Son of the Enemy by Ana Barrons Page A

answer it. It was bad enough he’d had the pee scared out of him without having to tell anyone about it.
    “I didn’t want to go home last night, after…you know, the thing with Christian.” He pushed himself into a sitting position. “Is he…I mean, he’s not…”
    John shook his head. “He’s not dead. I called the hospital a little while ago. But he’s in bad shape.” He looked Ty over. “You don’t look so good yourself.”
    Ty felt the tears start again. Jesus, when had he become such a fucking weenie? “I’m okay.”
    “Have you eaten?”
    Ty shook his head.
    “Well, come on, then.” John stood up and held out a hand. “We’ll get you some breakfast.”
    Ty blinked in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?”
    John actually grinned. “On an empty stomach? What do you think I am? Come on, get up.”
    Ty grabbed on to his hand and started to get up when the draft hit his leg and he realized his pants were still wet. He jerked back and banged his head on the table. “Shit!” He rubbed at his head to buy himself some time. What the hell was he supposed to do? No way was he going to tell John he peed his pants, but he couldn’t go out like this. He’d rather put on the ratty old suit pants he’d been using as a pillow than go out smelling like piss.
    “Look, I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” John said, proving that he was either a mind reader or had a damn good sense of smell. He snagged a helmet off his filing cabinet and walked to the door. “Don’t take too long.”
    A few minutes later, dressed in a pair of loose, wrinkled pants, a sweater, a ripped jacket and a helmet, Ty wrapped his arms around John’s waist and tore out of the parking lot on the back of his Harley. It was the first time since Arthur Weiss had left the school that he felt like maybe, just maybe, he was worth caring about.

Chapter Nine
    John leaned back in the red leatherette booth and sipped coffee while Ty attacked a plate of bacon, sausage, eggs, home fries and toast. He caught the middle-aged waitress’s attention and pointed to the empty glass of orange juice sitting by the boy’s elbow. She came back with the juice and filled John’s cup with fresh coffee, earning her a wide smile and a flirtatious wink.
    Ty finally finished eating, leaned back and belched. “Ah, that was good.”
    “When was the last time you ate?” John asked.
    Ty shrugged. “I got something out of the vending machine at school yesterday, before…you know.” He picked up the tray of jams and proceeded to stack the little plastic squares with great precision.
    John waited.
    “The police have probably already talked to my dad,” Ty said without looking up from his building project. “I wonder if they’ll, like, search my room and stuff.”
    “They’d be hard-pressed to get past your father, with or without a search warrant.”
    “He’s going to kill me for embarrassing him, you know, with the police. Or God forbid, if anybody else hears about it.” A thought seemed to strike him then, and his face fell. “If I get busted again they’ll put me in juvie. And if Christian— I could go to jail, right?” He glanced up at John with a bleak expression that John found startling in its familiarity—he’d seen it countless times in his own mirror at Ty’s age.
    John leaned forward and crossed his forearms on the table. “Listen to me carefully.” He waited until Ty was making eye contact before he continued. “I’m assuming there are no drugs on you now, okay? Just like there won’t be when you come out of that restroom over there.” He nodded toward it. “Do you understand?”
    Ty’s blue eyes were wide and moist. He nodded slowly.
    “I’m also assuming there are no traces of drugs in your room or anywhere else in the house or on your property. No stems, no seeds, no roaches, clips, papers, mirrors. Nothing. Are you following me?”
    “I think so,” Ty said hoarsely.
    “So there would be no reason why you