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“I’m just like everyone else: trying to figure out how to make it,” Albert said.
Howard didn’t respond directly. “The way I see it? It’s Sam, top dog. No question. Astrid and Edilio? They’re only something because they’re in Sam’s crew. But you, man, you are your own thing.”
“What thing is that?” Albert asked, keeping his tone neutral.
“You got two dozen kids working under you, man. You’re in charge of the food. Between you and me? I know you have a food stash somewhere.”
Albert did not so much as blink. “If I have a secret food stash, why am I so hungry?”
Howard laughed. “Because you are a smart little uptight dude, that’s why. I’m smart, too. In my own way.”
Albert said nothing. He knew where the conversation was going. He wasn’t going to help Howard lay it out.
“Both of us are smart. Both of us are brothers in a very white town. You with the food. Me with Orc.” He jerked a thumb back toward the monster. “Time may come you need some muscle to go along with all that planning and ambition of yours.”
Albert turned to face Howard, wanting to send the signal clearly, unambiguously. “Howard?”
“Yeah?”
“I am loyal to Sam.”
Howard threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, man, I’m just messing with you. We are all of us loyal to Sam. Sam, Sam the laser-shooting surfer man.”
They had reached the deadly cabbage field. Howard pulled over and turned off the engine.
“Beer me,” Orc yelled.
Albert dug in the cooler, hand plunged into ice water. He handed the can to Howard. “Last one till he does some work.”
Howard handed it back to Orc.
Orc yelled, “Open it, moron, you know I can’t pop the tab.”
Howard took the beer back and popped the tab. It made a sound just like a soda, but the smell was sour. “Sorry, Orc,” Howard said.
Orc took the beer in a fist the size of a bowling ball and drained it down his throat.
Orc’s fingers were too big to handle anything delicate. Each finger was the size of a kosher salami. Each joint was made of what looked, and felt, a lot like wet gravel. Gray stones that fitted loosely together
His entire body, except for a last few square inches of his sullen mouth and the left side of his face, and a little bit of his cheek and neck, were covered—or made of—the same slimy gray gravel. He had always been a big kid, but now he was a foot taller and several feet wider.
The tiny human portion of him seemed like the creepier part. Like someone had cut the flesh off a living person and glued it onto a stone statue.
“Another,” Orc growled.
“No,” Albert answered firmly. “First we see if you can really do this.”
Orc rolled himself over the side of the truck and stood up. Albert felt the entire truck rock back and forth. Orc came around to the door and stuck his hideous face in the window, forcing Albert to shrink back and to clutch the cooler.
“I can take the beer,” Orc said. “You can’t stop me.”
“Yes, you can take it,” Albert agreed. “But you made a promise to Sam.”
Orc digested that. He was slow and stupid, but not so stupid he didn’t understand the implied threat. Orc did not want to tangle with Sam.
“All right. I’ll see about them worms.” Orc belched and lurched toward the field. He was wearing what he usually wore, a pair of very rough-sewn canvas shorts. Albert assumed Howard had made them for his friend. There was no such thing as pants or shirts in Orc’s size.
Howard held his breath as Orc stomped into the field. So, for that matter, did Albert. Every hideous detail of the memory of E.Z.’s death was permanently imprinted on Albert’s brain.
