“All the better to hear you with, my dear,” Rungs said. “I want to see if we can fit a microphone in there.” He examined the butterfly.
“Microphone?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah. An omni-directional mic. We want to be able to hear your conversation, and an omni’ll pick up sounds from any direction. You’ve seen those mics the TV guys clip on their jackets? Like that.”
Inky looked up from his work to Amanda seated under the window. He reached for light, bright colors.
But the lightness faded quickly. “And where are we going to be?” he asked Rungs.
“Working on it,” Rungs said.
“It’s too dangerous for her to be there alone,” Inky said.
“We can do this. Together we can do this. Just hear me out,” Rungs said.
Inky was still concerned, but he figured he owed it to his friend to at least listen. Plus, he was swept up by Rungs’s enthusiasm. It felt good to belong to something, strange as this all was, and he didn’t entirely mind the fatherly way Rungs was speaking.
“So, yeah. You have to wear a mic,” Rungs said to Amanda. “One thing for sure, you don’t want to wear silk or polyester. Too much rustle. We won’t be able to hear a thing.”
That gave Inky an idea. He sketched an outline of a silk scarf in turquoise pastels and draped the line provocatively across his drawing’s shoulder. Amanda got up and looked at his work.
“You’ll need to wear cotton or wool, and you don’t want the mic next to your skin. Sweat and body oil are the enemies of wireless transmission,” Rungs said.
Inky laughed, mostly because the mention of body oil and sweat made him self-conscious with Amanda so close by. “Is that so, Spyboy?”
Amanda giggled. Her laugh was the color of violets. But Inky’s mind was still filled with a murky gray. “I’m not getting how we listen to whatever the ominous microphone picks up,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, but feeling concern for Amanda’s safety.
“That’s omni-directional—not ominous—and I’m working on it. I’ll see what my dad has. We need something with some range. Then we’ll see how far away we can be.”
Inky scanned Amanda’s face for any signs of concern or fear. She was concentrating, like she was studying for a test. She looked serious, but not outwardly afraid—less nervous-looking than when she first sat down with them in the cafeteria. That actually made him more nervous.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe we should call the police,” he said.
“And say what?” Rungs said sharply. “That we know this guy who violated his parole by chatting with an underage girl about a game he’s designing. And how do we know this? We hacked into his computer. With a good lawyer, he’d beat the charge, no problem.”
“Maybe there’s nothing to this, then. If Amanda doesn’t go, then there’s no real problem. Leave him to his lame game. It’s not like he’s a robber or psycho-killer or something,” Inky said.
“No real problem? Don’t you get it? When my father busted the Thai sex tourist ring, all those guys were like captains of industry. They don’t really think they’re doing anything wrong, so they do it over and over again.”
“That’s messed up,” Inky said, looking over at Amanda.
“How is Woody any different? He used your art to get close to Amanda.”
Amanda’s lips were scrunched in anger. “He’s a phony and a fake and a bad man. I really thought he was OK—a friend. You know …” Amanda pointed her chin towards Inky, “like you. But all he wants is to see me in some little outfit. It’s sick and I hate him and I want us to stop him.”
She was right. Woody was heinous, and Inky was embarrassed for his concern over getting credit for having his drawings in Woody’s game. Now he was drawing something that mattered. “We’re in the perfect position because he has no idea that we know each other,” he said.
“Amen,” Rungs said. “We just have to get enough on him so when we do call the police to bust him, it’s gonna stick.”
The calling the police part made Inky feel a little better, but he was still shaky inside. He didn’t want to seem like a coward, so he just kept drawing. He waited for Amanda to say something.
“I want to do this. I really think we can,” she said.
There was nothing else for him to say. He wondered, was she that brave? Or didn’t she see the risk? And then his thoughts shifted. Was he brave enough?
A year ago he wouldn’t have cared about doing anything dangerous—what had there been to look forward to? To live for? He’d been caught up in feeling that all was lost. But now, now, he looked over at Amanda, then over to Rungs. He thought about his mother. There was so much at stake. Inky tried to picture exactly how it would play out, but he couldn’t.
“There’s still something I don’t get. Where are we going to be when Amanda first goes in? How do I know when to deliver the picture? Are we just going to stand on the street? What if there’s traffic? Or construction? How will we hear over that?” he asked.
“I’m gonna check it out tomorrow to see if there’s a spot within range where we can hang out,” Rungs said.
“If it rains or something, we’re screwed. Too bad we don’t have a car,” Inky said.
“Bingo,” Rungs said. “A cab. We can pay the driver to not go anywhere.”
“That’s hardly clandestine,” Inky said.
Amanda chimed in. “I have an idea.”
“And it could be expensive,” Inky continued. “The meter would be running the whole time.”
“I really do have an idea,” Amanda repeated, sounding annoyed. “Hawk’s driver.”
Inky and Rungs exchanged looks.
“Wait, wait, don’t say anything,” Amanda said, holding a hand up toward them. “Just listen. The way I see it, she owes me. If it wasn’t for all her stories, I wouldn’t have messed up my report. She said it was all stuff that everyone knew. Old news. She forgot to say how much everyone still cared.” Amanda’s voice broke up.
“Her father lets her use the driver to go anywhere she wants. We went to Jackson Heights one night because she wanted me to try some special curry puffs. And the driver doubles as her father’s bodyguard.”
“No way Hawk’s involved,” Inky said.
“IMO, we need that car,” Rungs said, “but that’s just my opinion. We should all agree.”
“It’d make me feel a lot safer. I’m the one going in first,” Amanda said.
They looked at Inky. He concentrated on his drawing and said nothing.
“Someone else should know about this in case something goes wrong,” Amanda said.
“We need that car. And there’s more to her than mean girl—her report and all,” Rungs said.
“OK,” Inky said to Amanda. “Ask her.” He hoped Hawk would come through for them, even though he hadn’t been there for her.
Chapter 33
Can’t Say No
INKY COULD STILL FEEL THE PRESENCE of Amanda and Rungs in his father’s study long after they’d gone. His drawing was complete enough to set their plan in motion.
He scanned the corner section that showed the top curve of a breast, saved the scan and sent it to Woody’s drop box. He waited a few minutes before he signed on to Megaland.
Megaland: Welcome back, Picasso2B. Thought I’d lost you to soccer season or something.
Picasso2B: Yeah right. I’m hardly a soccer boy. Just drawing.
Megaland: Cool.
Picasso2B: Did one you’ll like, based on a girl I know. Sent it to your drop box.
Inky kept his comments short. Now that he knew about Woody’s past, he didn’t much feel like chatting. But he had to be sure he didn’t say anything wrong or make Woody suspicious.
Megaland: Lemme check.
He has to like it, Inky thought. The cursor blinked. Inky was nervous. This was how he was going to protect Amanda. What if Woody didn’t want him to deliver the picture? What if his drawing wasn’t good enough to make him interested?<
br />
Finally Woody returned to the chat box.
Megaland: It’s a little blurry. Do you have more?
Inky didn’t believe that he could have messed up the scan. He checked the scanner settings, checked for any smudges on the glass and reopened the file. There was no way the image he sent was blurry.
Picasso2B: Must be the drop box. Let me resend.
Megaland: Try a different section.
Yes, Inky thought, it’s working. He wants to see more. Woody wanted his drawing. Well, he’d make him want it even more. He selected a section of the drawing that showed more of the breast, scanned it, sent it and waited.
Picasso2B: Sent
It took several minutes for Woody to return to the chat.
Megaland: Oh this is good. You are a *.
Inky could picture Woody salivating.
Picasso2B: Tnx. glad that u appreciate my work. It’s not something I can show to just anyone.
Megaland: I’d love to see the whole thing
Picasso2B: too big to scan
Megaland: You could keep doing it in sections.
Picasso2B: That’s a lot of work. It’s really big.
Megaland: I could send a messenger. Leave it with your doorman.
Picasso2B: No doorman
Megaland: How about your super?
Picasso2B: Absentee landlord.
Megaland: Bummer.
Inky hoped he hadn’t presented so many obstacles that Woody would lose interest.
Picasso2B: So, my school project really worked out well. You helped me out, really encouraged me. I’d like to do something for you in return. I can drop this drawing off for you.
Megaland: That’s a kind offer.
“Michael, telephone. One of your classmates,” Inky heard his mother yell out. Who was calling on the landline? He couldn’t think of a worse time, and if it was one of his old Culture Club friends, now was not the time to rekindle a friendship.
“Just a second, Ma,” he called out. He could feel his heart racing. If he told her to take a message, he’d have to talk to her. He knew he had to show her his project, and that would be intense. First he had to protect Amanda.
Picasso2B: GTG. POS. Shoot me yr address. I’ll drop it off after school or the weekend or something.
The cursor blinked.
“Michael,” his mother called.
“Coming, coming,” he said. But there was no way he was leaving the computer until he saw that address. Not that he actually needed it. Thanks to Rungs, they had that and more. What he did need was for Woody to offer it, to agree to have Inky deliver the picture to his studio.
Picasso2B: Really gtg. Where should I drop this off?
Megaland: The studio’s in an iffy neighborhood.
Picasso2B: I’m a New Yorker – everything’s gentrified
Megaland: LOL
Inky hoped that meant Woody was going to give him his address. But the cursor blinked and the textbox was unchanged. What was taking him so long? And who was still holding on the landline? Inky realized he hadn’t given Amanda his cell phone number and the landline was the number listed in the school directory. It had to be her, and he hated to keep her waiting. What was Woody doing? Was he changing his mind?
Then the chat box opened and Inky saw Woody’s address. It matched what Rungs had come up with. He pumped his fist in the air. The plan might work after all.
Picasso2B: No problem, I can get there. Saturday, then.
Inky signed off quickly, before Woody had a chance to object. He ran to the phone in his room and heard Amanda’s voice. He was grateful that at least his mother hadn’t yelled out, “It’s a girl.” He didn’t want Amanda to know what an infrequent occurrence that was. Actually, no one called anymore.
Inky apologized breathlessly.
“What took you so long? Were you drawing?” she asked.
“Sorry.”
“I talked to Hawk,” she said. Amanda’s voice was soft and bright, a spring green. It was almost better to talk to her on the phone and imagine her face. Except that Inky had never really been good on the phone. He got caught up in the images in his head and tended to nod rather than speak.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry. Hawk …”
“I didn’t have to go far to find her. She was skateboarding in the plaza outside my building.”
Inky laughed. “So, Hawk.”
“So we can use her driver. We just have to drop her at the hospital.”
“The hospital? Why the hospital?”
“Hawk volunteers at the hospital every Saturday—with kids with parents with cancer.”
Another heavy conversation in my future, Inky thought. “That’s pretty dope.”
“What?”
Inky thought it was cute that Amanda didn’t get slang. “It’s great that she does that.”
“Yeah. Said she couldn’t let them down when they need someone to talk to.”
Inky winced. Hawk was doing for others what he’d been unable to do for her.
“I could tell she wanted to come with us,” Amanda said.
“It’s great that you convinced her.” Inky was relieved that Hawk hadn’t insisted on coming along. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes. No. You and Rungs have this figured out.”
Sure hope so. “Tomorrow Rungs and I are posing as tourists to check out Woody’s street. You were right to call him Spyboy, Amanda.” He liked saying her name.
“He’s a natural at all this.”
“It’s in his blood.” Inky changed the subject from Rungs. “You know, if you don’t want to do this, all you have to do is say so.”
“I’m in,” Amanda said. “Like I told Hawk, this is being brave for all the right reasons. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done.”
Chapter 34
Ready, Set, Go
INKY REMOVED HIS SHOES and Rungs shuttled him into a small room stacked with gadgets and gizmos, recording equipment and computers. Inky noted a small placard over the inside doorway in Rungs’s handwriting that said “heaven.”
The housekeeper insisted on bringing them snacks, and Inky found he couldn’t stop eating the pink and white puffed salty crisps. He’d finished half the bowl by the time Amanda arrived.
She was dressed in the layers that Rungs had suggested—a tank top under a peach cardigan. Her hair was loose. A strand of her bangs fell into her eyes.
“I need that hair clip,” Amanda said.
Inky picked up her butterfly clip on top of a blinking machine. She brushed the stray bangs away from her eyes. They were close, almost close enough to kiss. It made his hand shake, so it looked like the butterfly in his hand was moving. He pretended the butterfly was flitting towards Amanda and put it in her hair. She laughed.
She touched the clip. “Wow, this feels ordinary to me,” Amanda said, turning the clip over. Inky looked over her shoulder.
“It is,” said Rungs.
“Whatd’ya mean? There is a hidden microphone, isn’t there?” asked Amanda. Inky heard a bit of panic in her voice.
“Couldn’t do it. Too much risk of it being found.”
“There’s no microphone?” Amanda’s voice was a mix of worry and anger.
“But, but …” Inky started.
“There would have to be a wire from the clip through Amanda’s hair and down her back,” Rungs said. “You need a transmitter on site, meaning on her body, to send the signal so we can hear and record what is going on. Think of what could happen if he found it.”
Color drained from Amanda’s face, and she shot a pleading glance at Inky. Inky was still stuck on the “if he found it” part.
“Also, if he had her putting on any kind of costume or props—like a cheerleader’s skirt or some slinky outfit, the fabric could’ve done the mic in. Total fail.”
“Dude, we have to hear what’s going on,” he said to Rungs. “What if he tries something?”
“Don’t say that,” Amanda said sh
arply, walking over to the window to glance at the gray late-fall sky outside.
“We do have to be able to hear what’s going on, and you said we have to make a tape,” Inky said.
Rungs held up an ordinary looking cell phone. “Check this out.”
“What’s so great about that? It doesn’t even look like a new smartphone.” Inky said, rolling his eyes in Amanda’s direction. She chewed on the side of her lip. “If we can’t hear what’s going on, we don’t have a leg to stand on,” Inky said.
“What? Where are you standing?” Amanda asked.
When this is over, I’m going to have to school her in American English, Inky thought. “Rungs was just getting around to telling us,” he said.
“Check it,” Rungs said, undaunted by Inky’s cut. He handed Amanda the phone that looked like the standard issue freebie. “I found this baby in my dad’s bag of tricks.”
Amanda looked at him skeptically and did not take the phone from him. “Thanks, but I brought mine. It’s the newest iPhone.”
“So you think this is just some phone? It can dial out and receive calls like any other mobile phone,” Rungs said. “And to look at it, you wouldn’t think it could do much more.”
“Got that right,” Inky said.
Amanda looked at Rungs hopefully.
“This phone is actually a powerful personal detective tool. An infinity transmitter. It has built-in super sensitive microphones. You can hear any sound in the vicinity of the phone once you activate the special program. There’s no range limit, and no danger of being discovered, like with wires on your body.
“How do you turn on the program?” Inky asked.
“Just a couple of text messages. There’s no change on the display, nothing to indicate that it’s transmitting what’s going on. And from the receiver in the car, we’ll be able to hear it all clearly and tape it to use as evidence.”
Amanda held her hand out for the phone, which Rungs passed to her. “Feel better?” he asked. She smiled and nodded yes.
“You do need to have your bag as close as possible to you at all times,” Rungs said.
“It’s cool for you to use it?” Inky asked.
“Consider it field testing. One of my chores—all my dad’s equipment has to be checked once a month anyway. They don’t want to have an agent in the field with a device filled with dust kittens.”
Drawing Amanda Page 15
