The Jealous Kind Read Online Free PDF Page A

head, then looked over his shoulder. “Come here, Broussard.”
    I put down my term project, a gear puller I was polishing on the electric brush, and walked toward him. “Yes, sir?”
    Krauser had a broad upper lip and wide-set eyes and a bold stare and long sideburns and black hair growing out of his shirt cuffs. His facial features seemed squeezed together as though he carried an invisible weight on top of his head. As soon as you saw him, you wanted to glance away, at the same time fearing he would know how you felt about him.
    â€œHeard you had an adventure in the Heights.”
    â€œNot me.”
    â€œYou know that bunch out there?”
    I shook my head, my expression vague.
    â€œYou don’t want to mess with them,” he said.
    â€œI don’t want trouble, Mr. Krauser.”
    â€œI bet you don’t.”
    â€œSir?”
    His eyes went up and down my body. “Been working out lately?”
    â€œI have jobs at the neighborhood grocery and the filling station.”
    â€œNot exactly what I had in mind. Tuck your shirt in and come with me.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œI’m going to show you how it’s done. They think you were hunting in their snatch patch. Dumb move, Broussard.”
    â€œHow did you know I was in the Heights?”
    â€œHeard about it during homeroom. I’ve seen that bunch before. There’s only one way to deal with them, son. If you’ve got a bad tooth, you pull the bad tooth.”
    â€œI really don’t want to do this, sir.”
    â€œWho said you had a choice?”
    I didn’t know what Krauser was up to. He was no friend. Nor did he care about justice. I could hear him breathing and could smell the testosterone that seemed ironed into his clothes. By the time we reached the ball diamond, I was seeing spots before my eyes.
    â€œWhat are you guys doing here?” Krauser said to them.
    The tall guy who had braced me in front of Valerie’s house was combing his hair with both hands as if Krauser weren’t there. He was wearing gray drapes and a black suede belt and a long-sleeved purple rayon shirt. He reminded me of the photographs I had seen of the jazz cornetist Chet Baker: the same hollow cheeks and dark eyes, an expression that was less like aggression than acceptance of death. It was a strange look for a guy who was probably not over nineteen.
    â€œDid you hear me?” Krauser said.
    â€œYou got a rule against people having a smoke?” the tall greaser said.
    â€œThere’s a ‘no loitering’ sign right behind you,” Krauser said.
    â€œThat’s a police station across the street, right? Tell them Loren Nichols is here. Tell them to kiss my ass. You can do the same.”
    â€œYou shot a man in a drive-in.”
    â€œWith an air-pump pistol. A grown man who put his hand up my sister’sdress at a junior high school picnic. I don’t know if that was in the paper or not.”
    I heard the bell ring and classes start emptying out in the hallways and concourses. Neither Loren Nichols nor his friends had looked at me, and I thought the incident might pass, that I might go to the cafeteria with Saber and forget about everything bad that had happened since Saturday evening. Maybe I could even make peace with Loren Nichols. I had to give it to him. He was an impressive guy. The moment was like an interlude in time when the potential for good or bad could go either way.
    Mr. Krauser rested his hand on my shoulder. I felt an icicle run down my side. “My young friend Aaron has told me how you boys treated him,” he said. “Now you’re here to pick on him some more. What do y’all think we should do about that?”
    Loren’s gaze shifted from Krauser to me, his head tilting. “Buy him a dress? He’s a cute kid, all right.”
    â€œThe kids in our school respect authority,” Krauser said. “They report guys like you.