Coming Clean Read online

  “Because I’m not going to run,” Adam said. “I’ll cop to my part in all this, but you have to as well.”

  “I don’t have to do shit, man.” He laughed and casually put his hands in his pockets. “You are such a chump. What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I didn’t think anyone was going to die.”

  “Yeah,” Sly said. “That’s not really anyone’s plan, is it. But someone did.” Sly moved past Adam, almost as though he was daring him to make a move.”

  “You’re going to admit you were the supplier,” Adam said.

  “Who, me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Your fingerprints have to be all over that garbage room.”

  “You mean the one at the club? Well, sure, I work there, right?” Sly shook his head.

  I saw my brother’s fists clench. Sly did too.

  “My brother had nothing to do with it,” Adam said.

  I could hear sirens in the distance. Everyone turned and looked at the door as though the police would already be standing there waiting.

  “I already told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sly laughed again.

  And a moment later, Adam was on him. He caught him in the side of the head with a big full swing. He followed this with a jab to the gut and, as Sly started to go down, he caught him with an uppercut. I had never seen my brother move so quickly before.

  Sly fell to his knees. Adam took a step forward and kicked him in the chest, then jumped on top of him once he was on the floor.

  “My brother had nothing to do with it.”

  “What is wrong with your head, man?” Sly said. He turned sideways and spit out some blood.

  “Adam,” I said. “Let him up before the cops get here.”

  Amanda came back into the room.

  “Say it,” Adam said. “Say it so everyone can hear it. My brother had nothing to do with it.”

  “Fine. As far as I know, he had nothing to do with it,” Sly said.

  Adam turned to Amanda. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “You’ll tell the police?”

  “Sure,” she said. I noticed that she never once looked at me. “I knew that.”

  “You tell them,” Adam said. Blue and red lights flashed around the room. There was a slamming of car doors. Adam stood. As the officers stepped into the room, he raised his hands.

  “Everyone stay still,” one of the officers said.

  “This guy just assaulted me,” Sly said. He’d pulled himself up onto a chair and sat there shaking.

  “I am Adam MacLean and I want to confess to my crimes,” Adam said. One of the officers crossed the room and grabbed Adam’s hands. He pulled them down and cuffed him, then patted him down for weapons.

  “I want to press charges,” Sly said, spitting blood onto the carpet. The officer walked Adam out of the living room.

  “Everyone stay put,” the other officer said. “We might be here awhile.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Adam came home for two days before the police arrived to take him for his first of many court appearances. There were a lot of charges against him. Dealing drugs was at the top of the list. Assault came a close second. Adam told the police the same story, the one where Sly had him handing out the drugs and nothing more, over and over again, but no one wanted to listen. The problem was he’d lied to them before. He’d run away. And it was only at the last minute that he came clean about giving Mary Jane the drugs that had killed her.

  I felt like that was the most courageous thing he had ever done. No matter what happened, it seemed to me that Adam had redeemed himself with that one admission. He could have gone on lying. In fact, he might have got away with it. But he finally stopped telling stories and, instead, admitted to his part.

  Amanda told the police that, to her knowledge, I had had nothing to do with drugs at the club. But she had also been there when Adam had given Mary Jane the drugs that killed her. I later heard that she’d had something going with Sly. Though, whether she knew he was the actual dealer or not, I’ll never know. Sly had kept himself well removed from the whole enterprise. Once it was all said and done, there was no way to prove he’d ever even seen a bag of drugs before.

  Two months after the incident, Adam was in jail. There was no doubt this was going to happen. He’d been caught in the middle, and though he hadn’t intentionally done anything to hurt anyone, someone had died. Detective Weir had worked hard to make certain Adam was not out on the streets. I think he figured Adam would, eventually, roll on whoever the distributer was. And he had. Over and over again. Sly was the center. Sly was the real dealer. Sly had put him up to it. But that wasn’t the answer the detective wanted.

  It sounded too much like another lie.

  There’s a lot that goes into being a visitor at a prison, even a juvenile one. Luckily, since visiting hours were almost over, I was able to pass through with a little of my dignity intact.

  Adam was sitting at a table in the middle of the visitors’ room.

  “No Plexiglass shield between us?”

  I said as I sat down. He was in an orange jumpsuit. The room was filled with low, murmured conversations and occasional sobs. It was, by far, the very worst place I had ever been in my life.

  “Yeah, that’s only for the hard-core guys,” Adam said.

  “Hey, don’t kid yourself. You’re hard-core.”

  “Not so much in here, Rob.” He looked at me, then turned his head away. “This place is awful.”

  “Yeah,” I said. Our mother had been to visit once. I’d been at school that day, so this was the first time I’d spoken with Adam since he’d been put in here.

  “But you won’t be here for long.”

  “Who knows?”

  “Is it really bad?” He nodded to this, his head tilted down. I could tell he was crying, and I had no idea what to do.

  I wanted to reach over and hold him.

  To give him a hug, like he used to do for me when we were young and I’d fallen and hurt myself. He used to be able to make anything better. And yet now, I could do nothing for him.

  “So,” I said.

  “Sorry, man. It’s just…” He looked up, then away. “It’s not where I expected to be, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  “It’s just so stupid. Everything. Why?”

  He stopped, shook his head again. “The counselor says asking why isn’t useful. Not now. Anyway, I know why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why I’m here.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m a bad person.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said. “Man, not even close. You made a bad choice. That’s all. This will blow over, man. This is nothing. You never received any money for any of the drugs.”

  “Sly paid me.”

  “Not for that,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, the problem is that I have a certain reputation. Anytime anyone asks about me, the first thing they hear is that I’m full of shit. That doesn’t help when I claim I’m innocent. And it wouldn’t even matter if they got something on Sly. It wouldn’t change any of the facts.”

  “How’s your lawyer?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really spoken to her.”

  “They can’t keep you here for long.”

  He looked at the table again. “Mandatory sentence,” he said. And those were the two hardest words he’d likely ever had to say. And the two hardest I had ever heard.

  “Something will happen,” I said.

  “Yeah.” He looked at me again. “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’d probably be best if you didn’t come visit.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you around all this shit.”

  “Adam. I will be here every week.”

  “Man, don’t do that. We can talk on the phone, all right?”

  “No, I mean, yeah, but als
o…”

  “It’s just going to be for the best.” He suddenly stood up. “I’m sorry, man. I should have tried harder.”

  “Tried harder at what?” I said.

  “Just, you know, tried harder. Tried to be someone rather than create the illusion of someone.”

  “You’re someone,” I said. “You’re my brother.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled and gave me a nod. “You maybe need to choose your family a little better next time.”

  But that isn’t an option, I thought. We don’t choose our family.

  “Given the choice,” I said, “I’d still choose you.”

  “Proving yet again that your grades do not necessarily reflect your intelligence.” He gave me a slight smile. “Listen, I just don’t want you to see this shit. I don’t want you to be here around these people. It won’t do you any good. Forget about me for now. I’ll see you when I get out, and maybe we can start again.” He turned to leave.

  And though there were signs everywhere that read No Touching, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t just let him go off like that. Even in those final moments, I had to try and make things better. I darted around the table and grabbed him and held on to him as hard as I could.

  “I’m sorry, man. I should have tried harder too. I’m sorry.”

  “No touching!” someone yelled. But I just held on. “Hey, no touching.” Then there were hands on me, pulling me away.

  And, a moment later, he was gone.

  Jeff Ross is the author of three books in the Orca Sports series—Dawn Patrol, The Drop and Powerslide. He was a DJ for a number of years but now lives happily, although with reduced hearing, in Ottawa, Ontario, where he teaches Scriptwriting and English at Algonquin College.

  orca soundings

  The following is an excerpt from

  another exciting Orca Soundings novel,

  Dead Run by Sean Rodman.

  9781459802445 $9.95 PB

  9781459802452 $16.95 LIB

  BICYCLE RACING IS SAM’S SPORT, AND HE

  wants to win—no matter what it takes. So Sam signs on with Viktor, an aging Olympic medalist, as his coach. But there’s a catch. Sam has to work as a bicycle courier at Viktor’s company, making deliveries in downtown traffic at breakneck speeds. Then he is assigned the “dead run,” delivering untraceable packages for an unknown client. Soon Sam is racing away from the law—and risks losing everything.

  Chapter One

  I have no fear.

  I’m tensed and ready, like a coiled spring. I know that the stakes in this race are high. But I am not afraid. I’m totally focused. Nothing exists except the starting signal. And the bike beneath me.

  The light goes green. I hammer down, making powerful sweeps with my pedals, surging forward. The BMW to my left starts to accelerate, but I beat him into the intersection. Then I’m across the street. Dodging around a big green Dumpster. Weaving back away from a city bus.

  In my mind, I’m ahead of the pack at the Olympics. I’m fighting it out with the best cyclists in the world. But it’s all in my head. So far. The truth is that I’m only seventeen, with just a couple of races under my belt.

  It’s a start. I’ve got big plans.

  A delivery truck blocks my lane, so I bunny-hop onto the sidewalk. I pull up in front of Quan’s Groceries, leaning my steel-gray racing bike up against a metal grate. I slap my lock around the bike and the grate, then walk in.

  “Hey, Sam,” grunts the big guy behind the counter.

  “Hey, Mr. Lee,” I reply. “Just need some breakfast.”

  “Are you in that bike race downtown today?” Mr. Lee asks. Me and my dad are regulars here.

  “Yeah, the Albion Square Crit. I’m on my way.” I carefully pick out two of the least spotted bananas from the display.

  “You going to win?”

  I come back to the counter. “You can bet money on it,” I say. Mr. Lee chuckles.

  “Then the bananas are on the house today. Consider it my big sponsorship for you.”

  I laugh and thank him. Outside, I slide the bananas into the wide pocket at the rear of my jersey. I check my watch—damn, I’m late again. Gotta move it. I’m on the bike and back on the road. Fighting through traffic. Racing.

  Big sponsorship. That would be nice. I’m still in the Junior category. Which means no real money, not like the pros. Mind you, today is a little different. The Albion Crit—short for “criterium”—is a city race, ten laps around a couple of blocks downtown. Like most races, there’s an individual winner as well as a winning team. But in this crit, there are also special prizes. The judges will ring a bell in the middle of the race. That means whoever wins the next lap gets $100. A little extra money would be kind of a big deal right now. Things are pretty tight at home. Dad works the night shift at a warehouse, which barely pays our rent. Mom—she left a couple of years ago.

  My focus snaps back to the street when I see the red brake lights of a taxi flare in front of me. I lean hard, dodging a woman stepping out of the yellow cab. Don’t want to get doored.

  By the time I get to Albion Square, there’s a big crowd waiting at the start line. It’s drizzling a little now, a fine mist that slicks the road. I walk my bike in between the brightly colored rain jackets and umbrellas, looking for my team. There they are—two guys working on their bikes, both my age. The tallest one looks over.

  “Sam!” Hayden says loudly. “What took you so long?”

  “Traffic,” I say.

  “Whatever,” Hayden says. He straightens up and looks at me. “It’s always something.” His black hair is plastered to his head with the rain. He’s clearly not in a good mood. “And you didn’t show up for practice last night. What was your excuse for that?”

  “No excuse. I didn’t need the practice. My time is good,” I say. I look him right in the eyes, daring him to take me on. Christ, Hayden’s annoying. His dad owns a bike shop, which means we get free gear. Gear that I can’t afford. But Hayden thinks that also means he’s the coach. We lock tough-guy stares for a minute. Then he breaks it off.

  “All right, this is the plan. It’s Andrew’s turn to take the lead. You and I will cover him, let him draft behind us. We all hold back for the first eight laps. Then Andrew will break away and go for it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Andrew isn’t a sprinter. We’ll lose.”

  “Actually, he’s right,” Andrew says to Hayden, shrugging. “Sam is a way better sprinter than me…” He’s a small kid, always a little nervous around me.

  “You don’t get it, Sam,” Hayden says. “If we don’t give Andrew the chance, he’s never going to get better, right? It’s not like this crit is a big deal. It’s just practice.”

  “Now we’re practicing to be losers?”

  “Enough. You want to race today or not?”

  I do. And as much as I hate Hayden’s attitude, if I want to keep racing on the team, I don’t really have a choice. I suck it up.

  “Fine,” I say. “Andrew takes the breakaway.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re at the starting line. The street is clogged with brightly colored racers. I recognize a few of the teams. The Red Rock Cycles guys are hard to miss in their red-and-white uniforms. They have the best bikes and pretty much always place in the top rankings. There’s part of me that wants to beat them. And part of me that wishes I were on their team.

  Time to pull it together. I take some deep breaths, trying to slow down my heart, riding the adrenaline building in my veins.

  The noise of the crowd suddenly drops. There’s a long blast from an air horn. Immediately, the pack of cyclists crashes forward across the line. It’s all pistoning legs, elbows out, just trying to stay upright. One guy spills into the crowd as we go around the first corner. The pack starts to stretch out, the slowest riders dropping behind while the best ones pull ahead. By the time we’re in the straightaway, my team is right in the middle of the pack.

  Six laps later, we’re still in the middl
e. I’m pulling for Andrew, who is drafting behind me. Hayden and I have been taking turns letting him ride close to our bikes, practically touching wheels. By cycling like this, we make it easier for him to pedal and conserve his energy. That way, he should be rested and ready for his big break. If he’s still up for it. I shoulder-check, then drop back to talk to him.

  “Next lap, you ready?” I say. Andrew can’t speak, he’s panting so hard. He just nods and grunts. This plan is not going to work. I look ahead as the pack dives into the straightaway on our eighth lap. On the sidelines I see one of the race organizers lift a big silver bell and ring it. There it is. Winner of the next lap gets one hundred bucks.

  Screw it.

  I rise up off my seat and push down, hard. In seconds, I’m away from Hayden and Andrew. My chest starts to heave. I focus on the leader, on the back of his Red Rock Cycles jersey. A moment later, I’m beside him. Then I’m on my own and headed to win that hundred bucks. And maybe the race. If I can stay ahead of the pack.