Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart.
Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter.
So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?
DISCLAIMER: Characters etc... are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue.
Thanks to BonnieD for being a cool, efficient, supportive and speedy beta!
Thank you all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing.
Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references.
Oh, and 60sChic – here's to you, clone! This is Chino - so don't expect too much. But I hope it amuses you.
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Chapter 4: Road to Perdition.
It didn't take long for Trey to introduce Ryan to the business. A couple of days later, he decided it was time Ryan met his associates – as Trey liked to call them. Ryan preferred to think of them as suppliers. The main one was some Jamaican dude called Earl whom Ryan had heard of, but never seen. He was a little nervous at the prospect, even though it was just a visit to make his face known. All of a sudden it felt real; he wasn't pretending any more – he was becoming a drug dealer.
On the plus side, he got to drive Trey's ancient (but lovingly restored) Trans Am, because Trey figured it would be a good occasion to get really wasted on Earl's personal stash – not the stuff he sold to white boys, the real ganja from back home.
"Just checking you can still handle a stick shift, bro'," Trey said, throwing him the keys. "It's not like you get to do much driving these days. You gotta lot of catching up to do."
Ryan didn't reply. He didn't mind doing driver duty for Trey – after his bike and his Mom's rusty heap, it made a nice change to drive a car with some power under the hood. Trey and Arturo had spent many a weekend messing around with it over the last year, and it showed. Ryan felt a thrill as he engaged the clutch and the Trans Am pulled away from the curb with a low growl. He was a teenage boy driving a fast car, and it felt good. He drove down a couple of side streets, looking for a stretch of quiet road where he could let the engine show its power. Trey yawned like a cat in the seat next to him and lit a cigarette.
"Look, Ry, give it a spin, okay, but don't fucking get us stopped by the cops, huh? I have way more cash on me than I'd like to explain to them."
Ryan shrugged. He knew what he could get away with in Chino, and where, without being completely reckless. But when he let rip and sped up all the way into fourth down a deserted street lined with empty warehouses, he felt a rush like sex, and he just wanted it to go on, and for the rest of his Chino life to stay behind while he raced on ahead. He turned a corner with a screech of brakes into another straight empty road, gunning the engine as he pulled out of the curve, keeping the illusion of escape going as long as possible.
Eventually they made it to Earl's place, a low unassuming house not unlike his home. Trey got out of the car and stretched out and Ryan felt his heart stop. As Trey raised his arms, his loose shirt rode up, exposing a bulge in his waistband. An unmistakable bulge.
"For fuck's sake, Trey, since when are you packing?" he whispered.
Trey glanced at him and looked away. "None of your business, kid."
"The fuck it isn't. I'm in this with you. And if the shit hits the fan, I'm stuck here with you and your piece. I mean, what is this Earl guy like?" Ryan was shocked. And scared. He hated guns. And he really didn't want to think that this was what he'd signed up for when he turned up at his brother's.
"He's fine if you play it by the rules. I just like to have a little insurance in case we run into trouble."
"Insurance," Ryan repeated. "Yeah, well to me it looks more like a fucking liability. Do you even know how to use that thing?"
Trey shrugged. "Yes. Now will you shut up, you little bitch? We have some business to do."
Ryan could feel his heart beating way faster than normal as they walked up to the door. The gun freaked him out. And the whole situation was intense enough as it was. It wasn't that big a deal, in any sense of the word. He'd been around when Trey had had dealers come round, or clients; and this time they were just scoring a few ounces of weed to top up their stash – nothing spectacular. But he knew that was it – for the first time, Trey was taking him seriously enough to get him involved in a deal. And that was a big symbolic step.
For all his bad boy attitude and street punk looks, Ryan was actually fairly tame when it came to actual law-breaking. Sure, he drank some, he smoked, and he took drugs – hell, getting stoned and getting laid was as good a way as any to spend a Saturday night in Chino – but by and large he'd steered clear of the serious end of the business. Not anymore. He felt like he was joining the family firm – Atwood Brothers, Inc, petty criminals. He felt like a jerk. And he fucking hated the fact that Trey was armed.
The guy who opened the front door was about 6'6", and looked forty if he was a day. He had a headful of dreadlocks stuffed into a huge knitted cap and a near-impenetrable Jamaican accent. And he smelled of high-grade, THC-heavy marijuana. Ryan assumed he was Earl. Trey high-fived him.
"This is my bro', Ryan. He's going to be working with me."
Earl didn't say anything. He just looked at Ryan through heavy-lidded eyes, and nodded. Ryan nodded back. They walked in, and Ryan nearly choked on the pungent smell of grass that pervaded the house.
There were another two Jamaican rastas in the living room. Ryan couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but judging by the bouts of laughter, they were having fun. He scanned the room quickly, nervous. On a low glass table he could see several bags of weed, some scales, a bag of white powder – which he hoped wasn't out for Trey – some smoking paraphernalia, a couple of large, full, ashtrays, and a gun. Another fucking gun.
He sat on an overstuffed white leather couch next to Trey and tried to relax and pay attention at the same time. Earl was weighing grass on the scales while Trey shook some of the weed on the table and examined it. It looked pretty good to Ryan, tight sticky-looking buds and plenty of them. Trey never skimped on the quality of his weed if he could help it.
"It's the usual stuff, man. It's good gear," Earl said. "But if you want something nice, have a toke on this." And he flourished a large cone-shaped spliff at Trey, who took it with a smile.
"This I keep for I," said Earl. And he smiled at them. He had the kind of grin that was in equal parts welcoming and disquieting, thought Ryan, depending on which side of paranoia you happened to be sitting at that point. After a couple of drags on that carrot-sized joint, he expected Earl would look pretty fucking scary.
They whiled away an hour or so, Ryan desperately trying not to get too stoned. After a couple of tokes, he wanted to opt out altogether but the joints kept being offered to him and he figured it was easier to take a puff now and then. Clearly, he wasn't the only one driving – and that didn't seem to make any difference to the other guys' consumption. He didn't want to seem like a complete pussy or offend anyone, either. Maybe he was starting to get paranoid.
Finally, after handing over cash, shaking hands and making appreciative noises about the general quality of Earl's wares, Trey was ready to go and Ryan summoned every ounce of his remaining concentration for the drive home. He was glad to be out of the house and away from that gun on the table, but he was also very aware that he couldn't afford to fuck up. He was stoned, very much so, and Trey was carrying a gun and drugs. If they got stopped they were in serious trouble – especially Trey, who had priors.
Ryan drove home in complete silence, eyes focused on the road ahead, careful not to drive too fast or indeed, too slowly. He avoided busy roads where his sluggish reflexes might be caught out. He hated driving stoned, but it looked like he might have to get used to it. Apparently, it came with the job. Inside him, it felt like another little piece of his self was crumbling away.
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Back at Trey's he zoned out while Trey rambled on about how great that Jamaican shit was, and did he notice how Earl talked to him like an equal because, dude, he got respect from those guys even though he was a white boy and... Ryan tuned him out after a while because Trey could drone on like there was no tomorrow when he was high, and he'd been the captive listener all too often.
He slouched there, eyes closed, reliving the afternoon in his mind, and fighting the depression he could feel creeping up on him, like a dark tide. This is what his life was shaping up to be. This is what following in Trey's footsteps meant. Hanging with dealers, getting wasted, avoiding the cops, getting used to the presence of guns. Waiting for the moment when it all went wrong and came crashing to the ground. Trey had had a couple of close calls already – no doubt Ryan would, too.
But it was better than watching his mom drink herself stupid; better than listening to her and AJ fucking or fighting in the bedroom next to his; better than having to get home through his bedroom window to avoid the coke dealing in the living room, or than dodging AJ's fists when the coke ran out. He just had to keep remembering that.
And there were perks. For instance, there was never a shortage of girls at Trey's. And Ryan had already found out that they weren't just interested in his brother, either. It bugged him a little that part of the attraction was the drugs but he wasn't above flirting with the pretty ones. And if getting laid was also something that came with the job – that had to be a good thing, right?
As if on cue the doorbell rang.
"You get it, dude," Trey said from the depth of the couch. "I ain't moving." He'd been smoking some more since they got back, relying on Ryan, who was trying to sober up, to weigh and bag the stuff. Ryan figured he'd be the one doing a lot of the actual work involved from now on – not that it was too taxing.
He looked at Trey wearily and got up to open the door, admitting two giggling girls. He knew one of them, an ex-girlfriend of Trey's called Barb, dark-haired and chatty, with a dirty laugh that was infectious. The other, a busty redhead with extravagant cleavage, introduced herself as Cheryl.
"Well if it isn't Trey's little brother," Barb exclaimed. Ryan sucked on his upper lip, embarrassed. "Well hon, aren't you grown-up these days!"
He grimaced back at her. "Thanks, I guess." He still didn't know how to respond to that kind of comment, which happened more often than he'd expected when he decided to move in with Trey. Trey had a lot of ex-girlfriends who remembered him, apparently.
The girls swept into the apartment in a cloud of cigarette smoke, perfume and chatter. Trey smiled at the intrusion from where he was sprawled. Women were always welcome in his house – he was never one to pass up an opportunity for sex, however unlikely.
"Hey, ladies, what can I do you for?" he called out. "If you're here for merchandise, you're in luck. I've got some really fine stuff just in. My man Ryan here can roll you a little sample. In the meantime, why don't you lovelies come and join me on this here couch."
Trey's unashamed cheesiness made Ryan cringe. It amazed him how often it worked, though. In the few days since he'd moved in, his brother had only slept alone on the one night, as far as he could tell, and not twice with the same girl, either.
It didn't fail this evening. A couple of hours later, Ryan found himself staring at music videos with Barb as Trey groped Cheryl unashamedly on the couch. Just as it threatened to turn into a floorshow, Barb got up.
"Guys, I hate to cramp your style, but Cher, I need a ride home, doll. 'Cause I'm not going to hang here and watch you get it on, much as I love the pair of you." She sounded amused, but determined. Trey looked up at her and smirked.
"Ryan can give you a lift home. Can't you?" And he shot Ryan a glance that stated clearly that no wasn't an option. "He'll take good care of you, babe."
Ryan sighed and got up. "Sure. But you better not be having sex on the couch when I get back, man. This is where I sleep."
Trey flipped him the bird as he left with Barb.
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The ride home didn't take long, Barb directing him through the deserted streets. When he reached her house, he pulled up in front and looked over at her, the engine idling. "This okay?"
She smiled at him, her eyes predatory. Ryan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable and suddenly aware that he was a still a little stoned and more than a little horny. He'd had a thing about her since way back, when she used to go out with Trey. So he was half-hoping that yes, she was coming on to him, and also half-dreading it. Because, well, she was Trey's ex, and that was a bit weird. And then she licked her lips and he realized that the hoping had won, and that his jeans were tighter than they should be. She reached over and deliberately turned the key and killed the engine. Ryan's mouth went dry.
Barb was pretty, in a pouty kind of way. She had those really full, glossy lips which Ryan couldn't stop staring at. She licked them again, this time looking at Ryan's crotch in the most direct and unambiguous way possible, and he got really hard. He could feel himself blushing, too.
"Um," he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I... I should go back, Barb. Is here cool?"
"You know," she said, clearly not paying attention to a word he said, "I always thought you were cuter than Trey." Yeah, thought Ryan, and I used to jerk off listening to the two of you fucking in the other bed when Trey smuggled you in and you thought I was sleeping. He'd learnt to be stealthy, then, bringing himself off in time with her not-so-muffled moans and coming silently, face down in his pillow.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and leant across the front seat towards him. Ryan felt out of sync with reality, as if his brain and his body were working on different planes. He wanted to move, to respond, but he was rooted to the spot. Barb was looking mischievous.
"Hey, Ryan," she whispered into his ear, tickling him, "I heard you getting off once when I was making out with Trey in your room. And it was just so hot. I've always wanted to tell you that."
Before Ryan could process what she was saying she kissed him. When her lips touched his he reacted instinctively and kissed her back, while his brain was desperately reasoning that no, she couldn't possibly read his mind. Also, she was a good kisser, and the way she sucked on his tongue he guessed she probably gave good blowjobs, too.
Again, as if she'd read his thoughts, her hands slipped down to his belt buckle and his breath hitched when she touched him though his jeans, her long nails grazing the fabric and teasing his erection. Wow, Barb was a fast worker. And a nimble one, too, as her fingers reached skin and his pulse went up a notch. He wasn't going to last long at this rate. Especially when the memories of his horny fourteen-year-old self kept breaking into his addled brain.
"So... I guess this is something I've been wanting to do for a long time," she said.
And she smiled at him with a dirty look and her lips were oh so inviting and then his heart stopped as she dipped her head into his lap and took him in that mouth of hers. Ryan hissed and just tipped his head back, closing his eyes because the sensation, magnified by the cannabis buzz, was un-fucking-believable and Christ could she give head.
When he came he dug his nails in his palm to stop himself from crying out loud and it lasted for what felt like an eternity. He kept his eyes closed while his hammering heart returned to a steadier beat. He was wondering whether he should return the favor or whether she expected some serious backseat action but when he finally opened his eyes she was back in her seat and looking at him with a smirk.
"Er, thanks?" he managed. He smiled awkwardly and leant towards her. He kissed her neck. She smelled of cheap perfume, but it didn't really bother him, as it would have normally. "Can I...?" He raised his eyebrows at her, letting his fingers trail down her thigh in a light caress.
She shook her head. "No, babe. I just wanted to know what Trey's baby brother was like now you're all grown up. Plus I like me a taste of jailbait," she teased. And with that she pecked him quickly on the cheek and let herself out, leaving him unzipped and still breathless in the front seat.
Christ, he really was turning into Trey.