The cops, having deposited the man in the cell with Kolya, turned and left without a word. Watching them through the bars, Kolya was glad to see them go. He hated the sound of their voices. As for this newcomer, Kolya hadn't heard his voice yet, but he wanted to. Not bothering to rise, he gazed up at the man. He found the stranger gazing back. At first Kolya saw him only in broad strokes: dark hair, dark eyes with dark circles under them, a vicious nose. Then the initial impact faded and other, smaller details made themselves clear. the man's clothes-- a sleeveless black t-shirt and black jeans-- were torn and stained with blood and mud. On his feet were agesoft black leather boots with pointed toes. Kolya's eye for finances told him that these boots had originally been expensive, but they had been sorely misused and now strained on the verge of falling apart. With interest, Kolya's gaze traveled back upwards, and he saw the man's bare whiteskinned arms were scored with the unmistakable little welts a needle leaves, although they were fading. Then he saw the man's throat, a black leather collar fastened around it, and then he was back at the face. The man was watching Kolya examine him and smiling. Now that the fire had faded from the man's eyes, Kolya could see they were intelligent eyes, and not merely intelligent, but cunning. Handsome eyes, in a handsome, if hard-worn, face.

Kolya opened his mouth to speak, but the man beat him to it. "How long do you spend on your fucking hair, kid?"

"Depends how long I have."

The man chuckled wryly; his own hair was a nest of unruly spikes, a portrait of hair gel carelessly applied. Kolya gently touched his fingertips to his own hair, although he knew what it looked like. A crown of near-symmetrical spikes standing defiant in rows like soldiers, carefully sculpted bangs beneath hanging over his forehead, and all of it dyed bright blue. "Yeah, I can see that," said the man. "You must have had forever today." He had an accent. Russian. Kolya might not have recognized it, it was so faint, but for the fact that it was the same as Kolya's own accent. This surprised him, but he did not want to mention it, and he would not, if the stranger didn't.

"Do you want me to suck your cock?" Kolya asked. "They won't be back for a while."

The man stared at Kolya, and for a moment, Kolya found himself in the unfamiliar position of being unable to read someone. Then the moment passed, the man burst into laughter, and Kolya knew him a little better. "Hell, no! I mean, no offense, kid, but I can't afford to get stuck with my dick in some minor's mouth. Especially when the minor's a boy. I've got my career to think of, and that would fucking ruin me."

Kolya's eyes narrowed. "How do you know I'm a minor?"

The man tilted his head to one side, giving Kolya an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? I think I can tell. It's not that difficult."

"I look young for my age."

"Sure." Irony tilted the stranger's eyebrow. "I believe that, all right."

"Doesn't matter what you believe, I'm not a minor." Sensing he was not about to sway the stranger, Kolya moved on.

"What's this career that's so important you can't ruin it?"

"I'm a musician."

"Oh." Kolya blinked, stifling a yawn. "I don't listen to music."

"Good. You're better off."

"Are you famous?"

The man shrugged. "Maybe. Depends who you ask. Like I give a fuck."

"Do they play your songs on the radio?"

Another shrug. "Sometimes."

Kolya stretched, his arms out over his head, his legs out straight before him. "You play an instrument?" he asked.

"Yeah, bass," the man answered nonchalantly. He had started to pace, and his pointed boots hitting the hard floor were loud in the quiet jail. It seemed they were the only two prisoners there. Small town. Small jail.

Kolya rolled his eyes. "Any idiot can play bass."

"I thought you didn't listen to music."

"I don't need to listen to music to know that."

"I'd like to see you get up on stage and play bass." He paused, rethought what he'd said. "Nah, guess I don't give a fuck."

"So what's your band called?"

"The Brothers K."

"I haven't heard of you," Kolya lied.

"Good," the man said.

"Yeah, like you give a fuck." Kolya smiled.

The man nodded, returning the smile. "Exactly."

"So what's your name?"

"Mitya. How about you?"

"Nikolai." Kolya looked at his hands. He'd bitten all his nails down to the quick, for want of something to do in that pisshole of a cell, and those of his fingertips which were not bloody were scabbed. "So getting put in jail won't ruin your career, but getting sucked off will?"

"That's right." Mitya stopped pacing and dropped down into a sitting position, facing Kolya. "It's my persona, you could say. I'm the troublemaker of the group. I'm supposed to booze and brawl in bars and get thrown in jail now and then."

"That's what you're here for? Getting in a barfight?"

"Yeah."

Kolya shook his head sadly. "How boring. One out of every two people who get thrown in here are thrown in here because they were in a barfight."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm pretty boring, aren't I? How about you? I guess you're not old enough to get into bars, so what are you here for?"

Kolya's eyes narrowed again. They were a changeable hazel, his eyes, shifting from brownish to greenish, and they darkened as they narrowed. "Vagrancy." He pronounced the word with distaste, as though it were a fungus.

Mitya attempted without success to find a comfortable position on the cement floor. He settled on crossing his legs Indian style. "Oh, man, that's exciting. I thought maybe you were in here for offering to suck the cocks of strange men."

"No, I'm just here until they figure out I don't belong to anyone. Then they'll let me go. They've got no real reason to keep me here. And I don't offer to suck just anyone's cock, you know."

"Just mine? I'm flattered."

"No, not just yours, but not just anyone's."

Mitya considered this for a moment. "I see. I'm still flattered. As long as I'm not just anyone."

"You're sure you don't want--" Kolya began.

"No, I don't," Mitya interrupted with a flick of his hand, a gesture that might have seemed nervous executed by anyone else, but which Mitya managed to infuse with an idle charm. "You're weird, kid."

"Thanks."

Mitya gazed through the bars at the quiet jail hallway. The cops were ostensibly in the next room, which was hidden from them behind a stout wooden door. Mitya hadn't imagined wood could look so ugly. "Mind if I ask what you're doing here in this nothing town, Kolya? It doesn't seem like your kind of place."

Kolya noted Mitya's familiar usage of the more casual form of his name. Mitya itself was a diminutive form of Dmitri, yet Mitya had introduced himself as though they were immediately on friendly terms. It was clearly a reference, however veiled, to their shared national origins. He wondered if Mitya was really asking him why he'd left Russia, how he'd come to the States. Those, however, were questions he had no intention of answering. He shrugged. "I don't have a kind of place. I move around. I go everywhere. They're all my kinds of places."

"You really don't belong to anyone?"

"That's right. It's just me."

"Must be nice. Don't have to worry about anyone but yourself."

"That's right. I like it that way."

"So-- where did everybody go? Your parents, family and all that?"

Kolya didn't hesitate for an instant before replying, "They're dead."

"Dead, huh? That's tough."

Kolya narrowed his eyes again, chewing at a nonexistent fingernail. "You don't believe me."

"That's right, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're lying. You might be able to fool those idiots out there with whatever story you've got going today--" Mitya gestured towards the stout wooden door behind which the cops were hidden, "--but not me. I've been telling lies since before you were born, and if there's one thing I know, it's a liar. We know our own. Got it?"

Kolya shrugged. He'd managed to find another piece of fingernail to gnaw off, shedding more of his own blood in the process. He spat the shred of fingernail on the cell floor, then licked the blood from his fingertip. "Guess so." He wasn't above admitting defeat-- for the moment, at least.

"You're just another runaway. Don't try to make your story more dramatic than it is."

"If that's what you wanna think, who am I to argue?"

"Good. I hate arguing. It's such a waste of time. Nobody wants to be convinced by anyone else of anything, ever." He paused, adding as an afterthought, "Well, maybe sometimes." Before Kolya could remark upon this, he went on, "So, where are you headed after they let you out of here? Somewhere nice, I hope?"

"I don't know. Could be anywhere." Kolya thought of trains, of the way trains thundered past in the night, bringing a wind with them, whipping dust and stones into his face, the strange, inhuman cry of the train's whistle as it goes. He thought of jumping trains, of riding them wherever the tracks lead, to every city and washed up railway town on the continent. Kolya thought of the roadside, the bleakness of the highway median, exhaust fumes in his throat and nostrils, filling his lungs. The cars, less magnificent than trains, but less alien. He thought of himself, thumb stuck out, with a sign, maybe, marker scrawl across cardboard. He thought of sliding into strangers' cars, making small talk or giving head, and the cars could take him anywhere the trains couldn't.

It was conceivable, that bohemian life. It seemed to flicker on the very edge of possibility like a blue-white flame. Moving always, eating seldom, feeling nothing. Growing old too fast and warming his shaking hands over trashcans full of fire, wearing gloves with the fingertips cut off, to make it easy for him to get at his fingernails and chew them off whenever he wanted. Drunk more often than sober. Homeless. Poor. Sick. Then dead. Such lives happened, were happening all the time. "Maybe I'll go to California," was all he said.

"Why there?"

Kolya shrugged. "It's somewhere people go, and I've never been there."

"Fair enough."

Kolya looked at Mitya closely. For some reason, he liked this man. Not in a sexual way, exactly, although he did find Mitya attractive, but he felt as though a man like this could be his friend. It was an unaccustomed feeling. Friends were not something Kolya collected, and he felt slightly scornful towards those tight knots of people talking too loudly and laughing too long to be believed. What could they find so interesting about each other?

"Do I have something on my face?" Mitya asked, laughing, and Kolya realized he'd been staring. He looked away quickly, flushing, and said nothing. Of course he and Mitya couldn't be friends. Mitya was well known, older, probably rich, and soon-- any moment now-- someone would come to bail him out, and he'd be gone. Kolya would be left alone in the jail cell, staring out from between the bars at nothing, at so much empty space.

As he was thinking this, the ugly wooden door separating the riffraff from the cops opened, and two strange men walked in, accompanied by one of the cops. The two newcomers were a few years apart in age, both fair-haired and pale-eyed with the similar features close relatives have. The elder of the two was the taller. He wore glasses with black frames, and his expression was grave and weary. It was the younger of the two who interested Kolya more, however. Kolya stood, and Mitya stood with him, but it was only Mitya who spoke.

"Vanechka, Alyosha--"

"Don't 'Vanechka' me," said the the elder of the two, who were patently Mitya's brothers. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "I'm happy to see you too, Vanya." Mitya was laughing, completely unperturbed by his brother's cold greeting. This was an old game they were playing, and the players were well-schooled in their moves.

"Of course you're happy to see us. We've come to get you out. We should have let you cool your heels in here for a few days, but there wasn't time for that, unfortunately." Vanya's voice was stern, but not without a measure of affection, however strained. He wore a striped dress shirt and as he talked, he tugged at the sleeves, which were buttoned at his wrists. Though the two newcomers to the jail resembled each other, neither of them resembled Mitya in the least. They did not look like brothers, yet they were brothers. They talked like brothers, acted towards each other as brothers do. Brothers do not have to look alike. Blood does not only show in faces.

"You don't fool me. I know you too well. You'd never leave me here. You love me too damn much." He blew a kiss at Vanya through the bars separating them.

"You're lucky I even like you," said Vanya, though he was joking now, his eyes starting to shine. "You idiot."

Throughout this exchange, the cop had not said a word, his posture one of boredom. Kolya hadn't spoken either, but he was not bored. He was watching the third brother, the one who had not yet spoken: Alyosha. Alyosha's pale brown hair was a mess, unbrushed but not unwashed; it was still slightly wet. He must have been washing it when the news had come that Mitya was in jail. He was dressed carelessly in jeans and a long white shirt with a stain over his heart, pale yellow on white-- it seemed a stain caused by time alone, as papers yellow with age. He stood silent, pale save where he was blushing: scarlet in patches on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

Kolya knew why Alyosha was blushing. He was blushing because Kolya was staring at him, had been staring at him since the moment he had walked in through the door. As Vanya and Mitya spoke, Alyosha kept glancing from Mitya to Kolya, and every time he saw Kolya's gaze was still fixed upon him, Alyosha reddened further, visibly disconcerted. Kolya wondered if there was a limit to how red the young man could get. He intended to find out. He did not avert his gaze. He would not have averted his gaze for anything.

Mitya, his attention straying from Vanya, quickly noticed Alyosha's discomfiture and the cause of it. "Look, Lyosha's made a friend," he observed, elbowing Kolya. "Or did the friend make Lyosha? I can't tell."

Vanya truly noticed Mitya's companion for the first time then, noticed Kolya's pretty but roughed-up good looks, noticed how Mitya seemed so comfortable with him. Behind Vanya's glasses, his eyes changed shape. His look of gentle rebuke changed to one of dismay. He had the alarmed but weary look of the precognizant, knowing that something was about to happen but unable to alter the course of events. Vanya turned back to Mitya and was appalled to see Mitya grinning like a jackal. Vanya knew that grin. He spoke sharply. "Mitya, no."

"His name's Kolya. Can I keep him, please?" Mitya placed his palms together in a prayer of supplication.

"Absolutely not!"

Mitya was undaunted. "He's homeless. We can give him a job. Gopher or roadie or something. I promise to look after him and feed him and whatever."

Vanya was resolute. "I categorically refuse to take in any strays." His gaze flickered over to Kolya. "No offense."

Kolya was too surprised to take offense. He had not anticipated this turn in the conversation. He tried to make sense of what was happening. Did Mitya really want to bring him along when he left the jail? Based on a mere several minutes of companionship? It was too incredible to believe. Certainly Mitya's brothers would say no, and it wouldn't happen. Certainly he would be left behind after all.

"Oh, but I really like him," Mitya protested. "I vouch for his character."

"Did you fail to understand some part of the phrase 'absolutely not'? You've haven't proved to me that you are capable of taking care of a-- of a hamster, let alone a child."

"I never had a hamster, so how do you know I couldn't take care of one? Anyway, he isn't a child. Look at him-- he's got to be at least fourteen." Kolya bristled at the number fourteen, but was still too taken aback to say anything.

"All the more reason not to take him in. Who knows what bad habits or vices he has? The older he is, the more time he's had to develop them. Look at the environment you found him in." He glanced at Kolya again with another polite, "No offense."

"He's here for vagrancy. That's not serious. Come on. I'm a great judge of character."

Vanya blinked. "You are? This is the first time that's been called to my attention." He gave Mitya a pointed look, then sighed when Mitya returned his look with a haughty, unrelenting stare. Vanya turned to address the cop, who still stood there wordless. "Officer, would you mind if we spoke to our brother alone for a moment?"

The cop shrugged. "Makes no difference to me," he said, with a world-weary air somewhat unexpected in a small-town policeman. He retreated without haste to the next room, shutting the homely wooden door behind him, leaving Kolya, Mitya, and Mitya's two brothers alone.

Kolya considered the brothers. He wondered what their parents had looked like, for they were each quite appealing, in their separate ways. Mitya had a kind of bitter beauty. His face was already lined, too soon, but those hard-won lines seemed to suit him. His was the face of a bandit prince. Vanya was more the sophisticate, wearing his charm subtly, as though he scarcely realized he possessed it at all. His good looks were rational, measured, refined. And Alyosha-- Kolya drew a breath. Alyosha possessed a delicate loveliness, wild but not rash; rather, it was a gentle wildness, like that of the deer or the rabbit. A handsome family. That was what they were, undeniably. Of course, they were in a band, and a certain amount of attractiveness was expected of popular musicians, if not required.

Vanya was watching him. "Kolya, was it?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Excuse me if what I'm about to say seems indelicate, but-- has my brother propositioned you?"

"Propositioned?"

"Has he made any sexual overtures to you?" Vanya pronounced the words crisply, as though to mask his embarrassment, but Kolya could tell what Vanya was feeling by the way Vanya avoided his gaze, although Vanya did not redden so pleasantly as his brother Alyosha.

"Oh. No, he hasn't." Unfortunately, he added to himself.

Mitya grasped the bars of the holding cell tightly with both hands. "Vanya! I don't do kids!" He kicked at the bars, but the bars held fast. "As a matter of fact, this little punk was the one who--"

Knowing Mitya was about to reveal how he'd offered him a blow job, Kolya kicked him. He was relieved when Mitya, proving he possessed at least a small amount of tact, broke off, leaving the sentence thankfully unfinished. "I'm not a kid," Kolya protested.

Mitya acted as though he didn't hear him. "What do you think I am, anyway?" he asked his brother.

"I'm sorry, but your eagerness to bring him home makes me suspicious. It isn't like you."

"That's right! Because I usually don't like people. So it should tell you something when I do like someone."

Vanya nodded. "Exactly. It should tell me something. But I'm unable to figure out just what it should tell me." He took a step back and shifted his weight onto his back foot, folding his arms behind him, pondering.

"He doesn't have anywhere to go," said Mitya.

"The same could be said of a great many people, but we're not taking them all in."

Mitya's lips were a pale line. "If he stays, I stay."

Vanya shook his head slowly. "Please don't."

"I mean it." Mitya released his grip on the bars. "I will not leave this cell until you say he can come with us."

"You are sulky teenager enough. We don't need another."

"He doesn't have anywhere to go," said Mitya again, although this time he was not speaking to Vanya. He was speaking to his other brother, Alyosha, meeting his eyes through the bars. "We can't leave him here. It wouldn't be right."

"Don't you dare try to prey on his good nature," Vanya admonished Mitya, reaching through the bars towards him, but Mitya danced back, avoiding his grasp.

Alyosha had not yet spoken. He looked at Kolya, and he smiled. Kolya smiled back, startled to find that his hands were shaking, hoping none of the brothers noticed. "I don't think we've asked you yet what you wanted," Alyosha said. His tone was confident, but not brash. There was a softness to his voice, but it was not exactly quiet. It was the kind of speaking voice Kolya had expected of him, but then again, it was not. There was something unanticipated about that voice: a note of wry laughter, a hint of musics unplayed.

Kolya shook his head in reply. Negative. They had not, in fact, asked him.

"What do you want, then? Would you like to come with us?"

What was this he was feeling? Looking at Alyosha, Kolya felt short of breath and somewhat nauseous, as though he had been kicked in the stomach. He thought again of that bohemian life he had envisioned for himself, life on the road, life ending too soon-- or maybe ending just in time. He thought of sleeping in ditches, dirt and grass in his hair, ten thousand hours spent in jail cells like this one, brought up on charges of vagrancy... or worse things, if there was anything worse than being a vagrant, if crime meant anything, if actions could truly be judged in terms of good and bad. That wandering life, as hard as it would be, had its appeal to Kolya. There would be a kind of freedom in it-- freedom from certain things, even if it meant enslavement to others-- and it was the kind of freedom Kolya wanted. Yet for some reason, his visions of that life, which had been so clear to him not long before, were beginning to fade. The light of the fire in the rusted trash can was growing dim.

"I'd like to," said Kolya, unable to stop himself from saying it. "If it's okay. If you want me to."

"This is not the pound. You can't just adopt anyone you see here." Vanya's words still held a note of protest, but his heart was obviously no longer in it. He was outnumbered; he saw himself already defeated.

"Oh, I'm sure we can work something out. Mitya's right-- we can't leave him here." Alyosha stretched his arm through the bars of the cell, towards Kolya. "My name's Alexei. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Kolya took the hand that was offered to him. Alyosha's skin was cool to the touch. He held that hand for a moment, squeezed it, and it felt as though something passed out of him with that contact, leaving his body and leaving the cell, escaping between the bars. Kolya didn't know what it was that left him, but he felt as though he were a different person when Alyosha withdrew his hand. He was no longer the same old Kolya. He didn't know who he was or what was going to happen next, but his life had assuredly changed.

Mitya howled with delight.

"Don't get excited yet," grumbled Vanya. "We have to ask Pasha--"

"Pasha won't care," Mitya said quickly. "Pasha doesn't care about anything."

"I sincerely doubt that, but even if you were correct, we still have to--"

"I told you, I'm not leaving without him."

Vanya heaved another sigh, a great one. "I am so very tempted to leave you here. You have no idea."

"But you love me too much." Mitya grinned. He was triumphant, and victory made him resplendent. His face shining, he seemed several years younger, the lines around his mouth and eyes his face softening.

"Love?" Vanya's eyebrow edged upwards. "Is that what it is?" he asked.

But Mitya only laughed.

Vanya sighed again, this sigh one of complete defeat. "Very well. I'll see what's needed to take him with us."

Mitya howled again, like a Vandal sacking Rome.

Vanya-- methodical, dignified Rome-- turned his back on the whooping Vandal and went to talk to the police.

"Come here so I can kiss you, Lyosha." Mitya pressed his face up against the bars, and Alyosha, laughing, offered his cheek for a kiss, which Mitya planted with great aplomb. "You'll always be my favorite brother."

"Don't be silly." Alyosha drew away, smiling. "There's no need to pick favorites."

Kolya felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to be at ease with Alyosha. He wanted to be able to ask for a kiss. But Alyosha didn't even know him. Alyosha was not his brother; there was nothing connecting them. "Um, thanks," Kolya said, feeling uncharacteristically shy. He felt eyes upon him then. He looked over at Mitya to find the elder brother watching him curiously, the shadow of a frown on his lips. Kolya looked away quickly.

Alyosha shook his head. "Don't thank me yet. I don't think you know what you're getting into. As you can tell already, I'm sure, we're a bit intense."

"Yeah," agreed Mitya enthusiastically. "And believe me, we only get worse!"

It was with a feeling of disbelief that Kolya allowed himself to be lead by the three brothers out of his cell, out of the jail, and away from the life he had been inhabiting up until now. They had paid for him, signed papers for him, and now they were taking him with them. He couldn't imagine why. What had any of them seen in him that had convinced them to take on this responsibility for him? Even Vanya, once convinced, had seemed to warm to him. It couldn't last, Kolya thought. They were mislead. It was bound to end once they found out who and what he really was.

Alyosha and Vanya walked together, leading the way down the street. Mitya, following them, suddenly slowed his pace, fell back, and Kolya, sensing some purpose on Mitya's part, fell back with him. Once the other two were safely ahead, out of hearing range, Mitya spoke in a low voice. "Give it up before you even start, okay, kid?"

Kolya pretended ignorance. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Lyosha doesn't like boys, so don't get your stupid heart broken."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not blind. I saw you making great big lovey eyes at him. But I want you to forget about it. Alyosha is most definitely not available."

Not willing to admit to anything, Kolya simply inquired, "He's got a girlfriend?"

"No, he doesn't."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do. Alyosha doesn't like boys or girls. He doesn't go in for that stuff at all, understand? So don't fall for him. It won't work. I've seen it happen before. Broken hearts all around, that's all that comes of it. You'll feel bad because he can't return your feelings, then he'll feel bad because he can't return your feelings-- and it'll be so fucking boring, it'll make me sick."

"We'll see."

"We'll see? What kind of an answer is that? You'd better listen to me, you little--"

"What are you talking about?" The sound of Alyosha's voice stopped them short. Alyosha and Vanya had come to a halt, and they stood waiting for the two laggards to catch up. Alyosha was smiling innocently, but Vanya's expression was slightly suspicious. His eyes were narrowed.

Kolya and Mitya exchanged guilty looks.

Vanya scowled.

"We're here," Alyosha announced. He waved his hand, indicating a large black and silver bus. "Here's home-- for the moment, at least."

"And none too soon," said Vanya. "If we don't leave now, we're going to be late for the show in Detroit."

Alyosha turned to Kolya. "You're under no obligation to come with us," he said, "just because we helped you out. We'd like to have you, of course, but you're free to go where you please."

"Of course he's coming with us!" Mitya protested, and Kolya was surprised to find Mitya's arm suddenly snaking around his neck, catching him in a near-stranglehold. He gasped for air. "How could you even say that, Alyosha?"

Alyosha seemed pleased, even touched, by Mitya's display of affection for Kolya. He laughed, stepping towards the two and gently placing a hand on Kolya's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I don't want him to feel beholden to us."

Kolya felt overwhelmed. He hadn't had this much attention directed towards him in a while, certainly not attention of such a amiable nature. "Thanks. I-- I don't feel beholden, don't worry."

"Beholden or not, will you all please get on the bus?" Vanya stood at the door of the vehicle, rolling his eyes.

"Okay," said Kolya shakily, still discombobulated by recent and current events.

"We're coming!" cried Mitya. "Will you hold your damn horses? Detroit's not going fucking anywhere, damn it!"

"Yes, of course-- sorry, Vanechka." Alyosha lowered his eyes.

Together, they moved towards the bus. Kolya cast one last glance over his shoulder, as though saying good bye to what he was leaving behind. But he didn't see anything behind him that was even worth looking at, so he turned to face what was coming next.