Chapter XXXVII
When Susan checked and found it was a little over five hours to get out to New York City from the Portland area, she'd wanted to scrap the existing plan and get a flight. But Henry and Mark had gotten that appointment with Premiere on the 14th, and even for the financial means the Evans family was coming to know with Wallace's success as a prominent Chrysler stockholder, booking a flight was too-last minute. They'd have to drive.
Some argument occurred over which vehicle they were going to take, however. Henry naturally wanted to drive the Beast, and Mark just laughed, asking how he planned on parking a truck that big on the streets of New York City. The smallest, most convenient choice of the lot was going to be Mark's silver 1997 Eagle Talon TSi, and after checking beforehand to see if Susan would be all right sitting in the back during the drive, the Silver Talon was picked.
The drive started very early in the morning, so they'd have some time to check in at their hotel and rest a little before heading over to the offices at Premiere. Mark and Henry had turned on their charm and Wallace, not wanting his sons and wife to go without during their trip to New York City, called ahead and got them a two-bedroom suite in the Towers at the Waldorf-Astoria. The brothers chatted during the drive as Mark pushed the speed limit, periodically going up to 80 or 85 for a minute if Susan didn't seem to be paying too much attention.
When she did notice he was speeding, though, Mark apologized and slowed down, saying he was just eager to get there. Susan smiled and shook her head good-naturedly. Here her boys were, asked to come to New York City by one of the leading modeling agencies in the United States, and they were excited and impatient just like they'd been when they were twelve years old. For all the things that had changed about Mark and Henry over the years, their general eagerness to go do whatever interested them had stayed exactly the same.
XX
Stepping in the front doors of Premiere after a surprisingly short, yet head-turning walk down Park Avenue from the Waldorf-Astoria, Mark looked around while Henry's eyes went straight to the front desk. Made of dark, hand-carved and carefully-polished wood, the desk had a pretty secretary sitting behind it. Dressed professionally and in accordance with the chilly weather, the woman had sandy-blonde hair going down to her shoulders, and Henry elbowed Mark while their mother wasn't looking. The auburn-haired teen noticed the secretary, and he and Henry exchanged a look. She was very pretty, probably in her twenties, and she blushed when she looked up and saw Henry and Mark looking at her.
"Oh," she said, a little flustered all of a sudden. "Hi."
"Hi," Henry said, smiling at her. "I'm Henry."
"I'm Mark," the auburn-haired teen said, with a charming smile of his own. He unzipped his leather jacket, and wanted to laugh when he saw the secretary's cheeks flush when she saw his arms, shoulders- all that hard, iron-tough muscle under his one-size-too-small t-shirt. Henry took off his jacket too, further flustering the secretary while the two teenagers did nothing overt, simply putting their jackets under their arms and walking up to the front desk with their mother.
"I'm Susan Evans," she said with a smile. "My boys got a recommendation to come by and see Premiere sometime."
"Oh, uh, yes," the secretary said, blinking and shaking her head a little. She'd been halfway zoned out, staring at Henry and Mark while their mother talked. "Yes," she said again, and added a smile this time. "Brent Garrison works for us normally, and he told us about the photo shoot he was going up to do in Maine." Glancing at Henry and Mark, she asked, "So- you guys are football players?"
"Among other things," Henry said, his right eyelid going down in a lightning-fast wink. The secretary blushed and dropped her pen.
"We play on the varsity team at our school," Mark added. "We're hockey players in the spring season."
"The appointment, boys," Susan chided gently. She wasn't entirely oblivious, and of course had known for some time what incorrigible flirts her boys were. Put them in a room with anyone they found attractive, and they'd be chatting her up inside of a minute.
"Sorry, Mom," Henry said, bowing his head a little. He looked at the secretary. "Can you let whoever we'd need to see know that we're here?"
"Sure," the secretary said, nodding and smiling a little. "Have a seat and I'll page them. I think they were going to have you guys do a couple shoots today."
"Great," Mark said, smiling at her. "Thanks."
Henry, Mark and Susan found seats in the lobby, both Henry and Mark immediately picking the ones closest to the front desk.
The secretary picked up the desk phone and punched one of the buttons for lines within the building. A man's voice answered after a moment. "Tyler?" the secretary said. "Henry and Mark Evans are here now. Yeah, they've got their mother with them. Okay, great."
Looking up, she smiled at the three Evans family members sitting in the lobby. "It'll just be a couple minutes."
Susan, reading a women's fashion magazine, smiled and nodded, as did Henry and Mark. The two of them made a point of ignoring the secretary for a bit, reading one magazine and then another and appearing to be appropriately interested. The secretary kept throwing glances at them, until finally she couldn't stand the quiet any longer.
"So, how do you guys like New York?" she asked.
"I love it," Mark said, looking at her. "Had a great time so far."
"Haven't seen anything I didn't like," Henry said, smiling charmingly, looking the secretary in the eye. "It's all been very beautiful."
The secretary didn't miss the compliment. In fact, such praise from the two hottest guys she'd seen in- years, even- was a little overwhelming.
"You don't- uh, you don't have beautiful things, back in Maine?" she managed to get out.
"We do," Henry agreed.
"But not like in New York," Mark added, looking in her green eyes.
Just then, a man with neatly-combed, gelled hair and a crisp, hand-tailored business suit came around the corner. He had a smile on his face the moment he entered the room, and had a hand out as soon as he reached Mark and Henry.
"Hey, there, fellas, how ya doin'?" he asked. "I'm Tyler West; Brent Garrison told me all about you guys. Said you made a pretty big impression during the shoot he did for your football team."
"Best one in New England," Mark grinned, getting up and shaking hands with Tyler West.
"Or anywhere else," Henry said, all smiles as he shook hands too.
"My boys are very modest," Susan said with a charming smile, getting up and walking over to join them. "I'm Susan Evans, Henry and Mark's mother." She felt a slight pang of annoyance at being overlooked so easily by the agent with Premiere, but then calmed it after only a moment. The man was only doing his job, and Henry and Mark were becoming more interesting to even more people every day it seemed. They had such talent, such promise- who wouldn't get in a hurry to meet them?
"They have a lot to be proud of, from what I hear," Tyler said, smiling and shaking hands with Susan. "All those championship trophies." Glancing at them for a moment, Tyler asked curiously, "Man, you guys look strong! How much do the two of you weigh?"
"Around three hundred," Henry answered. "We can bench that much, too."
"Or do that many pushups without stopping," Mark added.
"You should see what they go through at dinner," Susan said, laughing a little as she thought of the swift increase in appetite Henry and Mark had experienced as teenagers. They ate in one meal what most people ate in a day.
Tyler laughed too, not doubting her for a moment. He was in his thirties and worked out twice a week, and he was a full fifty pounds short of these two. When they stood up, he found himself looking up at them, something Tyler wasn't entirely used to, being the better part of six feet tall himself. He normally found himself looking down as often as not, but today he was looking up. Brent Garrison had been right to send these two guys down here. You didn't have to be into guys to appreciate physical fitness, good potential for a modeling career- and these two had it in spades. Tyler found himself wanting to fit them into every damn shoot he was doing this week, nevermind today.
The Evans trio followed Tyler to his office, where some necessary paperwork was signed- permission forms, largely, to allow Henry and Mark, minors as they were seventeen, to participate in the shoots, which would be seeing use in various clothing ads and catalogues. After that, and going over the details of some of the shoots, Tyler took them through the building to the studio where they'd be for the afternoon.
"All right, for today, guys," Tyler said, "We're gonna try you out in a couple areas. See how you fit things. We've got one shoot for a couple of suits Macy's and JC Penney are coming out with, and I think you guys will do great with that."
So they did. Once they got back from the changing room, Henry and Mark Evans looked like naturals in their crisp black tuxedos, then in the charcoal and gray suits they next put on.
After close to an hour of that, Tyler got to what Brent had suggested. Swimsuits, boxers, briefs, boxer briefs, athletic shorts and sleeveless shirts- anything with some, or a lot, of that muscle showing. These two were in amazing shape, and what you wanted was shots where somebody could look and see that. It got attention easily, got people to take a closer look at whatever item of clothing they were wearing.
Of course, Tyler knew somebody, who knew somebody else, who'd also heard of the Evans brothers. He'd mentioned, very offhand one time when he and Tyler were talking, that there were other kinds of photo shoots that those two could have a future in. Some people liked seeing really strong, good-looking guys with no clothes on at all, or possibly spending time with some female company before the camera.
Hell, if the two of them weren't eighteen, Tyler could've suggested a name to the Evans brothers about it. As it was, though, he could only encourage their thoughts about a career in modeling. One could very well lead to the other, and Tyler would stand to make a profit from it either way, from his salary if they stayed with Premiere or from an unofficial "finder's fee" if they went the 'other' route.
XX
"So I understand you guys liked those two shoots for June and July," Tyler said with a knowing smile. "You're in luck- we had a line of swimwear somebody wanted us to do some photos for. Then we've got some boxers, briefs- that sort of thing. You guys wanna try that out?"
Henry had been paying attention to the women in the studio since they'd arrived. They were mostly women, in fact, the various staff and photographers. Maybe this Tyler West had thought a pair of alpha-male teenagers would be more cooperative with female staff, or maybe some of these women had actually requested to be here. It was possible.
So, doing shoots in underwear, shorts and swimwear? No reason not to.
"Sure," Henry agreed.
"Sounds good," Mark said.
They retrieved their first set of swimming shorts, stripping in the changing room and setting the suits they'd been wearing aside. Walking barefoot and shirtless back into the studio, Henry found Mark already there, chatting with a couple of the photographers. They were all younger women, and all appeared very interested in anything Mark had to say. Henry, not to be outdone, joined him and casually gave them a close-up look while they talked.
"So you guys work out a lot, or what?" one of the women asked.
"Sure do," Henry answered. "Every day if we have time."
"Henry's girlfriend takes up a lot of his time," Mark explained. "I just broke up, so I guess you could say that's not a problem for me right now."
"Oh," the jet-black-haired woman named Brittany said sympathetically. "I'm sorry."
"Any prospects?" the first woman, a pretty Hispanic in her twenties, asked. "If you guys are on the football team at school I bet you don't stay single that long," she added with a smile.
Stepping just a little closer to her, Mark smiled warmly. "If I moved to New York tomorrow, I wouldn't be single much longer."
Henry did his best to steal the limelight, flirting with the women doing the shoots and providing them with their clothes for each shoot. They kept getting flustered by the way Henry and his brother both looked at them, posing each time and adding a smile like they should- a smile the women each sensed was for them. Henry would always smile whenever he looked at them, wink if he felt particularly daring. If they were gonna be here for a day or two, even just tomorrow, Henry might have given trying for some action serious thought. Sure, he and Mark were pretty strict about wanting the comfort and romantic seclusion of a bedroom, but if five minutes in the studio changing room had to do…
Still, that was left out for today. Just playing around, flirting with and deliberately distracting the women in the studio was plenty of fun. Even when they were posing for shots, Henry and Mark found themselves the absolute center of attention; nobody could quite take their eyes off them. Even the men working in the studio couldn't seem to look anywhere else. The Evans brothers had no trouble keeping a charming smile up for all those photos; they knew why everyone was looking, and were quite pleased about it.
At one point, during a break in the shoots, Henry wandered over to where Susan had been sitting, off to the side. She needed to be present, as her sons were both under 18, but had looked distinctly uncomfortable. Henry, shirtless and stunning in his black boxers, was soon joined by Mark, wearing dark green. Putting a strong, muscular arm around his brother's wide shoulders, Henry smiled warmly at his mother. "How's it going, Mom?"
"Fine, Henry," Susan said, smiling back and trying to look at ease. "I'm doing just fine."
"Are you sure?" Mark asked with concern. "We were wondering about if you were okay."
"No," Susan said. "I'm all right. It's just- well-" she stammered, trying to find a way to explain it. Finally, she smiled a little. "Well, it's just that you've, um, well, you've both grown up a lot. I was just thinking about that."
Taking a seat next to his mother, Henry took a moment to enjoy how uncomfortable Susan clearly was. Years ago he'd been just a boy to her, Susan's darling son. Now he was an adolescent titan, a literal model of what physical fitness looked like. He was seventeen years old and more of a man than most would ever be, and the same was true of Mark. Seeing her boys posing so attractively in swim shorts and underwear, all that awesome muscle on display, made Susan Evans uncomfortable, and it wasn't hard to see why. She felt that same tug, that same instinctive attraction towards the alpha males- but couldn't respond because the alpha males were her own sons. It was a terribly awkward and confusing situation, and one Henry and Mark enjoyed presenting Susan with every chance they got.
But what Henry said was something very different.
"Mom," Henry said quietly, "Really. Is everything all right? You don't have to watch us like this, you know, if it's- uh- awkward for you."
"Henry said we should ask," Mark said, sitting down in another chair, to Susan's right. The cushioned steel chairs bent and groaned under the boys' immense weight, but they pretended not to notice. Mark looked caringly at his mother. "We just hope you're all right with this, that's all."
Susan looked between her two sons then, seeing that same curious, sensitive look in both sets of blue eyes. They could tell this was a little overwhelming for Susan, seeing how strong and handsome her sons had become, and here they were, concerned they were making her feel awkward. Susan felt a rush of pride in her sons then, gratitude for being so clearly blessed by their kindness and generosity. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, blinking away tears.
"Don't cry, Mom," Henry said, gently hugging her. "We're just growing up, that's all."
"We're not going anywhere," Mark assured her, embracing Susan as well.
XX
"I'm just so proud of both of you," Susan finally managed to get out, and her boys held her protectively until she'd settled down and was all right again. They headed off to change for the last shoot- boxer briefs this time- and Susan briefly looked around, suddenly conscious of the moment she'd just had with her sons. Had anyone noticed? Had she made a fool of herself, or worse, risked embarrassing boys by treating them as such in front of a New York City modeling agency? Here they were, invited to Park Avenue itself to be featured in upcoming ads and magazines to be shown all over the country, and she was acting like they were both twelve years old still. It was ridiculous of her to even think of it.
Yet the few glances Susan did see, the few eyes she did notice cast her way, held no amusement or disdain at all. They understood.
Susan blinked furiously as tears fought their way forward again, powerfully moved. For a time, it had looked like death would forever haunt her family. Now- Susan had never been so happy. She wished again that she'd taken a photograph of Henry and Mark, twelve years old, sleeping on each other's shoulders after that fight at the hospital. It was as if that was the last of their enmity, right there- and the beginning of them being the very best of friends. They were any mother's dream come true: caring, honest, responsible, hardworking and intelligent, handsome and incorrigibly romantic.
And it seemed like every day now, Mark and Henry would find something else to succeed at, some new triumph or accomplishment to bring home. Susan loved her sons and refused to hear ill of them, and time and time again her trust and faith in her boys had been proved justified. She fought not to cry, vowing she'd have it under control by the time Henry and Mark got back. Even so, it wasn't easy. It was hard not to be moved by it all.
I've got such good sons. Such wonderful boys.
XX
Back in the changing room, Henry chuckled as he tossed the new boxers he'd been wearing up on the divider. "How much you think a picture of me right now would be worth?" he asked smugly, taking his time getting the gray boxer-briefs on.
"Not as much as one of me," Mark said, with a casual air of arrogant confidence.
"Why don't we go out there right now and find out?" Henry suggested.
"With Mom out there? Are you crazy?" Mark asked, sounding horrified.
"Listen, Mark," Henry said, sticking his head over the divider to grin down at his brother. "Mom doesn't have to look at anything she doesn't want to, okay?"
"That's gonna be tough," Mark smirked. "I know she'll see something she'll like."
"You mean all of both of us."
Henry nodded. "Exactly."
They both laughed, and Mark lowered his voice a little. "Can you believe how awkward Mom's been this whole time? She's looking at the hottest guys she's ever seen but she can't enjoy it."
"Why do you think I went over there?" Henry asked. "It's not good enough for it to just be awkward. We had to rub it in."
Exiting the changing room in their latest change of underwear, Henry and Mark exchanged a high-five, grinning and trying not to crack up laughing. Even so, they couldn't quite keep a contented, almost-contemptuous smirk from their faces as they re-entered the studio. And why not?
They were being ogled, admired by every person in the room- the women were just dying to see that last stitch of clothing gone. You could tell. They were getting more attention, more glory from somebody new every day. Even New York City was going to learn it had to bow to the Evans brothers. Things were going exactly as they should.
XX
Dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria cost almost as much as the hotel room. It was some of the best food Henry, Mark or Susan had ever had. And while Susan was content with one full meal and a dessert, Henry and Mark ended up eating enough that Susan found herself worrying for the food stores of the Waldorf-Astoria's kitchen. After all, even they only had so much meat.
But Mark and Henry were polite and in the best of manners tonight. They ate carefully and were never once a disturbance to anyone else in the hotel's restaurant. Perhaps out of recognition of all the food they'd eaten during their main meal, Mark and Henry only selected two items for desert, each ordering something for the other. Afterwards, they generously tipped the waiter, who seemed as impressed as everyone else by the two brothers, who had manners that perfectly matched their size and height. For Susan, it was yet another piece of proof of what she already knew: Henry and Mark were perfect sons to have, a blessing to Susan, Wallace, Connie, and everyone else whose lives they'd touched. Their first dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria and it was like they'd been dressing up and dining here for years.
XX
The three retired to their suite in the Towers, the uppermost floors of the finest hotel in New York, planning on changing into something more casual before heading out for the night.
Mark came out from the suite's dining room with a bottle of vintage Italian wine he'd found in the minibar. He generously proposed a toast- to their family. Susan looked like she had a few misgivings about her sons drinking wine at seventeen, but Mark assured her one glass was all any of them would have, so she relented. Mark retreated from the living room, selecting three priceless-looking glasses stored in a cabinet near the drinks. Taking out a bottle of pills he'd decided to bring along- he'd just had a sense he and Henry might need it- Mark quietly took out one of the Rohypnol pills, crushed it into powder, and sprinkled it into one of the three wine glasses. He then poured the dark, burgundy-red wine, and put all three glasses on a small carrying tray.
"So, let's have a toast before we go out, Mom," Mark said, smiling warmly as he re-entered the sitting room where Henry and Susan were resting in immensely comfortable chairs. "It only seems fitting for the occasion, I think."
"So do I, Mark," Susan agreed. "I know you made a great impression at Premiere today."
"Don't we always?" Henry asked rhetorically, quickly picking a different glass off the tray after a glance from Mark.
Once Susan and Henry each had a glass, Mark picked up the last one and set the tray aside, sitting down in a chair of his own. Built to be as sturdy as it was comfortable, the chair still seemed to groan under Mark's weight.
Three hundred pounds of pure muscle will do that, Mark thought smugly.
"To family," Mark said simply, raising his glass. He said it sincerely, but thought only of Henry. He knew he'd never need anyone else. Henry was his family.
"To family," Henry and Susan echoed; the blond teen exchanged a knowing glance, just a moment's smirk, with his brother. Each of them then downed their glasses in one swallow, though Susan had to take two.
Setting aside her glass, Susan went to hang her dress coat up before she changed, chatting amicably with Mark and Henry all the while. Before Susan had even looked at her watch, ten minutes had passed, and she realised she'd forgotten how long she'd been up today. It was surprising- she'd felt fine for going out to see the city not long ago. But then, Susan had been very busy this past week, and getting up early for the drive to New York had been tiring.
"I-I think I just need to lie down, Henry," Susan said as she made her way to her bedroom, stumbling a little as her eyelids momentarily closed. Henry caught her, gently walking her over to her bed and lying her down on it. Susan closed her eyes, smiling and once again feeling grateful for the good boys she had. They were truly a gift. "It's all right, Mom," Henry said quietly. "It's all right."
"Thank you, Henry," Susan murmured, nearly asleep already.
Before they left, Henry and Mark changed into their more casual clothes, their winter jackets, t-shirts and jeans. Tucking their mother carefully under the sheets of her bed, they turned off the light and closed the door, leaving a note on the end table that they'd gone out to see the sights, promising they'd be back later.
XX
"I'm serious," Mark said. "I looked it up. Brownsville, in New York City, is the fucking murder capital of the United States. It's like one violent crime for every hundred people."
"So what you're saying is," Henry replied, "If we go into Brownsville right now, at night, dressed like a couple of rich kids, we will definitely have someone coming after us."
"Planning on mugging, raping and/or murdering us," Mark agreed, nodding. "Maybe not in that order, either."
"Cool!" Henry exclaimed, sounding just like he was thirteen years old again. Handsome, a budding, first-rate athlete, and full of youth's fire. A boy ready to take on the world.
At Henry's suggestion, they left the Silver Talon where it was in the hotel's parking deck. It would be very inconvenient if someone tried stealing or breaking into the car, and Susan or anyone else asked just whose blood that was, or why there was a dent shaped like a man's head imprinted on the car's roof or hood. So they walked away from Park Avenue, hailing a cab one block over and getting a ride down to the subway station, switching to a cab again and finally walking the rest of the way.
Brownsville after dark was supposed to be one of the most dangerous areas anywhere in New York City, which- for the unprepared and unaware- was by itself one of the most dangerous cities in America. Essentially a few square miles of dozens upon dozens of decaying, vacant lots and apartment blocks, Brownsville was a long, long way from the blinding lights and fast-paced, modern prosperity of Park Avenue.
"Wow," Henry said, laughing as they passed the dead hulk of a rusting car, sitting near the cracked pavement of a basketball court. "Can you fucking believe this shit?"
"Yeah," Mark said, pausing to take out his pack and light up a cigarette. He exhaled lazily, shrugging. "Poor motherfuckers gotta live someplace, I guess." He glanced at Henry as they walked, calm and casual like it was an afternoon in the park.
Though they sensed someone watching them almost constantly as they walked up one street and down another, across vacant lots and through alleyways, Henry and Mark were surprised, and more than slightly disappointed, to find nobody actually approaching them. Now and then they'd see a couple of guys headed their way, but the others would always cross the street away from them, suddenly remember somewhere else they needed to go. And everybody they came across seemed to lose all real interest upon getting a close look at them. Two guys, six-foot-six and looking like they had the frame of a bodybuilder under those jackets, just walking through Brownsville at night like it was nothing? There was no way it was as easy as it looked.
"Fuck," Henry complained after a while. Leaning up against the corner of a deserted row house, the blond lit up the third cigarette he'd smoked in the last ten minutes. "Fucking hell, man," Henry grumbled irritably. "Murder capital of America, my ass. I've had more people try to fuck with me at my high school." His disappointment was plain, and Mark tried to come up with something to help cheer him up.
"Oh, it's gonna happen sometime," Mark said with certainty. "We just haven't waited long enough, that's all."
"Maybe," Henry said, sounding a little better at his brother's assurance. "But what if those whole neighborhood really is full of pussies?"
"Then we'll just break in someplace and cause a little trouble ourselves," Mark said, and Henry grinned.
They wandered back towards the empty basketball court, to the rusting car where every streetlamp in sight seemed to have burned out or been broken by vandals a year ago at least. Henry was brightening up a little, toying with the Rolex he was wearing and smoking yet another cigarette, sharing the pack with Mark. They were partway through a Camel each when movement off to the right caught their attention.
"Hey," a boy's voice called, brassy and confident, "Rich guys! You lost or something?"
A lanky kid with dirty, shoulder-length hair and a Harvard hoodie was at the head of a group of young men, looking to be no older than their early twenties, mostly blacks. The teenager who'd called out to them was pointing the Evans brothers out as his group crossed the empty basketball court, closing in on the rusted car.
"That's them," the boy said. "They're the ones I was talking about, man."
"You know," Henry called back, "I think we are, sorta. Maybe I lost my Rolex and we were just trying to find it."
Henry held up the shining, crimson-gold wristwatch and dangled it in front of him. "How's this for rich, huh, you pussies? This thing's worth more than the fuckin' houses you live in."
"That's funny," one of the men said, revealing the semi-automatic pistol tucked in his waistband as he got closer. "How 'bout you hand it over now, and my boys and I take it easy on you?"
"I want that motherfucker's jacket," the white boy in the Harvard hoodie said, pointing at Mark. "Just don't rip it up, okay?"
"We'll try not to," the apparent leader of the group said, taking a switchblade out of his pocket and pressing the button, snapping it open. The others were all brandishing knives or crowbars now, all of them gazing with obvious eagerness at these two rich morons.
The clothes on them alone would sell for a small fortune probably, and the watches? If they were real… the Tenth Street Reds would never be questioned again. They'd have buying power to rival any gang in this area. Half of Brownsville had seen these six-foot-six jocks just waltzing around tonight, and the Reds had been scouts watching almost immediately. Their rivals had all found places to be, other things to do for the night, and the Reds were about to prove they had the balls their enemies didn't. These two looked tough, sure, but rich kids knew only about gym memberships and fucking their princess girlfriends in a car their parents paid for. They'd fold in seconds in a real fight.
"Planning on trying anything?" Mark asked, smirking coldly. "What is this, seven, eight on two?"
"Almost even," Henry said, and they both laughed.
The gang had them surrounded now. Their scout, the boy who'd first greeted the brothers, said, "You guys should've known better than to come here. This is our part of Brooklyn."
"You fucks wanna come out of this alive," the leader said, "You better hand over everything you got right now. Ask real nice and we'll even let an ambulance come in once my boy's done showing his Magnum to you." He gestured, smirking, towards a youth in an old army jacket, smiling coldly and brandishing a silver, black-handled .357 revolver.
"Is that a fact?" Mark replied, his voice light and friendly.
"You'd better hope you fuckers thought to get a round in the chamber on those guns," Henry said calmly. "Because if you didn't, you're in big trouble."
"Fuck 'em up!" The gang leader said, taking out his gun and reaching down to pull back the slide as the others all moved in.
Mark reached him first, swiftly grabbing the man's gun arm just as he finished getting a bullet into the chamber. He twisted hard, yanking the arm backward, and his heart sang as he heard the bones crack. He swept a leg behind the gang leader's knees, and stepped neatly aside as he went down hard on the pavement. The gun was still in his hand, and Mark stomped hard as he tried to force it up. Bones cracked, and the second scream that followed was music.
Henry grabbed the wrist of the first gang member to take a swing at him, rapidly turning, ducking and throwing him right into another two of his friends, taking them all down with him. He grabbed the one with the revolver, clumsily moving in to make a close-up headshot, rushed him over to the rusting car, slammed his head down on the roof repeatedly, and then dropped him once he went limp.
"Oh, shit," the scout said, turning to run, but Mark sprinted out and caught him, slamming a hand flat into the boy's back. He fell flat on his face and cried out, stumbling and trying to get back up again.
Fists raised, Mark just smiled coldly. "Too late, pussy," he said, and flipped the kid over, punching him in the face. There was a beautiful crunch as the nose broke, and the kid howled in pain. He didn't do it for long, though, because Mark punched him in the throat, then the stomach. He socked the kid again and again until he coughed up vomit and his nose was streaming blood. Standing up, Mark kicked him in the stomach and rushed over to join Henry, who was taking on the last three guys by himself- the others had already taken off or were on the ground.
Snatching up a switchblade fallen to the pavement, Mark laughed as he approached, neatly swiping at one of the gang members facing Henry and slicing off a piece of his ear. "Having fun yet?" he asked, and Henry moved in, bare-handed, parrying the knives the other two wielded easily. "Come on, come on," he laughed. "I'm not even sweating!"
When one of the two gang members left standing tried to lunge in and stab Henry in the ribs, the blond swatted the blow aside, shot his right foot up and kicked him square in the chest.
Mark, meanwhile, was squaring off with the gang member he'd just taken a swipe at. The guy had a switchblade almost long enough to be a damn bayonet, and was holding it out threateningly. Even so, Mark could tell he was scared. His eyes were wide and kept darting around, like he was now wondering if this had really been such a good idea.
"Come on," Mark said, motioning towards himself with his hands. "Come on, asshole, stab me. Do it." He laughed when he saw the gang member's eyes momentarily flick to the knife Mark had picked up. "You think I need this?" Mark asked, throwing it away. "There. I'll just use my hands, man."
The gang member swung at him, feinting right and then trying to drive in hard for the ribs. Like the ones facing off with Henry, this member of the gang lucky enough to be standing wasn't playing around anymore. He was trying to kill Mark, and that just made it all the more exciting. Mark smacked the young man's arm aside, putting his fists up and assuming the basic posture of a karate fighter. He closed in fast, driving fist after fist at the man's face, then going after his ribs, sending him staggering backwards and forgetting all about trying to stab Mark. Finally, Mark slammed a flurry of blows into the gang member's side, punching hard until he heard the joyful sound of cracked ribs. One more fist to the head put out the lights, and Mark turned to find Henry standing over the two who'd been attacking him, smiling coldly as he kicked them hard, again and again, laughing when they groaned or cried out in pain.
"What's the matter, pussies?" Henry laughed. "No more threats? No more big talk?" He looked up at Mark and shrugged. "Guess not."
In less than two minutes, it was over. Mark had blood on his fists from all the beatings he'd given out, and no less than six of the gang were on the ground. Few, if any were moving, and the one by the car, with the silver revolver lying beside him, was not moving at all.
Suddenly Mark noticed something. Glancing off to his left, he asked Henry, "Where's that little pussy who brought those guys here?"
Looking around a moment, Henry shrugged. "Guess he ran for it."
"First smart thing he ever did," Mark agreed, chuckling.
For a couple minutes, Henry and Mark both chatted amicably, in a truly terrific mood. It had been a rush, the whole thing had been a goddamn fucking rush- and best of all, they'd been able to do anything they wanted. Break bones, twist, sprain, crack or maim however they liked. Nobody paid much attention to serious injuries in parts of New York like this one. Everybody would figure it had just been another one of the gangs.
"Whoo!" Henry said, grinning and high-fiving Mark. "That was fun, man. We gotta do this again sometime."
"Fuck yeah," Mark laughed. "Look at 'em. They still haven't gotten up."
"It'll be a while," Henry said with confidence. "I think they're gonna remember us for a long time."
Taking a moment to unzip his pants, Mark pissed on a grassy section of the parking lot. Looking at the bloodied, ruined face of the gang member whose face Henry had slammed into the roof of that rusted car, he briefly wondered if they hadn't killed one or two of these guys. The six they'd left here were still here. That kid, and one more looked to have gotten away. But that one by the car- he might have been dead. It was entirely possible.
Standing nearby, Henry smoked a cigarette, waiting while Mark urinated. "Mind if I ask why you're pissing here?"
"Marking our territory," Mark said smugly. "It sure doesn't belong to any of those fuckers now."
"Oh, in that case, I'd better go too," Henry said with a shrug. He unzipped and faced the other way, sighing as the adrenaline of the fight washed through him, and everything he'd drunk that evening was pissed out onto the cracked asphalt of the lot. "Oh, man," Henry sighed. Adrenaline high and a good piss. Damn, it felt good.
"Enjoy yourself?" Mark asked with a knowing smile, once Henry had zipped himself up. His brother smiled, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulders as they started to walk. "Yeah. You?"
"That was better than getting laid," Mark declared, and Henry laughed.
"You think we might've killed any of those losers?" Henry asked, idly wondering aloud what Mark had already been thinking.
Mark, for his part, just shrugged.
"Who cares?"
On the walk back out of Brownsville, not one person accosted either of the brothers. Nobody in the area knew who these guys were, and the rumor even went that these were new boys with the Vercetti family, new enforcers sent to give a show of force. No one else came near the Evans brothers that night.
"You know what I liked best about that?" Henry asked as they headed out of Brownsville, preparing to retrace their path here and get back to the Waldorf-Astoria.
"What?" Mark asked, walking beside his brother, just enjoying the company.
"I did whatever I wanted to those fuckers," Henry said, his eyes brightening as he relived it, relishing every moment of the fight he and Mark had just won. "It wasn't like karate class, or when I beat up John, or you fucked up Chad. I didn't hold back."
"We were free," Mark said, understanding Henry's thoughts completely. "No one could touch us. We just did whatever we wanted."
"That's how it ought to be for us," Henry declared. "Not just now, but always."
Putting an arm around Henry's broad shoulders, Mark smiled. "I think we can work on that."
It was entirely possible, even likely, that Mark and his brother had killed somebody in Brownsville that night. But neither one of them cared; they'd killed before, and the freedom of not having to hold back in a fight had been heaven. Mark thought again of the way he'd been years ago, back when he'd first met Henry.
He'd been different. So much so he hadn't even wanted to be friends with Henry at first. But Henry had seen past that and helped him, something Mark knew he'd always be grateful for. Had he not become like Henry, had they not been brothers, he'd have missed out on all the fun he'd been having the past six years. Kings of their high school, so swift and strong not even the worst place in New York City could offer anyone who could touch them. Mark had come close to missing out on all of this, and whatever he and Henry would do together in the future.
What a waste that would've been.
XX
The next morning, Susan awoke to find Henry and Mark had ordered the hotel staff to bring a full breakfast up to the room. Everything from the best fried and scrambled eggs imaginable just simple fruits and cereal was available, laid out on the long hardwood table in the dining room. She thanked Henry and Mark for their consideration, leaving her the note, and asked about where they'd been.
Henry and Mark delightedly told her, making up a whole story on the spot about going up and down Park Avenue and Fifth Avenue in a hired limousine, riding across the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing Fort Jay and the Statue of Liberty. They talked so animatedly and in such detail that Susan never once doubted her sons' truthfulness.
After all, she had no reason to. She'd gotten over her doubts years ago.
When Susan checked herself and her sons out of the Waldorf-Astoria and Mark came around to the street-level deck of the parking garage, Henry suggested she once again ride in the back.
"We've got a long drive to do," Henry said, "And I know you don't normally get up this early, Mom. Me and Mark will take care of everything."
Susan agreed, appreciating as always Henry and Mark's thoughtfulness and kindness. Of course, she had little choice, as Mark had added a crushed Rohypnol pill to the coffee she'd had at breakfast. Susan was out and sleeping soundly by the time they got on the highway.
XX
"What do you wanna do after this?" Henry asked, riding in the passenger seat while Mark shifted into fifth gear and passed a semi truck at over a hundred miles an hour. After overtaking the truck, Mark dropped back into fourth gear and coasted along at a more reasonable 85.
"Well," Mark said with a shrug as he glanced at the dashboard clock, "It says it's about six now. We'll get back to Rockbridge around eleven, and I figured I'd go over to Julie's for the afternoon, you could go out with Lisa."
"Sounds like a good day to me," Henry said, smirking briefly. "But what I really meant was, what did you wanna do after senior year? We're graduating in June. That's something we need to figure out. What are we gonna do after this?"
Mark had to admit, he hadn't thought about that much lately. He had plenty of options, sure, he knew that. But he hadn't given acting on any of them much attention.
"Well," Mark asked, "Have you thought about it?"
"Yeah," Henry said. "But I thought I'd better talk to you. I don't wanna do anything, or go anywhere, if I can't have you with me."
Mark glanced at his brother. "Me neither," he added quietly.
"Mm," the blond replied, his eyes tearing up. He suddenly cleared his throat and looked out the passenger window. Mark had to fight to keep calm himself, and for a full minute or two the two huge, six-foot-six adolescent titans were silent, too moved to speak.
"What about being models?" Mark suggested, trying to resume the conversation. "Those people at Premiere loved us."
"Yeah, especially the women," Henry agreed, and they both grinned. "Well," he went on, "I know they'd give us both a job if we wanted it. No question there."
"Lots of money, lots of attention, lots of pussy," Mark said, holding up one, two, then three fingers. "That's some good reasons to be a model."
"You know what else we could do, posing for pictures and all," Henry added with a smirk. "Videos, too."
"Yeah," Mark said, grinning at the thought. "Man. Modeling's sweet, but getting paid to fuck. What could be better than that?"
Henry thought a few moments.
"What about getting paid to kill?"
Mark suddenly felt it. Like a lightbulb had come on in his head. He looked over at Henry, who was smiling knowingly. Catching Mark's gaze, he nodded. "See? I knew you'd like that one."
"All right," Mark agreed. "So how do you wanna do that?"
"Infantry," Henry said decisively. "They get to do it up close and personal. Tanks, artillery, fighters and bombers- it's too far away, even in a tank. If we went infantry we'd be up close wherever they sent us."
"Well, are we gonna enlist or what?" Mark asked. "What about that?"
"Enlist?" Henry said, shaking his head in disgust. "Start out as a private? Fuck. That. We should go to college first, a military college since the military likes officers who come out of there."
"Okay," Mark said. "There's VMI, The Citadel, the Air Force Academy, Annapolis, West Point- what do you think?"
"Army or Marines, that's what we should do," Henry said. "Annapolis does Navy and Marines, and West Point does Army."
Mark thought for a few moments. "I think Annapolis sounds good. The Marine Corps are the shock troops, first to go into anything."
"All right," Henry said with a smile. "I think we need to put in a couple of applications to the US Naval Academy soon."
"Should we tell 'em why we really wanna join?" Mark asked with a smirk.
"If you want," Henry said, laughing. "But they're gonna let us do it all we want any time there's a war, anyway, so it's not like it matters."
When Susan woke up a full hour later, Henry and Mark told her they'd been thinking a lot about their future lately, and that they'd done some talking about it during the trip. The US Naval Academy had come up as an attractive choice for next year, and Susan was delighted to hear it. So was Wallace, when he was told the news once they all got home.
"I'll talk to Tim Halloran next time I get a chance," Wallace said, smiling warmly at his sons. I'm sure he could think of some ways he could help you two get a nomination."
"Thanks, Dad," Mark said. "We really appreciate it."
Timothy Halloran, the current Governor of Maine, was an old college friend of Wallace Evans, and they still stayed in contact despite their hectic schedules. Wallace had even offered Halloran some pretty respectable shares of Chrysler Corporation stock, though Halloran had politely declined.
He was one of a handful of individuals out of Maine's political leadership, the others being the state's Senators and Congressmen, in a position to nominate someone to be admitted to one of the US Service Academies. Mark and Henry both knew that Wallace would turn on all his charm when he did talk to the Governor, and that with credentials and growing fame like they had, Wallace's sons would be near-impossible to turn down. The brothers made their plans for the afternoon without a care in the world. After all, what did they have to worry about? They were practically admitted to Annapolis already.