Dark Muse Read Free Page B

Muddy said.
“Just sit here?”
    Otis never pulled punches when he spoke. One
of his handicaps that landed him in the special education classes
at school was that his eyelids never closed fully, even when he
slept. The kid always looked stoned and was a saline junkie. But
never shutting his mouth?
    Muddy’s fist tightened on the mouse as he
tried to MapQuest the address his teacher had given them. According
to three different websites, Sixty-One Mustang Drive simply didn’t
exist.
    “Maybe you’re spelling it wrong.”
    Wrong thing to say to a dyslexic kid...
    Muddy nearly broke the mouse, but held back.
This one and only clue had to be the answer.
    “It’s gotta be there,” Poe said. “Satch
wouldn’t jerk us around. He actually cares.”
    Muddy sighed, relaxing his grip. “I know.
He’s one of the few who does, at least for who we really are.”
    Corey finally said what they'd all thought
but avoided, until now. “Do you know where Mustang Drive is?. I do,
kind of. It’s smack dead in the black heart of Iron. Talk about
scary.”
    “It’s like Iraq, ghetto-style,” Otis
said.
    “More like Harlem, Detroit, D.C. and East
L.A.—all rolled up into one—on acid,” Poe added.
    “My old friends would kick my butt if they
saw me on those streets,” Corey said, arms shivering just a
bit.
    “So,” Poe said, clasping her hands as she
stood. “When do we go?”
    “Tonight.” Muddy had to show the strength his
brother would need.
    “Whoa,” Corey said. “Love the hero mentality,
but don’t like the stupid part. We wait until morning.”
    Muddy stared at each of them, anger seething
through his eyes at first, but then he relaxed.
    Poe leaned in and touched his arm. “Seven too
early for you? P.M.?”
    They all took a collective breath. It would
be early enough for sunlight, at least an hour and a half before
sundown, but still hitting the danger zone.
    * * * *
    How does one prepare to travel into the worst
part of town, somewhere that even the police tried to avoid?
    Each house the band passed blinked at them,
eyes hidden by the dark, but curious about the strangers who tread
on their territory. The flickers of light in the windows scared the
teens more than anything, mostly because the house sat in eerie
silence.
    Muddy hoped that no one cared about the
intrusion.
    But of course, they did.
    The band slunk down Terminal Avenue, walking
cautiously along the street. To stay on the broken concrete of the
sidewalks meant walking too close to the shadows that hid between
the shops, both open and shut down, the jagged hedges of clapboard
houses and crowded apartment buildings.
    Up ahead, a group of gang bangers, maybe
eight or nine, suddenly came out of nowhere and blocked the
intersection. Forming a line under the shadowy glare of the
streetlights, they appeared larger and more menacing than Muddy had
ever faced down before.
    “Oh, crap.” Otis practically hugged Corey.
“We’re dead.”
    Muddy wondered how many packed weapons. He
never knew a dealer in town who didn’t carry at least a blade.
    One of them strode toward the band, hands
deep in his pockets. When the light struck his face, Muddy’s mind
didn’t know what to register, fear or relief.
    “Rivers, that you?” Vinnie closed the gap
between them.
    “Geez,” Muddy thought, “this could be really
bad or really good.”
    He tried to look into Vinnie's eyes, but the
broken beams of light from above split the boy’s face into many
weird prisms—some smiling, some touched with evil, some
indistinguishable.
    “What are you doing out here, little
man? You have a death wish?” His posse laughed, mostly at the
band.
    “Is your deadbeat brother out here, too?” His
gray eyes scoped the ragtag look of the band. “As much as I like
the guy, he still owes me cash.”
    “We’re looking for Zack and don’t need any
crap tonight.” Otis never held back.
    No one could tell which rang louder, the
catcalls from Vinnie’s posse, or the band’s