Ch. 9: Dean Candy

That Tuesday was masculine. Within Harvey, there lurked no concern about his gender—not that he would have ever considered the feeling dysphoric exactly anyway. He just wasn’t even interested in or curious about his gender at all. God, was something wrong with him? Why had he even thought he could have been a girl? Such thoughts felt like they occurred a lifetime ago.

Tugging on his green sweatshirt, Harvey snapped himself out of his head and admired the beauty of the evergreens that lined the campus. They stood and stood and stood, without getting lost in social constructs and interpersonal affairs. They just lingered in reflective red dust all day.

He continued walking from class to the Chiller, where Kinzly invited him to meet for lunch.

“Hey, dude!” Kinzly called. Kinzly was presently wearing white pants and a preppy blue and white, long-sleeved shirt that looked like something from The Gap below a navy blue puffer jacket. Their long hair was tied into a tightly coiled bun that rested atop their head.

“How are you feeling after the party on Friday? Dude, I was wasted.”

“I’m doing fine now, but I felt like shit on Saturday.”

Oddly, the two friends were repeating almost verbatim what they had already gone over Saturday morning, but Harvey supposed maybe this was what kids did after they got drunk.

They stood in line at the Chiller’s deli counter, where Harvey ordered a bagel and cream cheese and Kinzly asked for an avocado and sprout sandwich. Squeezing between other students in the narrow space, they each took turns grabbing berry-flavored seltzer waters out of a nearby cooler, then fruit and other snacks, and got into a new line to pay.

“I hate this fucking place,” Kinzly said.

“The Chiller or Moorehaven?”

“Who gives a fuck!” they replied loud enough for everyone to hear. The pair then went into the compact dining area of the facility, which resembled an artificial log cabin with maple paneling matching maple ceiling beams and floorboards.

“So, what’s going on?”

“Eh, not much,” Harvey replied. Looking into their eyes, he noticed that the rosy feeling in his gut was back and dwelled in it.

“Really? I thought you had to have some stories to tell. I went by your dorm room on Saturday afternoon and your sloppy roommate said you were downtown.”

“Oh yeah, I had to get my phone fixed.”

“And that’s it? Why the hell couldn’t I get a hold of you? Are you sure you weren’t out looking for the ghost of Jimmy Twill?” At that, Kinzly let out uproarious laughter and dumped a rainbow of candy into their mouth.

“I thought you said you didn’t remember that shit,” Harvey replied, looking around suspiciously.

“Of course, I do. I promised you I wouldn’t tell anyone. What’s a best friend for?” Kinzly said. Harvey really liked Kinzly but was surprised to hear them refer to themselves as his best friend. Actually, it really touched his heart. “I did,” Kinzly paused, “tell my ZigZag audience though…”

“Fuuuuuck,” Harvey sighed, rolling his head back to the sky. “What’d you post?”

Kinzly pulled out their phone and showed it to Harvey. “You mean ‘what did we post.’”

The short video looped Kinzly and Harvey with arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders in the computer lab and both yelling at the camera simultaneously, “I’m James Leonard Twill, biiiiinch!”

Harvey felt incredibly relieved at how pointless the video was. “Thank god.”

“Aren’t you worried we’ll get expelled or something? Probably not a cute look to say we’re the kid who killed JKP.”

“That is probably the least of my concerns.”

“Getting expelled doesn’t matter to you? Dude, I turned you into a total badass by getting you fucked up just once.” Harvey chuckled at this. “Seriously, what’s up?” they asked.

Harvey proceeded to tell Kinzly everything that had happened up to this point. The fight between Hack Klein and Donovan Lanning, the alt-right possible getaway driver; the anti-Evader bomb plot on the other side of the lake; and the army of fake Twills. Throughout the conversation, Kinzly was rapt, interjecting only with expletives and the occasional follow-up question. By the time they were caught up, Harvey realized they were late for Zoology.

“Shit, Zoology started five minutes ago,” Harvey pointed out, finally noticing the silent alert on his phone.

“Who cares? We can miss one class,” Kinzly said, gathering up their stuff and already caving in to their internalized guilt and pressure.

As they rushed across campus to class, Harvey said between breaths, “So, you believe me? You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“I don’t know what to believe. Sounds like you don’t either. But of course, I don’t think you’re crazy. Not any crazier than anyone else I’ve ever met, which isn’t really saying all that much.”

They quietly opened the door to Koenig’s class to an air of total silence and a dirty look from the teacher. It just so happened that Koenig, disappointed with the lack of student participation, decided to surprise the class with a pop quiz.

Students were permitted to leave once their tests were complete. Harvey finished first and waited outside of the room. After about ten minutes had passed, he realized he had no idea how long Kinzly would take and walked to his next class.

Ten minutes later, he received a ZigZag from his friend with the words “WHERE ARE YOU??” hovering over their screaming face.

By that time, however, their next classes would be starting shortly. Harvey texted back, “Meet me at the Chiller at 3:30.”

When they did meet, Kinzly ran up excitedly. “Dude, I totally remembered something during that test,” they said.

“What? What is it?” Harvey said.

“I know the son of a lawyer whose mom had been asked to defend JLT in court,” Kinzly said.

“Huh?”

“Jimmy Twill,” they said, initiating the robot dance from that one video they watched the other day.

It didn’t occur to Harvey at first that there was even going to be a trial, since Twill got shot by Diamond so soon after the Kilpatrick incident.

“Yeah, yeah. His name is Dean Candy. His mom, Cynthia Candy is a big shot defense attorney, but she never had to do it because, you know, JLT got whacked.” Kinzly had already gotten into the mood of seedy underworld gangsters and conspiracies. “He’s a real weird kid. Talks like one of those beatniks from the movies because he thinks he’s cool or something. Or maybe because he does opium on the weekends. Or I dunno what the fuck.”

***

As the pair waited at Jay’s Pizone, Kinzly turned to Harvey and remarked, “If things get awkward or I start to get too pissed, we should have a signal to get the fuck out of here.”

“Uh, ok. What should it be?” Harvey asked.

“How about I pinch you three times or like kick you under the table?”

“Why do I have to get hurt?”

Wearing a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses, a round Dean Candy sort of jigged his way through the doorway of the pizza place, the blacklights turning him into a brilliant white cartoon ghost. He pointed his index fingers into the air, moved them up and down, and did a spin on his way to the seat at their table.

“Sup, my man,” Candy said to Harvey as Kinzly introduced him.

“Hi,” Harvey said. “Nice to—er—meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Candy said, taking Harvey’s hand and kissing it. Harvey wondered about this boy’s sexuality. Maybe smooching extremities was just something he did? It was the strangest introduction he’d ever experienced from another kid.

“Listen, Dean,” Kinzly interjected. “We don’t want to make this a whole thing.”

“Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“How do you know this kid again?” Harvey asked.

“We used to be boyfriend and girlfriend,” Candy said, lowering his sunglasses. “Back when Kinzly was still a girl.”

Kinzly stared intently, “Back when you were still human.”

“Listen, man, I’ve got no problem with whatever it is you’re doing here. Just give me some time to learn and I’m all yours.”

Kinzly looked visibly ill. “Oh my god. Dean, we just came here to ask: was your mom supposed to represent James Twill in that trial?”

“Alright, we’re cutting to the chase, I gotcha. Yeah, she was. So what?”

“Why?” Harvey asked. “I mean, was this some sort of charity case? Did her firm have something to do with it?”

“All I know,” Candy said, “is that, one night, we were sitting around the dinner table eating pasta fazool when she got a call. She was on the phone for like a half-hour, so by the time she was done, we’d already finished, and her plate was cold. She tells us she’s going to be Twill’s lawyer and that’s it. That’s all I know.”

“You don’t know who was on the other end of the phone?” Harvey followed up.

“Even if I did,” Candy replied, with a glimmer peeking up just above his shades, “why would I tell you?”

Kinzly tried to win more bees with honey, “Come on, Dean. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” they realized how absurd this sounded and quickly added, “in middle school together. Our parents are friends. You and I used to be friends. I thought you could just help my pal Harvey here out with this little bit of information.”

“Hey, Kinz, I’ll tell you this,” Candy leaned in, slid his glasses down to the edge of his nose so they were just barely hanging on. The lighting twisted his features into a ghoulish form. A neon yellow grin formed between two thin purple lips. In a barely audible rasp, he whispered, “The cat on other end of the phone—well, he calls from time to time. He helps get my parents’ friends who’ve had scrapes with Johnny Law out of trouble, y’dig? So, I suppose this time he was looking to return the favor.”

“Can you tell us his name, Dean?” Harvey asked.

Suddenly, Candy sat back and pushed his sunglasses back over his fiendish eyes.

“This—well, I think that’s about as far as old Deano can go, alright? I’ve already said too much, and I think that should give you enough to help you along.”

“Come on, Dean. What’s the matter? Can’t you just give me a name?” Kinzly asked.

“Will you peep the blonde in red over there?” he asked, sliding his glasses down with a finger and glancing to his right. There was no one there. They were the only ones in the restaurant.

“Quit stalling, Dean,” Kinzly replied.

“Is this off the record, Daddyo?” he asked. Kinzly looked over at Harvey, who nodded. “In that case,” he said, “let me sum it up for you real quick. It’s as simple as this. If I answer that question you keep asking me, if I give you that name you keep trying to get, then it’s goodbye, Dean Candy. It’s bon voyage, Deano. I mean like permanent. I mean like a bullet in my head—which makes it hard to do one’s studying for finals, if you get my drift. Does that help you see my problem a little better?”

Just then, Kinzly’s eyes morphed into a cold stare as they grabbed a fork from the table and jammed it into Candy’s hand. Fluorescent blood poured out of grey skin and formed a puddle on the checkerboard tablecloth.  

“It’s going to be over for you one way or another, Deano. You give us the goddamn name, or I twist,” Kinzly said, slowly turning the utensil, as it drew blood from the young hipster.

Groaning, Candy shouted, “Sir? Sir!” yelling in the direction of the kitchen. “You’ve got a vagrant in your place, man, and he’s trying to kill me!” There was no sign of a response, so Kinzly twisted a little more.

“Mudd Yoder,” Candy winced. It turned out that catching bees with vinegar was significantly more effective. “That’s his name. Scout’s honor.” Kinzly pulled the fork out and placed it on the table. Getting up from their chair, Kinzly sent a look to Harvey that it was time to go.

“You should get that looked at,” Kinzly said. “And, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep this between us. Wouldn’t want word getting out that you snitched on Yoder. Word on the street is he doesn’t take that sorta thing lightly.”

Harvey followed behind, gazing at Kinzly with a mixture of admiration, respect and a little bit of fear. “I thought you were going to pinch me if things got out of hand,” Harvey said.

“That was more effective,” Kinzly smiled.

Next Chapter: Prescott Yoder