“Passcode,” she said. “Now!”
When she didn’t get an answer, she drew her leg back and treated Candace’s head like a soccer ball. Her toe smashed Candace’s cheek. The bitch made a harsh guttural grunt, like she was coughing up phlegm.
“Mickey,” Candace said, wincing, “how can you just sit there? She kicked me.”
“Ma, tell her,” he said, looking away. “I don’t want to be here in town with everyone out to get us.”
“Mickey, they’ll understand. We’ll convin—”
Ash kicked Candace’s neck this time. Same spot Dad had been stabbed. A satisfying recoil shook through her leg.
Candace writhed, shaking off the impact.
“Keep kicking, Ash,” she said, sounding woozy. “Eventually you’ll knock me out and I’ll sleep through sunset.”
Ash hesitated. She turned to Narducci. “Let me see your gun.”
“Ashlee?” Dad stepped toward her. “What’re you doing?”
Ash knelt beside Candace. Mick still had her pinned, both hands on her back. He gave Ash a wary look as she grabbed the gun.
“Go ahead and shoot me,” Candace said. “You’re not getting the code.”
Ash touched the barrel to Candace’s shoulder. “We’re leaving town. Only question is whether you’re visiting the hospital on your way out.”
“Wow, aren’t you terrifying.”
Ash moved the barrel to Candace’s temple.
Candace snorted. Started laughing. “You need to learn how a threat works, girlie. If you want info from someone, you don’t get it by shooting their brains out.”
Ash sighed. Candace was right. Bullets couldn’t knock the code out of her head. Shooting elsewhere wouldn’t guarantee anything either—and if something went wrong, Candace could die and take the code with her.
I need to rethink this. With no other options, she looked at Mick.
“I need your help.”
“Don’t listen to her, Mickey.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Ash said.
She pressed the gun to his chin and fired.
56
Mick toppled sideways like a redwood. People nearby shouted as he hit the ground. A blackened crater bulged beneath his lower lip, glopping over with fresh scarlet fluid. Blood poured from what had been his chin, turning the snow beneath him pink and then crimson as he writhed in agony. He screamed, or at least tried to, his voice muffled.
“Mickey!” Candace thrashed in place. “Nooo!”
“Ashlee!” Dad roared. “What were you thinking?”
Lower jaw. That’s what she’d been thinking. Now she could hardly think at all. What the fuck had she done?
“He…he can trade his lower jaw.”
“His lower jaw?” Dad blinked. “Ashlee, why?”
“Three-three-one-eight-seven!” Candace shrieked. “Three-three-one-eight-seven!”
Ash felt thousands of miles away. Her cheeks tingled under warm blood spatter, and her wrist ached from the gun’s recoil, but the rest of her was numb. She couldn’t grasp the reality of shooting Mick. Nor could she understand why Candace was yelling numbers.
“The code!” Berke shouted. “She’s yelling the code.”
The code. Right. Once they shut down the cameras, Mick could replace his jaw.
“Dad—”
“I’m on it.” He thumbed his phone. “Code works! Let’s move Mick so he can trade.”
“Hurry!” Candace snapped.
Ash, Dad, and Berke grabbed Mick’s arms. The other Traders supported his torso. Even with all these people, it was like trying to move a bus. Mick writhed and bleated; blood flooded down his bearded neck. On his knees, he took two steps before collapsing.
“You idiots!” Candace roared. “Help him!”
Ash tugged his shoulder. She dug her heels in, and Dad did the same. Together they shuffled toward the bend.
“Close your eyes—he’s trading!”
A garbled cough sounded, followed by a splash. The moment stretched. Ash wanted to look but feared doing so could interrupt the trade and drown him. Then came another splash, followed by a gasp for air.
“Mickey?” Candace said. “Mickey!”
“I’m good,” he said, coughing.
Relief expanded through Ash’s chest. She opened her eyes.
In the fading sunlight, Mick’s wet cheeks glistened. Aside from some puffy redness, his bearded chin looked normal. He squatted there, dripping wet, his hat and face soaked. With a back-and-forth twist of his head, he shook water off like a soggy dog. He shivered like mad, but when Father McKagan offered him a towel, he refused it.
Instead, he stumbled after Ash.
She readied her gun.
“Hurry, Ash.” He pointed to the bend. “Finish the trades. I don’t want to be stuck here forever.”
“Mickey, wait!” Candace wormed toward him on her belly, her cuffed hands flapping behind her like wounded pigeons. “You’re not gonna let her get away with this, are you? She shot you. In the face!”
“Whatever, Ma.”
“Mickey!”
“Shut up.” Mick yanked her to her feet. “I’m not gonna rot away in Hollow Hills, Ma. This isn’t your town anymore. It’s over.”
57
Once the Lapinskis left, Ash couldn’t stop smiling. Relief overwhelmed her, spilling down her brainstem and washing over her entire body. Her skin tingled, especially along her empty wrist. All the doubt, all the stress, all the queasiness—they all flushed away as she stood back and admired the Candace-free clearing.
Beaming, she turned to her father, who was tapping his phone screen. It had been ages since they’d accomplished something meaningful together. She couldn’t help but rush over at full speed and throw her arms around him.
“We did it!” She slapped her hand hard against his back.
He laughed. “Yes, we did.”
“Dad, I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you so much. And I’m sorry I was such a bitch the last ten years.”
“Aww, Ashlee.” He chuckled, rubbing her back. “Nobody could blame you. I did some rotten things. Really, I should’ve been there for you.”
“It’s okay. You came through when it mattered. When I needed you most.”
She sighed so hard she coughed. Then she laughed. Yesterday, sitting upstairs in bed, she’d never expected to give her father a handshake, let alone hug him like this. It was nice. Totally nice. Even the thrill of her best live performances couldn’t top this.
When they broke the embrace, he held up his phone. “Gonna call our rib guy. How about you dial your brother? Spread the good news.”
Ash dialed Trent. She practically skipped across the clearing while waiting for him to pick up.
When Trent answered, he sounded hoarse. “Ash? Is it time?”
“Hell yeah! The craziest shit just went down. I can’t wait to tell you.”
“We’ll be right up,” he said. “Are we the last ones? How many trades left?”
“Five,” she said. “Father McKagan’s gonna trade his kidneys when he’s done praying. Donnie Adler, once he shows up, gets the skin. You and Jake’ll get the leg and eyes. And then—Dad, who’s our rib guy again?”
Dad was pacing the thicket, phone pressed to his ear. “Trying to reach him. Won’t pick up.”
“Shit.” She cleared her throat. “Trent, just hurry.”
After two more attempts, Dad shook his head. “Not looking good, Ashlee. This fella seemed interested yesterday when I asked about his compound rib fracture. Now he won’t answer.”
“Got anybody else lined up?”
“Not a soul.”
Sharp fear prodded her spine. After everything they’d done to liberate the creek, now people were dropping out. Worse yet, sundown wouldn’t hesitate.
“You sure you can’t think of anyone, Dad?”
“He’s the only fella I know.” He checked his watch. “We still got time. Maybe he’ll call back.”
“We c
an’t gamble on a maybe right now.”
“What else can we do?”
She stared past him, into the dark green thicket. She pictured the people in town. Tried to think if anyone had so much as rubbed their side since her arrival. Her trance was interrupted by Candace squawking beyond the pines. Mick yelled back, and his voice delivered an epiphany.
“Got it!” she said, looking to her father. “Mick’s a football player—they’re always cracking each other’s ribs, right?”
“Ask him,” Dad said.
She pushed through the thicket and found Candace sitting on a tree stump. Mick stood there scolding her, his head still sopping wet. He turned to Ash.
“What do you need?”
“Your ribs,” she said. “Are any of them cracked?”
Mick shook his head.
“Shit. Got any teammates who might want to trade?”
“Yeah, but they’re at least an hour’s drive away.”
We don’t have an hour. Her eyes drifted over Mick. His forearms bulged within their sleeves. The hand clutching Candace’s elbow resembled a sledgehammer encased in flesh. “Mick, what do you say we call it even?”
He squinted. “Even?”
“Right. I shot you, so…” Lifting her left arm, she took a deep breath. Then she patted her side. “Let’s even the score.”
Mick nodded. They left the other Traders to babysit Candace and reentered the clearing.
When Dad learned of her plan, he shook his finger at her.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “Ashlee, we’ll get someone.”
“We’re outta time,” she said, unzipping her jacket.
“Stop and think,” he said. “What if Mick breaks your ribs bad enough to puncture a lung?”
That scenario made her quiver. Still, time was running short. Their rib guy should’ve been ready an hour ago. Somebody had to trade, but she couldn’t picture anyone volunteering.
“I’m doing it,” she said.
Dad cleared his throat. “How about me instead?”
“Hell no. You’re still woozy from getting stabbed and you know it. Face it, Dad. It’s gotta be me.”
For a moment he looked away. He pressed two fingers to the bandage covering his neck and winced. He sighed, then looked at her with moist eyes. “Be very, very careful.” He turned to go.
Soon as he left, she removed her jacket and hoodie, leaving only her tank top to absorb impact. She stood near the bend, shivering. Filling her lungs, she lifted her elbow. The sweat along her armpit tingled in the wind. She exhaled.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Do it, Mick.”
“You sure?” Mick approached. “How hard?”
“Pretend you’re Mayweather.”
He made a fist. Threw a jab.
She flinched. Pain warmed her side.
“How’s that?” he asked.
She gritted her teeth. “Go again.”
His next jab struck harder. She staggered back.
“Broken?”
She shook her head.
The next punch cracked like thunder. Her whole body went numb. Both legs folded. She landed hard on her back, the impact drilling the pain deeper.
With clenched teeth, she twisted toward the bend. Though only two feet away, it seemed like miles. Mick squatted beside her and slid his arms under her knees and back. When he lifted, her side roared.
“Fuckfuckfuck!”
He set her down an inch from the water on her good side. She panted. “Thanks.”
“Sure you’re okay?”
She grimaced. “Ever crack a rib?”
“Yeah, in high school. Played through it.”
“You fucker.” She smiled weakly. “Shut your eyes.”
She checked the water. Saw her ideal self and asked to trade.
She felt a tug. In that moment her ribcage became steel and Snare a powerful magnet. Ash tumbled into the creek. Icy agony swallowed her from head to waist. She screamed, and grimy water filled her mouth.
The most surreal sensation followed. Like nothing she’d experienced, even on her wildest acid trips.
A million little somethings latched onto her ribcage in a million different places. The pain in her side vanished. Then so did her ribcage. Nothing protected her insides, and panic bloomed within her brainstem. She feared her torso would collapse upon her lungs and smother her.
Her panic ceased as a narcotic high swung in. The sensation overwhelmed her. It made Vicodin look like a multivitamin. She stopped thinking of herself as human. She was a ribcage now, curved bones and nothing more.
Euphoria rocketed outward from her spine, arching toward her sternum. It happened again and again. She never wanted it to stop.
But like any other high, it did.
The frigid water zapped her back to reality. Ash stumbled and splashed and then goose-stepped out of the creek. As she caught her breath, water drained from her hair, skin, and clothes. Within seconds she was dry, though still freezing her tits off. She slipped into her hoodie and jacket and hugged herself for warmth, marveling at her awareness of her new ribs. They felt fresh and cool, like her teeth after an overdue cleaning from the dentist.
Out of curiosity, she lifted her arm and patted her side. The ribs felt sturdy. Possibly invincible. She slapped her side till it hurt. Nope, not invincible.
Beside her, Mick winced, clutching his own side as if she’d been slapping him. It was almost comical.
“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is it that hard to watch?”
Mick frowned and shivered, his head still wet from his recent trade.
“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked. “Here, I’ll have Snare dry you off.”
“Nah, forget it,” he said, backing toward the thicket. “I’ll towel off later.”
Ash rolled her eyes at the macho-guy act. “Whatever. Enjoy your pneumonia.”
“Enjoy your new hand,” Mick said, and rushed out of the clearing.
58
After a quick pep talk, Dad sent Father McKagan through the thicket. One more down, three to go. All the drama made Ash tremble. It reminded her of waiting backstage before a big show. Except now her bandmates were Dad, Berke, and Gina Narducci. Between the three of them, they probably had enough musical talent to barely pull off “Smoke on the Water,” but that didn’t matter. Soon she’d be reunited with Bad Parts.
Assuming Cheeto didn’t quit.
No. He can’t.
Either way, they needed to talk. The way she’d treated him in the parking lot earlier—all that yelling and other bullshit—could cause a breakup. A band breakup, not a romantic one. Although they also needed to address what’d happened in the van last night. Christ.
Ash spotted an approaching silhouette. Both she and Dad readied their guns and took cover behind nearby trees.
The figure came closer, soon revealed to be Trent’s wife Lauren. A huge duffle bag swung from her shoulder.
“Trent and Jake are on their way,” she said, huffing, bending to catch her breath. Her face was red. “I ran ahead.”
“I can see that.” Ash pocketed her gun. “What’s with the bag?”
“Towels and a change of clothes for Jake.” Lauren faced the thicket, her eyes big and worried behind her glasses. “Are we sure the creek’s safe? I mean, spiritually safe? Has anyone considered that it could be Satan swimming in those waters? What if it is Satan? What if he’s been deceiving everyone all along? I don’t want my perfect little boy trading away his soul along with his eyes, not in a million years. It’s wrong, it’s unholy, it’s—”
“Settle down!” Ash snapped. “Don’t ruin this on Jake. The creek is safe. People have been trading for decades and nobody’s burst into flames. Hell, I just traded my ribcage and I’m completely fine.”
Lauren’s eyebrows lifted at that, then even higher as she saw Father McKagan shrugging through the pines, his hair wrapped in a towel. He moved with a hurried limp, trying to zip his jacket.
“Kidneys working?” Dad ask
ed.
“Yes,” the priest said. “It’s strange. Like I can sense them in there.”
“You traded?” Lauren asked, clutching at her crucifix necklace. “You, a priest?”
“Priests don’t get special treatment on waiting lists.”
“That’s not what I meant. That creek—is the devil in there?”
“Hard to say.” Father touched his lower back. “I just sacrificed my kidneys in a show of faith for new ones. Could be that I’ve been saved by an agent of God. Then again, trading a bad pair for perfectly good ones… I’m not sure.”
“I don’t like this,” Lauren said. Breathing heavy, she stared into the thicket. Her shoulders shook with every exhalation. She turned to Ash. “Can I see this creek? Decide for myself?”
“Fine.” Ash guided her through the pines. At the bend she explained that Jake would need to dunk his head. Lauren flinched at the idea and asked a billion questions, motor-mouthing until Ash gave up on answering. Lauren didn’t seem to register the answers anyway. The woman squatted near the creek and studied it like a scientist, adjusting her glasses and shining her phone’s light over the surface.
“Ashlee!” Dad yelled. “They’re here!”
Ash hurried back, leaving Lauren behind. Trent and Jake arrived in the clearing hand-in-hand, the boy leading the way with his bat. Knowing what this moment meant to both of them, Ash was warmed by the sight. They were about to heal much more than damaged body parts.
“You two ready for showtime?” she asked.
Jake’s face perked up at the sound of her voice. “Ash! I’ll be able to see your tattoos!”
She had to laugh. “That, and my ugly teeth, unfortunately.”
“You sound real pretty though.”
“Aww, you little brown-noser.” She ruffled his hair. “Ready, tough guy?”
“Yeah.” He frowned. “But I have to go underwater.”
“You’ll be fine,” Trent said, squeezing Jake’s hand. “I promise.”
Nearby pine branches rustled, and out stumbled Lauren. Her hood was up. She hung her head, shaking it as if disapproving of what they were about to do.
Bad Parts Page 20
