Coda 02 -A to Z

telling the truth. “You think I would do that?”
    “No.”
“You fucking liar!” Tom yelled.
“Ang?”
    He looked right at me. “I know what he’s talkin’ ’bout. I never told you ’cause I didn’t want to upset you.”
    I didn’t have time to puzzle through what could have happened. Tom grabbed my arm. I turned to look at him. He was smiling, but it was a twisted smile, and he just looked evil. His voice had turned malicious when he said, “You’re wrong, Zach. You said that what you want and what I want aren’t the same thing. But you’re wrong. We do want the same thing. We both want for you to continue to rent here.”
    “You sick goddamn piece of shit motherf—”
    I interrupted Angelo—behind me, displaying an impressive talent for stringing every bad word he knew into a single sentence— to ask Tom, “Are you serious?”
    “Absolutely.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“We talked about this the first night, remember?”
    My mind flashed back to our first date. I was trying to remember exactly what he had said to me, but I couldn’t. All I remembered was being so attracted to him.
    I finally found my voice. “You’re actually saying that I can stay here as long as I let you fuck me.”
    He smiled and put his hand on my cheek, brushed his thumb over my lips, then whispered in my ear, “We don’t have to fuck. I’m perfectly happy to just take advantage of that sweet mouth of yours.”
    I pushed him back, turned away. I actually had to fight the urge to vomit. I halfway considered doing it on his shoes. Suddenly something flew past me, and I looked up to see Angelo shoving Tom hard toward the door. “Get the fuck out!” “Watch yourself, punk!” Tom snapped.
    Angelo walked up to him, kept walking up to him, until their chests were touching and they were nose to nose. Or would have been, if Angelo had been taller. Instead it was more like, nose to chin. Still, it was impressive. Tom actually backed up a step and bumped into the wall behind him.
    “Say that again, asshole.”

    “I’m not afraid of you,” Tom said, but the slight quake in his voice suggested otherwise.
    Angelo grinned at him, and it was a nasty kind of grin. “Oh yeah? Maybe you should be, white boy.”
“Are you threatening me?”
    “Not so fuckin’ stupid after all, are you? Lemme give you some advice, dickhead. Get the fuck out of here. You come back, me and my homies gonna track you down and make you sorry.”
    “I could go to the cops.”

    “And tell them what? How you’re tryin’ to extort sexual favors outta your queer tenants?”

    “They won’t believe you.” And I had to think that Tom was right.
    Angelo’s grin got even meaner. “I got proof, man.” Without turning away from Tom, he pointed to the surveillance camera in the corner. The one that hadn’t even been turned on since Mr. Murray had retired back in the days of VHS. But it did the trick. All the blood drained from Tom’s face. Angelo kept talking. “We got the whole thing on tape, man. So go ahead and bring the cops down here, and let’s all have a nice little fuckin’ chat.”
    “Look,” Tom said, and there was a note of panic in his voice. “I think this is just a misunderstanding. I only meant—” “We know exactly what you meant. I won’t say it again: get out.”

    “Okay.” Tom held his hands up in surrender. “It’s cool. I’m leaving.”
    Angelo moved back a step and gestured toward the door. Tom walked over and opened it, then turned to me. “You’ll be hearing from me,” he said. And then he was gone.

…Angelo
    T OM finally leaves, and I turn ’round to see Zach starin’ at me like I’m his fuckin’ hero. Makes me feel about ten feet tall, too, to see that look on his face. ’Course, I’m also flyin’ high, just knowin’ he finally ditched that jock asshole. But I try to sound casual. “What?”
    I been a little worried that he’ll be all depressed over losin’ Tom, but he’s smilin’ at me. “‘White boy’?”
    I shrug. “Sounded good at the time.”
“You have ‘homies’?”
    “No, man,” I tell him, “I was just fuckin’ with him. I never been in a gang.” He shakes his head at me. He’s still lookin’ at me with somethin’ like amazement on his face, and I feel myself blushin’. “I been in plenty of fights,” I tell him, “and even more almost-fights. It’s all about posturin’. You just gotta act tough.”
    “What if it didn’t work? What