Free North American Lake Monsters by Nathan Ballingrud Page A

it on our skin. All that German secret police shit, forget all that. That was just one manifestation. We’re the new manifestation.” He tapped the symbol. “White family. White brotherhood. Now, sometimes you gotta do ugly things for the family’s sake. Just like me and Matt had to do. And you know what? Niggers and fags might not be the brightest creatures on this earth, but they can take a message if you deliver it right. I ain’t seen that boy back here since.”
    The other boys nodded. “Damn right,” one said.
    “Violence is the only language they understand,” said Derrick. “So if you don’t know it, you better learn it.”
    Nick nodded again. He resisted the impulse to check his watch. It seemed like Trixie and the other girls should have been here by now. He figured when the girls got back they would set aside business and just sit around and get drunk, which is what he really wanted.
    “You got what it takes to earn the broken cross, Nick? Put the S.S. on your skin? You know, you got to earn it.”
    “I know,” said Nick.
    “Can you handle yourself in a fight?” The others looked him over like they couldn’t really believe it. “’Cause I mean, no offense dude, but you’re kind of a scrawny little fuck.”
    Somebody laughed.
    “I can handle myself,” Nick said.
    “You hear that Matt? He think’s he’s hard.”
    “He don’t look too hard,” Matt said.
    “Well. I guess we gotta ask Trix about that.”
    Nick flushed. Derrick leaned toward him and said, “Our girl, she knows all about hard. You think you can fill her up, little boy? She let you in there yet? She ain’t a little kid. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you ain’t gonna fool her.” He grabbed his crotch, spreading his fingers to indicate he had quite a handful. “Besides, I stretched her out pretty good. I don’t know if she’ll be able to feel your little needle.”
    “Fuck you,” Nick said.
    “Uh-oh, here we go,” said Matt. Nick glared at the floor and stood up. Derrick rose to meet him, but Nick turned toward the door.”
    “What?” said Derrick? “Are you going to cry? Oh my God, you are.”
    Nick strode toward the door. A stinging heat pressed behind his eyes.
    Derrick laughed. “You sure you want to go? We got four of us, only three girls. I think Matt could use a bitch, couldn’t you, Matt?”
    “Fuck you dude,” Matt said.
    Nick opened the door and stepped outside; the evening air felt cool after the dense heat of the bar. He felt an absurd impulse to ask them to tell Trixie that he’d gone home, but crushed it. One of the boys said, “What a little bitch,” and then the door shut behind him. He started the long walk to the ferry, which would carry him across the river and back into familiar territory. Streetlamps along the way shed cold trees of light. The dark sky was close and heavy.

    After that, he was sure shewas done with him. But this morning’s phone call at the restaurant gave him new hope, and he found himself waiting for her on his front porch. He watched the evening settle over New Orleans like some great hunched buzzard, the sky deepening into the star-spiked blue of twilight. Fitful gusts of wind carried a cold undercurrent and occasionally pelted him with a few fat, isolated raindrops. Across the street, the thrashing fronds of a palm tree tossed around a bright shard of moon.
    Nick and his mother lived in a shotgun house a few blocks lakeside of St. Charles Avenue, and like many other houses on their street it existed on the cusp of total dereliction. Paint peeled from its walls, and the wood was so riddled with termites that, during mating season, huge swarms of them would choke the air inside the house. Their tiny lawn seemed eager to make up for its size with outright belligerence, as though it harbored aspirations to junglehood and resented its confined circumstances. As porch lights and windows began to glow along the street, his own home grew darker by comparison,