Maybe A Savior

Six

Chapter 6

The perspiration sprang out on Brad's forehead and upper lip as soon as he left the diner. He didn't mind. Being born and raised in Arizona, Brad was used to the heat and the blistering sun. He enjoyed riding around in his Bug and left the windows down sometimes, even when it was hot out.

He wondered if he'd upset the girl but told himself he wouldn't wait long before going back. He felt restless as he started the engine. He didn't want to go home; he got too lonely in the house, so he backed out of the parking lot and drove south down 22nd Street, steering the royal blue Volkswagen through the side streets of Barry's haunts.

He loved his Super Beetle and if not for Vince, he wouldn't have bought it. The money inherited from their parent's death had to last, and he lived in fear whenever he had to spend any of it. But he respected Vince's advice and asked him along to the car lot. He wanted something economical, and affordable, but something that would last for a while.

He fell in love with every car carrying a low-price tag, leaving Vince in stitches and shaking his head.

"Use your head, son. You're an adult now. Act like one. If you bought this piece of junk and broke down, say in the middle of the night, what would you do?" Vince held up his hands and nodded his head. "I know, I know. You'd call me. But what if I wasn't around?"

At Brad's panic-stricken expression, Vince raised his hands again, but this time placed them on Brad's shoulders. "I'm not saying I won't be around, little buddy. I'm just saying."

So, Vince convinced him to drop two thousand dollars on a brand-new car. It made him so ill at the time he didn't think he could drive the VW home with his hands shaking the way they were, and he never spent that kind of money again.

But he forgave Vince for talking him into it and drove the car around, even when he had nowhere to go.

The neighborhood was one of Barry's haunts. He would find his brother, and possibly make amends. Unconsciously, Brad rubbed the soreness on his shoulder.

Besides, Brad reasoned with himself. Barry was not doing so well these days. He needed someone to keep him grounded.

Or I'm just fooling myself. I might need him more than he needs me.

Downshifting into second, he pulled the little car into the gravel driveway. The music coming from the stucco house was so loud he felt the beat in his chest as he stepped from the car. Well, that's not good. He looked at the sun-burned grass and overgrown bushes in the yard. This house had "buy drugs here" written all over it. He stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

No answer. Brad waited a few seconds and rang again. When no one answered, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He swore under his breath.

He pushed the door open and peered into the dark interior of the house. No lights were on. The blinds were drawn to keep out prying eyes. He stepped inside the darkness and shut the door behind him.

"Hello?" he called out, barely hearing himself over the loud music. "Dammit, Barry," he cursed under his breath again, the hopefulness leaving him suddenly. Something wasn't right. Something must have gone wrong for all the druggies just to disappear.

He walked through the darkened hallway, kicking beer cans and cigarette butts out of his way.

"What a dump," he muttered.

He searched the entire house and couldn't find a soul. He did, however, find the source of the music and turned the stereo off. His ears rang in the sudden silence.

"Barry!" he shouted.

He wished he'd never come this way. It had been a dangerous idea.

He went back through the hallway and called Barry's name again, quieter this time. If he didn't answer, then to hell with him. Barry could find his way home. He always did.