Set You Free

by Jeff Ross

  “But if they had passwords, you would hack them anyway, right?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “But probably,” I say.

  Grady turns back to the computer. “You’d think someone so heartbroken by the disappearance of her sweet little baby brother would be less interested in which scary-thin woman is going to be expelled from a reality show. Wouldn’t you?”

  “You obviously don’t know Steph Carter,” I say.

  “That is seriously shallow.”

  I watch as a line of characters cuts across her texting screen. “What did she just type?”

  “Eight is better,” Grady says. “I guess she’s meeting someone.”

  I say, “That’s her boyfriend, Justin Prince.”

  Grady closes his eyes and turns his face toward the ceiling. “Prince, Prince. Where do I know that name from? Is he related to Doug Prince?”

  “Brothers,” I say.

  “Again, your enthusiasm for others is immense. What have the Prince brothers done to impress you so?” Grady pushes his sleeve up. He’s wearing a studded bracelet and a few rings. I wonder if he decided to get dressed up for the evening.

  “Do you know Doug Prince?” I ask.

  “I know of Doug. One-time star quarterback, sky-high SATs. I believe he’s been tirelessly working on a cure for cancer since graduation.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So I’ve heard of Justin as well. And he is most definitely not curing cancer. I believe he is beloved in our fair city as the bringer of the magical weed. The guy who moves major product.” He’s typing on the laptop again. “Does Justin look like his brother?”

  “A little,” I say. “His hair’s longer, and he’s got some tats.”

  “Neither of these things make him evil,” Grady says. With his sleeves rolled up, I can see the many tattoos covering his arms. They look to be linked sets. A seascape on one arm, some kind of an underworld scene on the other.

  “I wasn’t saying that.”

  “It’s what’s in his dark, dark heart that makes him evil,” Grady says. He reads something off the screen. “I was right. Justin Prince is a middleman. He gets the product into the city, then distributes it to dealers who dime-bag it.”

  “And where did you get such classified information?”

  “A friend of a friend knows a guy whose cousin—”

  “Okay, okay. What does this have to do with us?” I ask.

  “Well, you’d think the police would be interested in a little lost boy’s stepsister being so close to a drug kingpin.”

  “You’d call him a kingpin?” I say.

  “Work with me here. If we’re looking to divert attention from Tom and maybe get people thinking differently, then, possibly, the police would be interested in how Steph spends her idle hours.”

  “And with who,” I say.

  “I believe that would be whom,” Grady says as he starts the engine.

  “You’re the grammar police now as well?”

  “It’s whom, not who. That’s all. I’m no kind of police at all.”

  “Where are we going?” I say.

  “Steph is leaving,” Grady says. “We need to follow her.”

  With the laptop still balanced on one leg, Grady stops at the corner and glances up the street.

  “She insisted Justin meet her. His reply was that he had something to take care of first. To which Stephanie replied, I’m coming with you. You promised.” Grady looks at me. “I’ve never met her, and I can almost hear her voice.”

  “It’s whiny, for sure, but more of a tired of everything slash the world and its problems are all beneath me.”

  “Complicated.”

  “Not so much.”

  “Anyway, Justin has given in and Stephanie should be en route to meet him at an as-yet-undisclosed location.”

  “Do you think it’s for a drug deal?” Headlights flash across the street as Steph’s Jetta swings out of the driveway.

  “I don’t know. We might get lucky. It looks like your Detective Evans is staying at the Carters’ place.” I squint into the darkness but can’t see any cars in the Carters’ driveway. “Or, at least, her computer is.” Grady hands me the laptop. “Keep an eye on that screen. I get the feeling Steph might be a distracted driver.” Steph pulls up to the intersection in front of us and stops. When she pulls away, Grady turns his headlights back on and drives away from the curb.

  “You’ll still be able to see what she’s texting even when not connected to their Wi-Fi?”

  “Yeah, all her texts are relayed through the Internet now. I have a 4G connection on that laptop, so we shouldn’t lose her.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say. “Way better to look at this screen than my phone.” Grady nods, already seemingly lost in thought. Soon enough it’s just the ping of a light rain across the windshield and the tires humming over pavement. Grady flips on the windshield wipers as we follow Steph into the downtown core. I turn the brightness of the screen down and tilt the laptop so my face isn’t lit up by it.

  “She texts a lot while driving,” I say.

  “She’s all over the road,” Grady says. “I’m surprised she hasn’t hit anyone.”

  “It’s like a talent.”

  “But not really,” Grady says. “Or else she’d be doing a halfway decent job at it. What has she written?”

  “Sulky stuff about wanting to be included in his life. Not just some bitch on his arm. Something about possibly being an asset. Justin has yet to reply to any of this, by the way.” I watch the screen. Another text pops up. “You’re kidding me.”

  “What?”

  “They’re meeting at the Denny’s.”

  “What?” Grady laughs. “That’s depressing. I’m not into the whole drug-culture-is-cool thing, but holy crap. Denny’s?”

  “Maybe they’re meeting there before going to some decrepit, dirty place to do the deal.”

  “Can you imagine handing a bunch of weed across a table at Denny’s? Having to move the little maple-syrup holder? ‘Hey, can someone hold this ketchup? There’s a lot of product here.’ ”

  Steph pulls into the Denny’s parking lot. We drive on past and turn in to the adjoining strip mall’s lot. “Looks like he’s just picking her up,” I say.

  “My faith in the counterculture remains.” Less than a minute later, a large Jeep parks beside Steph’s Jetta. Steph hops out and slips into the passenger seat.

  “We’ll need to be a little more careful now,” Grady says. “I don’t know Justin personally, but I suspect he will be more suspicious than Miss Carter.”

  “And by suspicious you mean paranoid,” I say.

  “Exactly.”

  We wait to see which way Justin turns, let a couple of cars pass, then pull out.

  “We should be able to follow him at a distance no problem,” Grady says. “As long as we make all the same lights.” We tail the Jeep through town and out onto the highway. Grady slips in behind a minivan and stays there as the Jeep gains speed. The high and heavy streetlights have flashed on along the median. It will be like this for another couple of miles, and then there will be nothing but headlights cutting through the rain-drenched dusk.

  This is my favorite time of day to travel. The dimness, along with the thundering of the wheels over pavement, makes me feel as if I could be anywhere.

  “There are only two exits along here,” Grady says. The rain has picked up, and he has the windshield wipers going full blast. His jaw is locked a
gain, and he’s staring intensely out the window. “I think I might know where they’re going.”

  “Where?” I say.

  “If my friend is right, Justin gets his product from a biker gang. And there happens to be a biker bar out here. Keep looking to your side. The exit is coming up.”

  A moment later, the Jeep signals and pulls off.

  “They’re taking the turnoff,” I say as Grady blows past the exit. “Where are you going?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Please share,” I say, grabbing the dash and holding on for dear life.

  “Turn your phone on. Hopefully, someone will follow us.” Grady swerves back and forth around traffic and turns onto an access road.

  “How does Justin dress?” he asks.

  “Polo shirts and chinos. Why?”

  “Hand-me-downs from his brother?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “How do you think that particular look would go over in a bar filled with leather-clad bikers?”

  “Not well at all.”

  “And what with Justin being only seventeen, I imagine this exchange will be in the parking lot. With this rain, it’ll happen really fast.”

  “Would you like to fill me in on what exactly you are doing?” There are no lights along the access road. Nor are there any cars. Just a few houses and open fields. Grady suddenly pulls off the road and into a driveway, shutting down the headlights as we come to a stop.

  “I’m trying to give the police some options. Or, at the very least, some questions. Here, hand me the laptop.” Grady grabs the laptop before I have a chance to move. “Okay. One second.”

  I roll down my window, and the thumping bass of “Sweet Home Alabama” flows into the car. The wind has died down, leaving the rain to fall straight down. “That’s loud,” I say.

  “The bar is right next door.” Headlights appear along the access road. “That has to be a cruiser,” Grady says. “Quick, turn off your cell.”

  I hold the power button down, and the screen goes dark. “It’s off.”

  “Yes, I think that worked.”

  “What?” I say. I have absolutely no idea what is going on.

  “The police locater is locked to Steph’s phone. Now we have to hope the police have some reason to pull Justin over.”

  “Why would they do that?” I ask.

  Grady reaches into the backseat as a cruiser passes and slows. It pulls off onto the shoulder. “Are you telling me that a cop was sent out to follow me the second my cell came on?”

  “Someone noticed you heading out of town, I guess. If they believe you have contact with Tom, they’d be curious as to where you were going.”

  I nod.

  “Go, Mr. Policeman,” he says, waving his hands at the cruiser. “They’re going to drive away.”

  The cruiser stays put. It’s not hidden at all.

  Grady grabs a cell phone from the backseat. “Come on,” he says. He looks at the phone. The cruiser remains, a light bubbling of raindrops on its roof. “We’re going to have to give them a reason to pull Justin over,” he says. He dials a number, then holds the phone to his ear. “Hello…yes, my vehicle was struck by a black Jeep thingie along Ridgeline Road,” Grady says in a ridiculously high voice. “I have the license number, if that would help. I don’t want to confront the driver though. It happened outside the Ridgeline Roadhouse, and, well, you know the type of people who…Sorry, what?…Oh, of course.” He reads out a license-plate number. “Oh, wait, I think I might see it. I don’t think they meant to do it. It’s just this rain. It’s…Yes, I can hold.” He closes the phone, then opens it again and snaps it in two.

  “Who were you supposed to be?” I say.

  “That’s my little old lady,” Grady says. “I also have an older British gentleman and a southern dude who spits a lot.” He grins. “Okay now. Wait for it, wait for it…”

  The cruiser, which has been parked no more than fifty feet from us, suddenly pulls onto the road and takes off with lights flashing.

  “I have a feeling that Justin Prince’s dealing days are, for the time being, over.”

  “They won’t really have a reason to search the car, will they?” I say.

  “It all depends on how well the pot is wrapped. Let’s hope Justin decided to test the wares prior to purchase.” Grady starts the car and pulls to the end of the driveway. A pack of bikers flashes past. The roar of their big engines is deafening.

  “Bizarre that a group of bikers would suddenly take off in the rain, isn’t it?” Grady says. “Think how wet they’re going to be.”

  We follow them away from the roadhouse. I watch in the side mirror as Justin gets out of the car with his hands in the air.

  “Hit that Disconnect button on the screen,” Grady says.

  “What will that do?” I ask as I click the button.

  “Turn your cell back on,” Grady says. He giggles. Actually giggles. It makes me laugh in return.

  “Okay,” I say, trying to stem the flow of my own laughter. I turn my cell back on. “What are we laughing about?”

  “How easy this is,” Grady says.

  “Aren’t the police going to figure out that I know they’re tracking me?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Grady says, taking a few breaths to slow his giggles. “But they sure aren’t going to say anything.”

  He looks over at me. I cover my mouth, but it’s impossible to hold it in.

  We return to our laughing fits, bowled over in the moment at having actually, somehow, accomplished something.

  NINETEEN

  WEDNESDAY

  I know Grady was right the second I see Detective Evans leaning against the window in Principal Smith’s office the next morning.

  “My presence was requested?” I say. I’ve been pulled out of History class.

  Principal Smith stands. “Lauren, I believe you know Detective Evans?” I don’t respond, so the principal goes on. “She would like a word with you. She has requested that it simply be the two of you, but school policy requires me to be in attendance unless…”

  “It’s okay with me,” I say. “I’m sure Detective Evans just has a few quick questions. Right? Or maybe an update on the investigation into who they think threw that brick through our window.”

  “A couple of questions, Lauren,” Detective Evans says. She turns and leans against a table beneath the window. “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” Principal Smith says, skirting around her desk. “I’ll leave you to it.” She exits the office, closing the door behind her, and for the first time since meeting Detective Evans, I don’t feel intimidated. She has her arms crossed and is looking down at me. I stand a little straighter.

  “How are you today, Lauren?” Detective Evans asks.

  “All right,” I respond. I hold my hands behind my back and put a foot against the wall. “I think I can get through the day. My mom is still pretty freaked out.”

  “Can I ask where you were last night, Lauren?” Detective Evans says.

  “Mostly at home. Why?”

  “Any word from your brother yet?”

  “No.”

  Detective Evans pushes away from the table and walks behind Principal Smith’s desk. “Have you heard what happened with Stephanie Carter?”

  I pause, as though I might not answer. I give her a big shrug. “Rumors.”

  “Such as?” Detective Evans says.

  “Something about how Steph and her boyfriend were busted
with a very large amount of marijuana. But that’s nothing more than a rumor, right?” I make certain to open my eyes wide and blink.

  “I can’t verify anything at the moment,” Detective Evans says. I feel a little laugh bubble up inside me but manage to push it back down. “Have you ever visited the Ridgeline Roadhouse?”

  “Where’s that?” I ask, hopefully looking confused.

  “Ridgeline Road.”

  I give my head a quick shake and say, “That’s outside of town, right? I don’t drive. We don’t even have a car.”

  “So you had no idea that Stephanie Carter was at the Roadhouse last night?”

  “Why would I?” I say. It’s tiring, putting out half-truths all the time. I have discovered that answering questions with questions works pretty well.

  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, glance at it as if it’s buzzed, then slip it back in.

  “Lauren, where were you last night?”

  I shake my head as if the whole situation is baffling. She knows I know she knows. I almost giggle at the sound of that thought. She knows I know she knows.

  But she can’t admit to putting the app on my phone. That would be illegal. She also, as far as I know, has no real reason to formally interview me.

  Which allows me to go on the offensive.

  “I didn’t know that I had to explain my every move to the local police force,” I say. “Am I suspected of something? Or is this what happens to people now?”

  “You are not suspected of anything, Lauren.”

  “Then why so much interest? Did you find out who threw a brick through our window?”

  “We’re still investigating,” Detective Evans says.

  I give her a slow nod. “Because, like I said, it has my mother terrified. What if we’d been sitting in the living room?”

  “There’s not much we can do about it, Lauren. The footprints can give us a general idea of sex, size and weight, but that’s about it.”

  “And what size, weight and sex have you discovered the person is?”

  “I can’t discuss that.”