The Spider Thief

by Laurence MacNaughton

  “Graves.” She waited until he looked her in the eye. “I need to get Andres. I need to. And that’s . . . that’s more important than anything else in the world to me. Anything.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “And I really want . . .” She took a breath. “I need you to be with me on this.”

  “I know.” He looked away for a moment, then faced her. “But I don’t know if I can be. And I think we both know why.”

  After an awkward moment, he headed for the door. She followed him.

  “Look,” he said, standing just outside. “You’re going to be okay. I know it’s frustrating, working inside the system. But give it time. You don’t have to do this alone. Remember that.”

  She nodded. There was so much more she wanted to say. About Andres. About how richly he deserved justice. About how badly she needed to see that through, and she needed Graves to see that side of her. To believe in her. That this wasn’t just some kind of personal vendetta, but a real need to see the universe balance out good and evil for once.

  Because without that balance, if Andres got away, she didn’t think she could believe in anything ever again.

  But before she could think of a way to say any of that, Graves had already gotten into his car. She went back inside, closed the door and leaned on it, trying to figure out where she’d gone so wrong.

  She twisted open another bottle and stared at the spider caught in its ancient gold-toned prison, silently daring it to escape. But it would never move again, never escape, and even in a thousand years it would still be trapped by the past.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cursed

  Ash stood at the window of the cheap motel room, peering out through the plastic blinds, looking to the yellow orb of the rising moon for some semblance of comfort. It was better than staring at the broken neon sign of the bar next door that advertised ABE’S EATS – DRINKS – DARTS. Immediately outside the window, the Galaxie sat in a pool of darkness, the chrome of its grille and headlights softly reflecting the eerie moonlight.

  Ash had shown Mauricio the gold spider in the trunk, just a glimpse. But there was no sign of recognition in his eyes. Mauricio’s memory of the spider, from when they were kids, was gone. And it didn’t seem likely it would ever come back. It was starting to dawn on Ash that his own memories of the last two weeks were gone forever.

  Mauricio came up next to him, crunching on a handful of vanilla wafers. “You know, if you’d parked under a streetlight like I said, you wouldn’t be so worried.”

  “Well, if anybody messes with the car, you can scare them off with your new tattoo.”

  “That is not funny,” Mauricio said, his mouth full. “Seriously.”

  Ash glanced at Mauricio’s box of cookies and his shower-damp hair, then went back to staring at the moon. “The truth is, I don’t remember anything about the last two weeks.”

  “I thought you were kidding about that.” Mauricio munched a little longer, then stopped. “You want to see a doctor or something?”

  Ash shook his head.

  The bag inside the cookie box crinkled as Mauricio dug his hand into it. “Well, I’m going to dry my hair, then I say we head east. And I’m talking way east, like Chicago, or Detroit or something. Maybe Philadelphia. You ever been to Philadelphia?”

  Ash took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool air coming in through the window screen, tinged by the lingering scents of stale smoke and cheap carpet cleaner. “We’re not leaving.”

  Mauricio crossed the room and sat down on one of the beds. “Okay, so, we’ll get some sleep first. You want me to set the alarm?”

  “No, I mean we’re not leaving.” Ash turned to face him. “Not until I find out what’s going on.”

  Mauricio froze with a vanilla wafer halfway to his lips. “I’m sorry, did we just take a left turn at Crazy Town and I missed the exit? Because last I checked, we’re now fugitives. From the FBI.”

  “Don’t worry, I tossed that silenced gun. Even wiped all the fingerprints off it.”

  “So?” Mauricio slammed the box of cookies down on the nightstand. “We had a deal. I was going to help you do one last con and then get out. You promised you’d set up a legitimate business somewhere and have a normal life. So I could quit worrying. That was our agreement.”

  “Yeah, but see, I don’t remember any of that.”

  Mauricio gave him a long stare, then shook his head. “Whatever. The con didn’t work out, so we’re not millionaires, but guess what? I’m okay with that. Right now, I’m thankful to be alive. You should be, too.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Ash said. “Andres is going to keep coming after that spider. No matter where we go, no matter what we do, he will find us.”

  “Not if the FBI finds him first. Or finds us. And by the FBI, of course, I mean Cleo.” Mauricio’s face twitched. “This is insane. Listen, I just want you to be safe. I don’t know why you can’t listen to reason. We don’t have to live like this. I could be back at school, right now, finishing my degree.”

  “I know. You tell me this every time we do a new job.”

  “This is not a job!” Mauricio marched over to him, eyes pleading. “A job is where you go to work, you get a paycheck, and nobody’s trying to kill you over a fucking gold spider!”

  “Whoa. Harsh language. Watch out.”

  “Everything is a game to you. Why do you think I’m here? Because I want to be a con artist? Because I want to spend my life trying to outsmart drug dealers?”

  Ash put his hands on Mauricio’s shoulders. “You are smarter than them. That’s why we’re so good at this.”

  Mauricio broke away. “Look at me.” He pointed at the spider web tattooed onto his forearm, covered in a dark scab. “I’m disfigured.”

  Ash shrugged. “I’ve got freckles bigger than that.”

  “Hey, you try getting a tattoo in unsanitary conditions like that. Without freaking out!”

  Ash grinned and made to take off his shirt. “You wanna see some unsanitary tattoos?” But at Mauricio’s hurt look, Ash dropped the grin. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

  “I already have.” Mauricio jabbed one finger at the floor. “Just leave the spider here, in the hotel room, and tell Andres where to come find it.”

  “Oh, that’s a grand idea. I’ll just hand over an ancient cursed idol to a Colombian crime lord. I’m sure his intentions are all warm and fuzzy.”

  “It’s only gold, Ash. Forget it. Let’s get out while we can.”

  “I can’t just walk away from this,” Ash said.

  “You can walk away from anything. It’s a talent for you, isn’t it?” Mauricio paced the tiny hotel room. “You keep talking about finding out what’s going on. How would you know? When our house burned down, you didn’t stick around. You didn’t talk to the cops. You just took off.”

  Ash looked away. “I had to go.”

  “Did you ever once think about me?” Mauricio said. “I don’t know, maybe I could’ve used a little help picking up the pieces?”

  “Come on, I was nineteen.” Ash said. “Besides, I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me. Blamed me.”

  “You mean the way Cleo blamed you.”

  “And how was I supposed to deal with that? Huh? It was my fault her dad died. My curse.”

  “What is it with you? There is no such thing as a curse. There never has been!” Mauricio dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged next to Moolah. “Listen to me, man. There is no scientific basis for any of this. You made up this curse in your head.”

  “Yeah. Did I make up the part where you and Cleo both touched the spider, and now you’re wrapped up in this, too? That’s no coincidence.”

  Mauricio’s eyebrows shot up. “Let’s see. Like an hour ago, you showed it to me in the trunk of the car. When did I ever see it before that?”

  “When we were kids. In the attic. You just don’t remember.”

  “Oh, well, isn’t that c
onvenient?” Mauricio said. “Look, why don’t we just take that thing out somewhere and bury it?”

  “Think about it. It’s been sitting up in the preacher’s house all this time, while I’ve been, what, a thousand miles away? That didn’t help me. I’m still cursed. You really think digging a hole is going to do a lot of good?” Ash took the cookie box and crammed a handful of wafers in his mouth. They were bland, but not too bad. “Can you just do me a favor and fill me in?”

  “Seriously?”

  Ash folded his arms and waited. “The last two weeks. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Mauricio let out a long, defeated sigh. “Okay. So you remember the Powerball scam, right? We ripped off the coyote, got the señora’s family out of town safe and sound. Then, like three days later, you told me the coyote’s boss got ahold of you and offered you a lot of money to find him this gold statue.”

  Ash chewed. “Andres asked me to get the gold spider?”

  “Apparently. You never told me as much. It was like you were trying to keep me out of the loop.”

  “For your own protection, I’m sure.”

  “Whatever.” Mauricio took his box of cookies back. “So then we come to town, I take you to meet Andres and his thugs at the restaurant, and then you leave with them. And then later that morning, you called me and told me the money was all effed up.”

  “I said ‘effed’?”

  “No.” Mauricio shook his empty box and peered deep into it, looking distressed. “But you said Moolah sniffed out something wrong with the cash. And by that point, I was hanging out with DMT, and he took the phone.” Mauricio’s voice rose to a soft soprano. “I’m a have to have Prez talk wit’ you. He can fill you in.”

  Ash chuckled. “So what did Prez say?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the one who talked to him.”

  Ash sat down on the floor next to Moolah and petted him, too. They sat together, quietly, while the dog’s tail thumped on the floor. It took Ash a long time to get out what he had to say. “Mom and Dad got killed over this spider.”

  Mauricio didn’t look up.

  “The house burned down, but that wasn’t what killed them,” Ash said. “You knew that, didn’t you? All this time, you knew they’d been murdered.”

  Mauricio stood up and went over to the window, hands in his pockets, back turned on Ash.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ash said.

  “What difference would it make? It happened. Nobody can change that. The cops have no idea who did it.”

  “Well, Cleo does. She said it was Andres. He killed Mom and Dad for the spider, but they didn’t have it anymore. Mom gave it to the preacher, to try and break the curse.”

  Mauricio turned and his mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. His brow wrinkled. Pain showed in every taut muscle in his face. “We really had this spider when we were kids?”

  Ash nodded. “I’m the one that opened the box. I’m the one that started this whole thing. And now I need to finish it.”

  “No. Just bury the spider.” Mauricio’s voice shook. “Bury that thing under a rock somewhere, and let’s get the hell out of town. Andres won’t find us, not if we’re smart. And we can stay on the move until he gives up. I know we can.”

  Ash shook his head. The thought of running away no longer held the sparkle it once did. Instead of an easy escape, it sounded more and more like a cop-out. All he had left was a burning need to fight. “Look, I know I’ve screwed up. I’ve spent my whole life walking away from what matters, just when things get tough.”

  Mauricio’s eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to see through Ash, but he stayed quiet.

  Ash let out a long breath and listened to the insistent voice inside him that told him it was time to make a change. “I know this doesn’t sound like me. I know you’re used to seeing me just pack up and walk away when we get into trouble. But maybe those tough times are the times that matter the most. And when I look back on this moment, here and now, I want to have more to show for it than a bunch of broken promises.” He looked Mauricio square in the eyes. “I’m going to fix this.”

  The worried look on Mauricio’s face only grew deeper. “How?”

  A plan started to form in Ash’s mind. It was crazy, but it could work. He rubbed his hands together. “Easy. All I need is a duffel bag and a thick pair of gloves.”

  “For what?”

  “We’re going to pay a little visit to Prez.”

  “Prez?” Mauricio’s face went pale. “He’ll kill us.”

  A slow grin spread across Ash’s face. “You think so?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Huggy Bear

  Prez stubbed out the joint he’d been smoking and opened the polished steel door of the refrigerator, hearing bottles clink. He reached for the carton of soymilk and hesitated, the six-pack of Schlitz catching his eye.

  Schlitz. Of all the things in the world. The best never changed.

  Didn’t matter if it wasn’t even noon yet. It’d been a rough morning. He cracked open a can and walked back through the converted warehouse space, sucking down the beer’s foam before it dripped.

  He made his way past the wood-paneled kitchenette, the pool table, the massive oak desk and leather wingback chair with brass tacks. Further on back, he passed the cage holding his recently reacquired printing equipment: a Heidelberg two-tower press, a giant accordion-style stat camera, a light table. Old technology, now, but every bit of it made him feel alive.

  He kept walking all the way back to the garage door and stopped, gazing at the giant shape before him covered in gray cloth.

  He stared for a good long while, his gaze tracing the car’s lines through the thin cover. He should walk away. He knew that. Not mess with it. Not when he got like this.

  Finally, Prez couldn’t take it anymore. He set down his Schlitz can and lifted the elastic edge of the cover with both hands, working it up from beneath the chrome bumper at the back of the car. He pulled it over the expanse of red paint and the long white stripe, all the way down the square-edged hood to the front of the Torino.

  He wadded up the cover and tossed it onto a nearby chair. The Torino’s paint was dull in the light. Scratched. Chipped. But priceless.

  Prez walked the length of the car, picking out the holes where they’d bolted cameras to film the detectives’ faces during the chase scenes. The rearview mirror was missing, of course. One of those things they did in TV shows back in the day.

  On the passenger side, the metal at the front edge of the door was banged up from all the times David Soul threw the door open a little too hard, chasing all those crooks with Afros and bell bottoms. Prez ran his fingers along the scrapes in the paint, feeling where little chips were missing, feeling the history.

  When he opened the driver’s door, the indirect opera lighting came on inside. The seat yielded easily when he sat down, wrapping him in its familiar scent, not all that different from an old book. The police radio hung near the 8-track, though of course the radio never worked, not even when they were filming the show back in the day.

  Prez settled the Schlitz in his lap and turned the key one click. The 8-track rattled to life and the Temptations sang to him, telling him that Papa was a rolling stone. Singing it over the wocka-wocka guitar and that deep soul beat that grooved just a little bit into the wonderland of disco.

  Prez drained the Schlitz, crumpled the can, and tossed it out the car window. He turned up the 8-track and felt the beat course its way through his body, taking him back all those years. Back when the world was wide open, things were happening. Back before computers and bar codes and databases.

  Back when a brother with a good hustle could make it big, roll from place to place without nobody the wiser. Back when the word on the street was the only word you needed.

  Back when he was free. The real Prez. A cool black dude with a fat stack of fresh Benjamins in his pocket, taking him anywhere he wanted to go, one hundred-dollar bill at a time.

  He tur
ned the key and started the Torino. It rumbled to life, the vibration thrumming through the big sofa-like seat. The Temptations sang on, well, well, Papa was a rolling stone.

  He tapped out the rhythm with his hands. Let his eyelids drift down low. He leaned back in the seat, his arm hanging out the window. He could just drive away, leave all this behind him. It was the best feeling in the world.

  And then a white kid’s face popped up next to the window and Prez just about jumped out of his skin.

  “Hey!” Ash shouted, over the music and the engine noise. He waved his hand through the smoke in the air, coughing.

  Prez shut off the engine and the silence rang in his ears. His sense of direction whirled, as if he’d just woken from a dream. The warehouse solidified around him, becoming real again, and suddenly he felt the weight of age pressing down. How long had he been there? He wasn’t sure.

  “You okay in there?” Ash said, louder than he needed to.

  Prez scowled. “How the hell you get in here, man. Where’s DMT at?”

  “Haven’t seen anybody but you.”

  Prez swung the Torino’s long door open and fought his way out of the seat. The floor seemed to tilt beneath his feet. Ash reached out to steady him and Prez waved him back with a grunt. He leaned on the Torino’s roof until he got his balance back.

  Ash opened a door, letting in a warm glow of sunlight. A fresh breeze blew in and Prez’s head started to clear up.

  Ash shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, appraising the car with a lopsided smile. “Now, I swear that car looks exactly like the one from that old TV show.”

  “That’s because it is,” Prez snapped. He made his way back toward his desk, working hard to keep upright and steady.

  “That is the car we bought for you, right? Like five years ago, with all those hundred-dollar bills?” Ash followed close behind him. “You pay for everything with C-notes?”

  “Ash?” Prez said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut it.” Prez got to his desk and found Mauricio sitting on the edge of a guest chair. A thin haze of smoke still swirled in the air, making the lights glow.