Carter's Shadow - 2. Chapter 2

West rolled the Bronco to a stop by the east entrance of the Rideau Centre mall; it was the Mecca of underage kids too young to get into the bars, but still looking for a nightlife. West had been there a couple of times when he had been younger, just hanging around in the food court with his buddies, talking to girls and being a pain in the ass to the security.

West turned and glanced back to Joey-his kid brother was frantically pulling on his toque, even though it was late spring. "You got the cell, right?" West asked with a grin.

Joey glanced up from adjusting his hat and patted the pocket of his denim jacket, "Right here."

"Cool," West said with a satisfied nod. "Brad's got his with him, if you need to call me."

"Yes, Mom," Joey said with a rebellious grin as he ducked out of the back of the Bronco, charging for the doors to the mall and the ragtag bunch of friends he hung around with.

"Your brother's a little shit," Brad said from the back, leaning across to slam the Bronco's door shut and leaning forward to rest his arms on the backs of the two front seats. He put his hands on West's and Matt's shoulders, "We're gonna have fun tonight, boys."

West smiled as he checked over his shoulder and turned the big Bronco out into traffic, turning it around and heading for the market district of Ottawa. "So what's the plan?" he asked looking at the clock on the dash-it was still too early to hit the bar, but late enough that it was getting dark.

"We cruise," Brad said, sitting back and winding down his window. Tossing an arm out, he grinned and watched the city flow by his window.

West shared a smile with Matt, both rolling down their own windows as they swept along under the parliament buildings heading for Bank Street; the usual circuit-up Bank Street, across by the museum of Natural History and back down Elgin Street to repeat the circuit again.

West was just enjoying the drive, windows down, and music flowing from the stereo. He wished his dad had bothered to install a CD player into the old Bronco; it was the family's third vehicle, his dad's before he had bought the Dodge Ram. He had tried to pawn it off on his wife, but she detested the size of the Bronco, preferring her little Honda that she had been driving forever. It meant West could take the Bronco whenever he needed it, giving him a bit of freedom.

"Oh," West said suddenly, remembering Jenny's phone call, "Jenny and Mel are meeting us at 'phods."

"Cool," Matt piped up-it was a thinly kept secret that he had a huge crush on Mel. West thought that made the short winger a masochist; Mel had an acrid tongue and applied it liberally to people she stereotyped as dumb jocks. But then Matt was never viewed as the brightest bulb; he was eternally stubborn even when presented with the facts and so had a difficult time in school.

Brad leaned forward again. "Jenny's coming?" he asked eagerly, closing his eyes and sighing dramatically, in obvious bliss just at the thought of the beautiful girl, with her blonde ringlets spilling over her shoulders, and luminous eyes.

"Yeah," West replied changing lanes, completely oblivious to his two friends and their barely hidden teenaged desires for two girls he considered friends. "I think they just want to hang out with us for a bit, I didn't see a problem with it."

Brad shot West a look and shook his head, "You know, one of these days you're actually gonna meet a girl who'll tarnish that halo of yours."

"Huh?" West asked glancing back at Brad.

"Tarnish?" Matt chimed up. "I thought girls were supposed to polish..."

"What you do in the privacy of your own bedroom ain't nobody's business," Brad said, grinning as he tugged down the front visor of Matt's cap.

"Asshole," Matt fended him off, re-tucking his ball cap and turning to look out the windows. "What about her?"

Brad cast a glance. "Nice!" he leered.

West spared a glance and shook his head, rolling his eyes at his friends as he completed yet another circuit. "You guys want to park somewhere?" he asked hopefully-he didn't like driving around in circles for the sake of driving around in circles.

"Sure," Brad said with a nod. "Find somewhere down in the market, we can wait for the girls."

West chuckled as he took a right instead of a left and pulled the Bronco down past the Chateau Laurier and into the market again. He scanned the rows of cars for a place to park close to the bar, not wanting to pay for the lot parking if he could avoid it. It was still early, he figured, and if he got lucky...

Sure enough, he saw the familiar white reverse-lights at the spot right at the end, and he waited while the old couple pulled out. Moving quick he swung the Bronco into the spot and tugged on the park brake as he turned off the engine and smiled proudly at accomplishing the near impossible on a Friday night-finding a parking spot in front of the bar.

The market was a bustle of life, people moving to and fro; despite the fact that the open air market was shut that late at night, the bars that dotted the trendy area were beginning to open up, and the numerous restaurants were still kicking.

West climbed out of the Bronco, as Brad piled out the other side, walking across the road to the low fountain and slapping hands with a couple of guys he recognized there. Brad was like that; he seemed to know every one no matter where he went. West shook his head as he recognized a couple of guys from the Hillcrest High team; the Hawks were bitter rivals to the Storm, but that was on the rink; off the rink they were kindred spirits, especially on a Friday night.

West glanced both ways as he crossed the narrow street to the fountain, Matt in tow, slapping hands and up-nodding to the faces that he recognized. Acknowledging others wearing their team jackets, out representing. It was an excuse to brag, tease and be spirited.

It didn't take long for more people to arrive, drawn by the coloured jackets, lounging about and shooting the shit. West recognized a couple of the South Carleton basketball team joining them-Robbie McCormick and Jessie Gadreau, the two seniors who played on the varsity team.

Robbie was Peter's twin brother, and it always amazed West how similar and yet different the two brothers were. While Peter was a mousy quiet guy at school, Robbie was loud and very extroverted. Night and day really. West absently glanced about wondering where Peter was if his brother was out on a Friday night.

"Hey, West," Robbie commented, falling onto the bench beside the hockey player. There was an undefined hierarchy to the sports teams at Carleton. Hockey sat on top, and while varsity basketball was important, they treated the hockey players with the kind of god-like status they had earned.

West hated it, the whole social who-should-talk-to-who-and-when. He really couldn't give a damn what had always been done, he talked to whomever he wanted to whenever he wanted to. It didn't matter that he wore a team jacket; he wasn't going to let that stereotype him.

"What are you guys up to?" he asked glancing at the two of them.

"We're thinking about hitting a bar or something," Robbie said, stretching out a bit as he scratched behind his ear. "We don't have ID's or anything, but Jessie's brother's the bouncer over at 'phods so we're gonna be let in."

"Cool," West replied, glancing over at Jessie Gadreau. He was the younger brother of Todd Gadreau, one of the most powerful defensemen Carleton had ever had. Jessie lacked Todd's build, and his athletic talents had been better suited to the hardwood rather than ice.

"If you stick close to us, you should get in no problem," Robbie offered, earnestly.

West chuckled at the lanky basketball player, "I'll get in, no problem, they never card me." He tapped the hockey stick patch on his shoulder, "Future NHL first round draft."

"Ha!" Brad chortled at him. "You wish; everyone knows who rules the rink."

"Coach Highmore doesn't seem to think so," West shot back. "Didn't he bench you during practice for your attitude?"

"Highmore's just the assistant coach," Brad returned, acridly. "Besides, it's old Thorburn who calls the shots; you saw how quick he had me back out on the ice when he found out."

"Yeah, but Coach Thorburn's getting old," West stood up and rolled his shoulders. "He's turning more and more stuff over to Highmore..."

"Hey, Highmore's a great coach," Matt chimed up, smiling. "He used to play on the Storm..."

"Yeah," Jessie smirked, "Same team as my brother, he knows all about Coach Highmore..."

"Shut up, Jessie," Robbie thumped his shoulder, silencing the smug Jessie, who fell silent and looked petulant.

West caught it, but Brad plainly ignored the basketball players-after all they were beneath him. "Anyway, we don't need to be discussing this shit in public, not in front of..." he nodded across to the Hawks.

"Mel's here," Matt cut in, nodding to the small Civic pulling to a haphazard 'make your own' parking spot, blocking a fire hydrant as she did so. She got out of her car, ignoring the fact that she was parked badly, adjusting the long jacket over her impossibly short skirt and white blouse, the whole ensemble vaguely reminiscent of a catholic schoolgirl's outfit. She picked through her handbag as she crossed the street, ignoring the horns and dirty looks she got from other drivers as she lit a cigarette and joined the boys.

West shook his head in amusement; Mel liked to make an entrance, acting sophisticated. The kind of girl who knew she was beautiful and turned it into something that, at least to West, made her ugly. Cruella Deville in the making. But Matt adored her, and so West shrugged and ignored her carefully cultivated 'bitch' persona, knowing it just masked her insecurities.

"Hello boys," she said in a flawless Marylyn Monroe impression as she surveyed the collection of high school jocks, plainly ignoring the wolf whistles and leering comments made by some of the Hawks.

"Hey," West said, mentally shaking his head, "I thought Jenny was coming with you?"

Mel surveyed West a moment, faint amusement appearing on her lips. That kind of look that said she knew something he didn't and would enjoy torturing him with it. "She's coming," she reassured, as if placating a whiny kid.

Mel worked in a boutique over at the Rideau Centre when she wasn't ditching school. One of the stores that catered to 'prostitots,' as Brad liked to call them. Twelve- to fifteen-year-old girls who dressed up in club gear and prowled the mall wearing too much makeup and flaunting jailbait to dirty old men and hormone-driven kids like West's brother. She loved her job; she got to train a whole new generation of 'Mel' clones to take over when she left school.

"I found a parking spot," a quiet voice said, causing West to glance up past Robbie to where his brother Peter was standing.

Robbie simply ignored his brother, continuing his in-depth conversation with Jessie about the last game. Peter stood uncertainly; the thin young man with the oversized eyes threw nervous glances about him, painfully aware that he didn't fit in with the jocks around him. He swallowed and tried to draw back a bit, hoping to fade into the background like he always did.

West offered him a reassuring smile, as he saw Jenny-Lynn coming up the street to meet them. Peter returned the smile with a thankful nod, as he followed West's gaze to where Jenny-Lynn was crossing the road.

She was every inch the beautiful young woman, dressed for clubbing and only a little makeup to accent her features. She smiled prettily at West as she went to hug him, but was intercepted by Brad, stealing the hug and putting his arm around her shoulders possessively.

She flashed him a look of irritation, but quickly replaced it with a smile.

West shrugged as he stuck his hands in his pockets, glancing about. "So, we going in or what?" he asked.

* * *

The club was noisy, Zaphod Beeblebronx always was. It lived up to the reputation of its namesake; one of the oldest bars in the city, it was world-renowned for its pan-galactic gargle blasters. West wasn't sure if that was a copyright infringement or not, but he didn't really care-Zaphod's was an Ottawa institution.

They had commandeered a row of tables right off of the dance floor, where Mel was dancing surrounded by Hillcrest guys, drink in one hand, and her other wrapped around a guy's waist as she danced seemingly without a care.

Brad, his arm still around Jenny-Lynn, was talking excitedly with a couple of other guys who had shown up, gesturing with his beer to reinforce his points. Typically Brad, taking centre stage and keeping attention focused on him. Jenny looked bored.

West shook his head and turned to talk to Matt, who was laying, chin propped up by a hand as he stared wistfully out at Mel on the dance floor, lost in her movements as a far-away expression played across his face.

West rolled his eyes; so much for that line of conversation. He checked his watch-he still had a couple of hours until he was due to go pick up his little brother. He was having fun, after a fashion, but he had to admit it was a bit boring. The music was a bit too loud for him to join in Brad's conversation, Robbie and Jessie were off chatting with Jessie's older brother, and Matt was too far gone in his daydreaming to offer much conversation.

West shrugged and decided he was a bit hungry. He had his hand stamped on the way in, so getting back into the bar wasn't going to be much of a problem, and there was a greasy fast-fry stall tucked into the side alley by the bar-a poutine or a dog would hit the spot right then.

He shifted as he walked through the bar, digging through the change in his pocket. He always hated breaking into his allowance on the first night; he was the designated driver, and unlike Mel, he took the responsibility seriously, which meant his nights out were always light on his allowance, leaving it free for other things. He glanced up as he caught sight of Peter heading through the front doors of the bar. Probably heading out for the same reason West was.

He jogged to catch up, smiling as he came around the corner, expecting to see Peter waiting in line. And frowned when he saw Peter's distinctive badly patterned Hawaiian shirt and bobbing visor continue past the stall, crossing the small alley to a nondescript door in the wall, into which he vanished.

Curiosity aroused, wondering where on earth Peter, of all people, would disappear to on his own, West crossed the alley. He put his money back into his pocket as he tried the same door, stepping inside the stairwell and glancing up. He could hear music, and figured it was probably another bar, so he started up the metal steps, climbing up to the upper floor.

The bar was very different from 'phods. Music blared from a DJ booth that almost blocked the main door, and West stepped around it, glancing at the dancing flickering lights, and at the people clustered around a bar tossed up against a wall. It was less crowded than 'Phods was, and he caught sight of Peter taking a seat at the far end of the bar, his back still to West.

The hockey player scratched his head as he crossed the bar, and smiled as he rested a hand on the back of Peter's chair.

"So what are you having?" the bartender directed towards Peter, who was still oblivious to West's presence.

"Rye and coke," Peter said with a warm grin as he set his elbows on the bar.

"And for your boyfriend?" the bartender asked, looking up past him.

Peter blinked in surprise and turned to see West, standing shocked behind him having caught what the bartender had just said. West shook his head as he glanced about the bar again and realized there were no women in the bar; a couple of old men were sitting close to each other in a booth and some younger guys were sipping drinks and eyeing him from along the bar.

Peter looked like he was having a heart attack. West realized if he didn't do something, or say something to Peter to reassure him, then he would have to explain to Robbie why his brother had died of shock in a gay bar.

"I'll just have a coke," West said glancing up at the bartender, blinking a couple of times before he looked back down at Peter.

"West...I..." Peter began, his eyes darting for a possible avenue of escape as the bartender flashed them both an amused look, mixing the drinks and pouring coke from the fountain.

"It's okay," West said, slipping into the vacant barstool next to Peter, wondering why he wasn't the one embarrassed. If anything it should be him looking for an escape, not Peter. After all Peter was a shy artist, didn't this kind of go with the territory? He slipped some money over the bar and paid for the drinks.

The bartender smiled smugly as he winked at West, and went off to serve another customer.

West chewed his lip, glancing about him at the bar, then over at Peter seated, eyes wide, staring back at him. "Least it's quieter in here," he offered up as a weak joke.

Peter blinked at him slowly; at least he wasn't collapsing from a seizure anymore, that was progress as far as West was concerned. He was still trying to digest where he was, and the fact that Peter was gay. Well, actually he wasn't sure about that, he was jumping to conclusions...and...

"So...are you...?" he found himself asking before he could stop himself.

Peter's eyes went wider as he began to look for a way out again.

West folded his arms, leaning back on his bar stool. "I am," he said, drawing a conclusion that the only way to get Peter to relax was to be open and honest with him. Even if that meant being open and honest with himself. After all it wasn't like Peter was going to out him to the whole school or anything; Peter hardly said three words on a good day, and unless those three words were West is gay... West was pretty sure he was safe.

Peter was staring at him in open disbelief now, almost accusingly. "This is some kind of setup, isn't it?" he accused after a moment's pause, his eyes suspicious now, as if he expected his brother or some of the other jocks to come through the door at any moment.

West took a drink from his coke, and shrugged, "What, you think a guy that a guy that can score 32 goals in a season can't be gay too?"

"Actually," Peter bit back with quiet sarcasm, "I know someone who has you beat."

West smiled as he glanced at Peter, wondering at what he meant by that cryptic answer, "All right, so I'm gay, it happens. I just don't go around waving a flag and advertising it to the whole world; doesn't mean I'm not proud."

"You're teasing me," Peter replied sneering into his glass, taking a longer drink. "Look, whatever trick or scheme you have up your sleeve, just do it and get it over with okay?"

West rolled his eyes and looked up at the bartender. "Now I'm a closet heterosexual, this has to be a first," he commented.

"No such thing, honey," the bartender replied with a smile as he wiped down the bar.

"See," West said with a nod as he gestured to the bartender, "he thinks I'm gay."

"Fuck off," Peter said, sliding back his chair and slapping his glass down on the bar as he stalked to the door.

"Great," West commented. "First person I tell and he doesn't believe me."

"I believe you, honey," the bartender blew him a kiss.

West shrugged and stood up draining his glass. "Thanks," he replied, setting off to try to catch up with Peter.