Shine - Lauren Myracle [14]
“From Mario and Luigi,” Christian said. He recited a list of what I assumed were video games: “Super Smash Bros. Mario Kart. Brawl.”
“The little dudes with the mushrooms?” I’d seen them on someone’s handheld game at one point or another.
“Super Mario Mushroom, baby!”
I wasn’t his “baby.” I also wasn’t drunk, since I’d had zero beers to his, oh, five or six or seven. “That’s the stupidest name for a fake ID I’ve ever heard,” I said. “And why Mario Mario? Doesn’t the mushroom dude have a real last name?”
“I think that is his real last name, and yeah, it’s dumb as shit,” Christian said. “If you’re going to make a fake, you might as well try to make it look authentic.” He grinned. “But holy goddamn, it made me laugh.”
Remembering made him laugh again. Out of stinginess, I didn’t join in. My feelings toward Christian were too complicated. Also, I’d promised to help at the church nursery the next day, which meant for an early morning, and which meant I should have just gone to bed.
But didn’t. I guess it was nice sitting on the front porch and listening to Christian laugh.
“I’m assuming Patrick turned Mario Mario down?” I said.
Christian filled me in. Apparently, Mario Mario came in with three other guys, all of them dudded out in college-boy button-downs over T-shirts with logos for skateboards and ski wear. They browsed the aisles and plunked their selections on the counter, including two cases of Budweiser. Patrick glanced at Mario’s ID to be polite, but, he told Christian later, he’d known from the moment the guys came in that none of them was legal.
“I can ring up the food, but not the beer,” Patrick told him. “Sorry, bro.”
Mario hadn’t liked it. Patrick held firm. So Mario and his friends started ragging on Patrick: calling him a fag, telling him to not to be so gay, checking his plastic name tag and shortening his name to Trish. Normal old normal, and nothing Patrick hadn’t endured before.
“Then they laid into Gwennie,” Christian said.
“Gwennie?” I said. “What was she doing there? Was she alone?” Gwennie was fifteen years old and too innocent for her own good.
“Uh, no, she was with Patrick.”
“Yeah, but . . .” I shook my head. “What about Beef? Was he there?” I guess part of me still clung to the belief that big brothers took care of their little sisters.
“Hush up and I’ll tell it,” Christian said. “Beef wasn’t there, just Gwennie. When Mario and his buddies couldn’t get a rise out of Patrick, they went off on her.”
“How?” I said.
“Just, you know. Making rude comments and stuff.”
“Like what?”
He rubbed his neck.
“What did they say?”
“Fag hag,” he said, shifting his gaze. “But don’t worry, ‘cause right about then is when me and Tommy came along.”
He got his groove back. “Patrick had Gwennie behind the counter with him. The college boys were up in their faces, and we got there in time to see Patrick pull himself tall and let them have it.” Christian slapped his knee. “He told them to exit the premises or he’d call the police.”
“And they did? They left?”
“Well, Tommy and me gave them a helping hand.”
“Good,” I said vehemently. “I’m glad you were there.”
Christian looked at me with a funny expression, which I pretended not to see. Maybe I didn’t send love his way all that often, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t.
As I sat on our porch now and watched the sun rise, I thought about those underage party boys. Maybe they held a grudge against Patrick. Did they return with thoughts of revenge? If so, how could I find out?
I could go to the Come ‘n’ Go, I supposed. But, no. If any of them had attacked Patrick, they’d never come back.
So, okay. My suspects so far were out-of-town college boys or some random sadist who just happened to be driving along Route 34, and who just happened to brutally assault a guy he didn’t know from Adam.
I’d keep those options in mind, but my money was on someone from Black Creek, possibly aided by one or two of his buddies. My money was on the redneck posse, and the only member I exempted was Christian. He wasn’t perfect, but I knew with absolute certainty that