Shine - Lauren Myracle [35]
He got the scar in the fifth grade. Back then he had a dog named Daisy, and one time he let Daisy out and forgot to call her back in. He fell asleep on the couch, that’s why. Daisy got hit by a pickup truck, and when Roy found out, he punched Beef in the face, leaving a moon-shaped mark that never went away. Then he made Beef dig a hole to bury Daisy in, saying a man has to clean up his own messes.
Beef cried like a baby. Not where his dad could see, but at our house, after it was done.
Beef exhaled, and the sound of it pulled me back to Huskers.
“I don’t see the point of talking about it,” Beef said. “Why are you so interested? I hear you’ve been sniffing around, and I don’t like it.”
I was offended. More than that, I hated the thought of people discussing me, wondering out loud what I was up to. He must have seen it on my face, because he took it down a notch.
“I don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all,” he said. “Why can’t you just stay out of it?”
“’Cause I don’t want to. ’Cause I want to know what happened.” I wrapped my hands around my cup. “Heck, Beef, you know Sheriff Doyle isn’t going to do squat.”
“Hey. He’s doing what he can.”
I rolled my eyes. Sheriff Doyle wouldn’t know it if his butt was on fire.
“Either way, I’ve told him everything I know,” Beef said.
“But you haven’t told me, and Christian won’t, either. Come on, Beef.”
He tugged at the brim of his baseball cap, which was emblazoned with the logo for the Asheville Tourists. His dark hair curled up from below. He’d always worn his hair buzz-cut short, but now, apparently, he was letting it go—along with everything else. His lips were chapped, and his face was haggard, like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in forever. I thought about everything Destiny had told me, knowing her information might or might not have been true. Only one way to find out.
“Do you do crank?” I asked bluntly.
“What?!”
“Someone said you work for Wally. The, um, meth cooker.”
“I know who Wally is, Cat. For Christ’s sake.” He checked on Dupree and lowered his voice. “Who said that? I want you to tell me right now.”
“Do you?”
“No,” he said. “God, Cat. Jesus fucking Christ.”
But he was holding back. I could tell because he refused to meet my eyes.
“I know you’re lying,” I whispered. I didn’t, and all I wanted was to be wrong. But I threw it out there, and it stuck.
“I used to work for Wally,” he finally said. “A little running, a little dealing, all right? But I quit. I quit, dammit.”
A stone lodged in my gut, because this was my friend telling me this, telling me he used to sell meth. It was insane. It was . . . it was a house pet turning inside out, showing itself to be a fox.
“Are you a user?” I asked.
“Goddammit, no. Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
The pattern of the plastic table swam in front of me. “Is Christian?”
“Hey,” Beef said. “Hey. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze.
“Your brother’s clean. Dang, Cat. You think he would come within ten miles of meth?”
“I guess not.”
“But you think I would.”
“Like I said, I heard some things.”
“About who? About Christian?”
I rubbed my forehead. “No. Just you, Tommy, and Dupree.”
Dupree looked over. “Y’all talking about me? ’Bout how sexy I am?”
“That’s right, Dupree,” Beef said. “Sexiest man in a five-foot radius.”
Dupree laughed, and Beef laughed back—ha-ha-ha. When Dupree went back to the slices of meat, Beef made a finger gun and shot him.
“Okay,” I said, gathering my courage. I wanted the details, however ugly they were. “So you sold meth for Wally, but you didn’t smoke it or sniff it or whatever?”
“I got out, Cat. You gotta believe me.” He clasped his hands on the table. “I ain’t speaking for Tommy or Dupree. They want to ruin their lives, that’s their business. But not me.”
“How did you even fall into all that? Was it because of getting injured and losing your scholarship?”
“You know