Recipe for Hate by Warren Kinsella

Author:Warren Kinsella
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2017-10-10T04:00:00+00:00

C H A P T E R 26

It was the dead zone between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Patti and Betty and their family were still in Boston. The rest of the Portland punks had gone into hibernation, with no gigs or get-togethers taking place anywhere. Gary’s had finally let on that they were reopening, but that punk acts wouldn’t be on the marquee just yet.

So, a couple days after Christmas, X and I were walking to Bull Moose Music in the city’s Old Port, which usually had better (but pricier) import punk singles and albums from the U.K. He’d gotten some dough for Christmas and he said he was looking for the Ruts’ first release, “In a Rut,” and Wire’s newest single, the artsy “Outdoor Miner.” I told him I’d come with him.

As we were walking along, two young punks approached us near Pearl Street. They were both short and wore matching army surplus jackets and jeans. The lapels of the jackets were ornamented with badges for bands like Eater, a British punk outfit whose members were about the same age as the two young punks — fourteen or fifteen maybe.

“Uh, X? You’re X, right?” one of them said.

Looking at them up close, I figured they were twins.

“Yeah, that’s me,” X said, stopping. “Why?”

“I’m Peter, and this is my brother John,” the boy said, looking a bit nervous. “Do you guys have a minute to talk?”

“Sure,” X said. “We’ve got lots of time this week. Let’s go somewhere, though. It’s pretty cold out.”

The brothers led X and me to a tiny diner near the Plaza Nickelodeon, at Spring and Union. They were obviously excited that the X had agreed to talk to them. While John got hot chocolates at the counter, Peter told us that he and his brother went to King Junior High. They were likely the only kids in the entire place who were into punk. “We’re used to getting hassled all the time at school, but now we’re getting it from our parents, too.” He paused as his brother put the drinks on the table. “Our dad’s a cop.”

“Probably the only Asian cop on the Portland force, too,” John added, sitting down. “That’s pretty pathetic in a city like Portland.”

“Agreed. Is he a detective?” X asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said.

“So,” X said, warming his hands on his hot chocolate, “what’s this got to do with us?”

“Well, like I said, we’ve been getting hassled a lot,” Peter said. “There’s always been a lot of that, but it’s gotten really bad since …” He trailed off. Both brothers looked uncomfortable.

“Since the murders,” X said, finishing the thought. “Yeah. It’s been bad for everybody.”

“Our parents, and the teachers, they’re all super pissed,” John said. “They keep asking us why we’re into the scene. Why take the risk, and all that. They want us out. All our friends’ parents want their kids out.”

“Especially our dad,” Peter said. “He’s really freaking out. He’s worried something’ll happen to us.”

“Well,” X said, shrugging, “To them, it’s just these weird-looking bands.

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