his crew. Things start making sense: the way Hael acts when his mother is mentioned, the way he avoids her calls, the pair of them homeless and sleeping in the shelter with me and Pen and Pamela.
Clearly, Hael's mom has some serious mental health issues.
She tries to tear away from me, and several guns swing our direction. I stand up after her, trying to keep her still and quiet, but she's fighting me, clawing at my skin with long nails, weeping and shaking and murmuring in French.
“Get that crazy cunt to calm her tits down or—” Mitch starts, but I’m just done listening to men squabble. This woman needs help. Now.
“Or you'll show us all what a real man can do?” I interrupt, reaching beneath my leather jacket and removing the revolver I pinched from Oscar. As soon as he sees me going for it, his gray eyes widen behind his glasses. He didn't expect this shit, now did he?
Glad to know I can pull one off on these boys.
I level the weapon on what's left of Mitch's El Camino. It's fucked from when Hael ran the SUV into it, and I feel my lips split into a grin as I fire a round into the rear windshield, shattering what’s left of it.
“What the fuck?!” Mitch howls, but there are too many witnesses here for anyone to actually put a bullet in another person. This is all for show, all an act. Well, I'm tired of playing my part. I want a new role. I fire off another round into one of the rear tires as chaos erupts around me.
This dark, horrible part of me cackles as fists fly and the boys spill blood, and I'm tempted to point this gun at Kali and cross her name off my own list. But I don't. I know better. Besides, Hael's mother is in full hysterics now, sobbing and clinging to me like I'm her only way out.
“They're after me,” she whispers in that unusual accent of hers. “And they'll get you, too, cher,” she sobs as I tuck the gun back beneath my jacket, catching her before she falls to her knees. While the world around me falls to violence and turmoil, I take Hael's mother by the hands and lead her up the front steps and into the house, closing the door behind us.
Nobody notices us leaving, so I take advantage of the moment and get her situated on the couch as she cries. The house smells like bleach, but underneath it, there's the acrid stink of piss and cigarettes. This woman, in her pink apron, she clearly cleans it, but there's somebody else here who messes it up, and I'd bet the very few pennies I have to my name that it isn't Hael.
“Cher, listen,” she says, taking my hands in hers as my eyes flick to the front door, wondering when or if someone might come storming in here with a gun in their hands. Or if the cops will show up. Unfortunately, the Four Corners neighborhood is technically unincorporated Springfield, meaning the city police won't show up here for shit; this is county territory, so we'd have to wait for the sheriff. Likely, none of the neighbors will bother. The people who live here are well-aware of the costs of getting involved in a gang war. “They're coming for me.”
“Who?” I ask, even though I know I probably shouldn't engage this woman without Hael around. She squeezes my hands, digging her nails into my skin. The move triggers something inside of me and I tear away, stumbling back several steps as old memories come flooding into my brain, a broken dam that rages and destroys as it overflows its banks.
“Bernadette,” Mom snaps, turning around to look at me, digging her red nails into my arm hard enough to draw blood. Her face is a mask of rage; I can't bear to look at it. Instead, I focus on the crescent marks in my skin, unsure of where my blood ends and her red nails begin. “This man is