Furious, Addie grabbed the attacker by his shirt, trying to yank him away. He shook her roughly aside. She stumbled but managed to keep her balance.
Almaz was pushing through the crowd toward her. “Come away from here,” she called. “You can’t stop them.”
Addie hesitated. She could see Dad far ahead, Zack clinging to his arm in a way he normally wouldn’t be caught dead doing. The man in the baseball cap was still beating up the guy with the beard. Other people were trying to drag them apart, without success.
High above the heads of the crowd, she saw a mounted policeman. Thank goodness!
“Over here!” she cried, waving her arm above her head.
The horse plowed straight toward her. She dodged out of its way. The policeman’s face was hidden behind the visor of his riot helmet, and once in range, he struck out indiscriminately with his billy club, hitting both of the men. Addie could see blood oozing from the bearded guy’s head. His attacker let go of him and bent over, sucking in his breath in great gasps.
“Not the guy with the beard!” she shouted. “He didn’t do anything!”
But the policeman kept striking out. The bearded man had fallen to the ground. Stunned, Addie kept yelling until she was forced to scramble out of the cop’s way as he backed his horse into the crowd. The surging crush of bodies had separated her from Almaz again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dad dragging Zack away. Mrs. Turner was struggling to keep up but clearly was having trouble maneuvering.
“Mrs. T.s in bad shape,” Almaz called. “I’d better go help her.”
“I’ll be there in a second. I’ve got to tell the policeman what really happened—”
“Be quick,” Almaz shouted over her shoulder. She pushed her drum to one side of her body and disappeared into the chaos.
Then someone shoved Addie so hard she flew forward and crashed to the ground. Everything spilled out of her bag. To her horror, the silver mirror skidded along the pavement and stopped just out of reach.
“Oh, no!” She lurched forward, crawling between people’s feet. After a second, she managed to grab hold of the strap of her bag. Her wallet was close by, her brush, her cell phone. Quickly she swept them back in. But where was the mirror? In a panic, she twisted her head this way and that, searching. Finally she caught sight of silver flashing here, then there, as the mirror was kicked farther and farther away. The horse’s hooves clopped down close to it as the policeman tried to break out of the crowd. Lunging forward, Addie closed her fingers around the handle, pulled it close as she scrambled to her feet, and flipped it over to make sure it hadn’t shattered.
Behind her in the glass she could see a tall, heavy woman standing on a wooden crate, haranguing the crowd. Her brown hair was gathered in an untidy knot, and her voice thundered like a church organ.
“Don’t believe the lies they tell you,” she roared. “This isn’t a war for democracy! English workers and French workers are fighting German workers to fill the coffers of the banks and the war industry! American workers, will you throw away your lives to join them? We say no!”
Somewhere in the background she could hear a brass band blaring a military march.
Panicking, Addie tore her eyes away from the mirror and spun around. “Dad? Where are you?”
The street was filled with marching men in uniform. Sailors in dress whites. Soldiers in khakis and round helmets and boots. Women in white aprons with red crosses sewn on the fronts. A familiar image on a poster on a nearby street lamp sprang out at her: the yowling cat of the Wobblies, behind bars and paired with the words CLASS-WAR PRISONERS: WE ARE IN HERE FOR YOU. YOU ARE OUT THERE FOR US!
Suddenly, a sailor ripped the poster from the lamppost and tore it up. A man who’d been listening to the speaker took off after him, yelling and shaking his fist.
That other time shimmered around her, and Addie fought against it with all her might.
She squeezed her eyes shut, closing it out.
Then, gathering her courage, she opened them again, stared fixedly into the mirror, and saw ... not the woman on the soapbox, but Whaley, of all people, shoving protesters out of his path. He was only a few feet away, but the crowd crushed in around them crazily.
“Addie! Where are you?”
She slipped the mirror into her bag and waved her arms above her head. “I’m here!”
He turned toward her voice, and relief flooded into his face. He reached over and grasped her hand so hard she could feel the bones in his fingers crushing hers.
“Oh, my God, Whaley, I’m so glad to see you. I thought you were back at the bookshop.”
Whaley looked over her head, surveying the scene. Addie’s gaze followed his. The mounted policeman was gone, but other police officers in riot gear were heading their way. Fights were breaking out. For once, Addie was glad for Whaley’s crazy haircut and the look he got, when he was angry, of being ready for a brawl.
“The radio said it was getting rough.” His hands clenched fiercely down on her shoulders, and he steered her ahead of him through the chaotic mass of people. “The cops are wearing riot gear, for chrissake. I’d better get you home. I’m sure that’s where your dad’s heading.”
But the march bottled up and she and Whaley were squashed between the protestors who had stopped in front and marchers coming up from behind.
“They’re blocking the road!” a girl yelled. Addie peered ahead to the intersection and into a police barricade of glittering plexiglass shields.
One officer stepped out in front of the line of riot police and spoke, his voice crackling through the megaphone: “You have exceeded the limits of the protest zone. Disperse now.”
“What protest zone?” an old woman shouted. “There’s no protest zone!”
“Go home now, or we will disperse you!”
“What the hell were you thinking, Addie McNeal, coming out into this mess?” Whaley released her shoulder and gripped her hand again, yanking her toward the sidewalk.
“I’m trying to stop the war, Whaley! That’s what I was thinking!”
Whaley made an exasperated noise in his throat and pulled harder. But before they could break free, a wave of panic swept through the crowd.
“Someone threw a rock!”
A man tripped over Addie’s foot. A woman with two children clinging to her elbowed people aside. One of the kids was wailing, and the sound was the wail of the child in Addie’s dream. Protesters surged forward, shouting, and suddenly it was like swimming against a deep current.
“You can’t stop a legal demonstration!”
A resounding slap, and then a thud.
“Disperse now! This is your last warning!”
Suddenly, there was a loud report, like a gun going off. Black smoke billowed up and wafted through the crowd. Addie’s eyelids burned. Her throat stung as if she’d swallowed something caustic.
“Tear gas!” Whaley yelled through the commotion. “Cover your eyes!”
The skin on her cheeks was blistering. Tears flowed from her stinging eyes. She pulled open her bag and jumbled through bus transfers, keys, lipstick. Finally, her fingers closed around a bandanna.
“Here!” She thrust it at Whaley through the rising fumes, but he pushed it away.
“You put it on! I’m okay!”
Addie tied it over her eyes in a single layer, so she could just manage to see through the thin fabric. Choking, they clawed their way to the sidewalk. Her heart thumped in her ears; her feet itched to sprint, but too many people blocked their way. The voice was still crackling through the megaphone. “Your time is up!”
They were caught in a tidal wave of people running, darting down the side streets, dodging into bars, barbershops, anywhere a doorway beckoned or an escape route opened up.
She spied a narrow alley between two buildings. “Whaley! This way! Over here!”
But he was gone.
She searched up and down the street as well as she could through her own tears and the red
fabric of the bandanna. And then suddenly she heard Whaley’s voice behind her.
“I’m not demonstrating!” She whirled around to see him spluttering with fury as a police officer pinned his arms behind his back. “I’m enlisting, for chrissake.”
The cop was clicking handcuffs around Whaley’s wrists. With the riot helmet on his head and gas mask on his face, he looked like an insect. But he was even taller than Whaley and had a huge club and a gun hanging from his belt.
“I’m not protesting!” Whaley repeated.
“He’s not!” Addie shouted.
The faceless officer ignored them. To Addie’s horror, he simply swung Whaley around and frog-marched him up the block.
Then another cloud of tear gas exploded and she could see nothing at all.
18. Lockup
“Sorry, I didn't see you there.” The woman at the sink in the bathroom of the doughnut shop looked up at Addie. She had short black hair in a jagged cut and was wearing a plaid flannel shirt. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin puffy and damaged around the lids. “Here. I’m almost done.”
Addie nodded numbly. The woman moved aside, and Addie took her place, turning the spigot and splashing cold water into her stinging eyes. It was hard not to blink, but she knew she had to wash out the chemicals.
She’d kept running once she’d broken free of the crowd and finally ended up in this skeevy doughnut shop where a bunch of people from the demonstration had taken shelter. There’d been no sign of Dad or the others. More than anything, she wanted to go home. But she couldn’t. She was the only one who knew what happened to Whaley, and she had to help him. After all, if it hadn’t been for her, he’d be free right now.
The woman who had spoken to her was wiping her face with a paper towel. ‘Are you okay?”
Addie nodded. “But my friend was arrested, so I probably need to get over to the jail.”
“Unless he’s in juvie. How old is he? Your age?”
“He just turned eighteen.”
“He’ll be at the jail, then. Do you know where it is?”
“On Third, right?”
A woman with long gray hair and lots of beads around her neck emerged from a stall. “No, darlin’. Fifth and Jefferson. Near the courthouse. Your friend’ll be in the lockup.”
Addie tried to marshal her thoughts. “So I go there first? Or do I—”
“You go to the courthouse first.” The older woman examined Addie sympathetically. “Is this your first time, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” To her embarrassment, she found herself tearing up. “My eyes still hurt,” she muttered.
“It’s okay.” The old lady patted her shoulder.
Somehow, the touch put heart into her. Addie pulled herself together and said, “Thanks. I’ll—I’ll get down to the courthouse.” She left the bathroom and crossed the shop, ignoring the unfriendly gaze of the guy wearing the little paper hat behind the counter.
Outside, the sky had gone overcast, the air damp and chill; all the promise of the glorious morning was gone. In the distance she could hear sirens and people still shouting slogans. She pulled out her phone and called Dad. It rang a few times and then went to his voice mail. Addie opened her mouth to explain everything, and then thought better of it. “It’s Addie,” she said. “I’m all right. Just call me, okay?”
Now she was passing the jail. For a second, she stopped and gazed up at the ugly building with its long black windows like suspicious eyes. In the small courtyard out front, weird sculptures of blocks and cones were strewn about like dismal childrens toys. Reg's voice echoed in her memory: I bet you’re wondering what a gentleman like me was doing at such a sordid scene. How could he joke about it? It wasn’t sordid; it was terrifying. Whaley was locked up in one of those cells. And who knew who was in there with him. Robbers? Sex offenders? Murderers?
She sprinted across the street to the courthouse. A line of anxious people snaked out the door and down the steps. It took ages before she was finally inside.
“Whatcha want?” The woman behind the security desk looked at Addie as if she were some kind of rodent. Addie took in her dyed orange hair and the wad of pink gum she was chewing. Her desk was next to one of those metal-detector machines like they had at the airport, and two security guards stood waiting on the other side of it.
“I ... I think my friend is in jail. But it’s all a mistake. He wasn’t even demonstrating. He—”
“Wha’s his name?” The woman snapped her gum.
“Whaley Price.”
The woman tapped at her computer. “I got a Price here,” she said. “They booked him at four thirty.”
“How ... what do I do? To get him out?”
The woman gave her a bored look. “Unless you’re gonna smuggle in a file in a cake, you better find out what bail they posted.”
“Where do I go?” She pulled her cell phone out of her bag. She’d better try Dad again now that she knew something.
“Upstairs. Just follow the crowd. But you’re not going anywhere unless you turn that thing off,” the woman said severely. “Can’t you read?” She pointed to a sign that said NO CELL PHONE USE IN COURTHOUSE.
“Can I—just make a call first?”
“If you wanna hold up the whole line.” Flustered, Addie looked back over her shoulder. There were a lot of people behind her. She turned her phone off, shoved it back in her bag, and put the bag on the machine’s conveyor belt before walking through the metal detector.
The elevator was jammed with people. A woman with patchouli wafting out of her hair was yakking away. “I told him to make them read him his Miranda rights. Why’d he go along? How many times did I tell him, George?”
Addie stepped out into the hallway and went from there into a huge waiting room overflowing with people from the demonstration. “How do I find out about my friend’s bail?” Addie asked the nearest person, an old man in a knit vest.
“You have to talk to the gentleman at the desk,” he told her. “We’re all waiting our turns.”
She sighed and went to the back of the line.
“Price?” the guy at the desk repeated forty minutes later when Addie finally reached him. He didn’t even look up from his computer screen. Addie had the feeling he’d gotten fed up with the entire human race ages ago. “What did you say his first name was?”
“Whaley.”
“I got a W. P. Price. That him?”
Addie thought of the initials on Whaley’s guitar case: W.P.P. “Yeah.”
“Two thousand dollars.”
Addie’s mouth fell open.
“They take cards, cash, or a check.”
It wasn’t even worth looking in her wallet. Two thousand dollars? If she had twenty, that would be a lot.
“What if I don’t have enough money?”
“There’s a bail bond agency around the corner. You pay ten percent, they put up the rest. Next!”
Addie stared. Bail bond agency? Images of muscled bounty hunters sprang into her mind. Didn’t they come and beat you up if you couldn’t pay? No. She wasn’t going there. She needed Dad, that was all there was to it.
Nervously, she glanced at the clock on the wall. Geez, look how long it had been already. She needed to let Whaley know she was here.
She hurried back downstairs, left the building, and turned her phone on. There was a message. Thank goodness! But when she listened, it turned out to be from Almaz, just saying she was home and was Addie okay? It was tempting to call her right back, but Dad was the one she had to get ahold of. She punched in the speed dial number. But once more, his phone was off. “Dad, its me again. Call as soon as you can.” She tried home, but no one was there, either.
The clock on the building across the street read 6:49. What if there was a cutoff time? Maybe they didn’t let people out of jail after seven or something. She thought for a minute. She could head to the nearest Wells Fargo. She had a bank account but there wasn’t anything remotely like two thousand bucks in it. Not since she’d pai
d for drama camp. Forget it. She just had to find Dad. He was probably on his way home. It would take half an hour by bus if she caught one right away.
All right, she thought. But I have to get word to Whaley before I go.
With a sudden decisiveness, she turned and headed back toward the jail.
As she reached the steps, her phone rang. “Addie! Thank goodness.” Mrs. T. was on the other end. “Your phone was off.”
“Mrs. T.! Why didn’t you leave a message? I can’t get ahold of anyone!”
There was a pause. “Now Addie, just promise me you won’t panic.”
“Why? Don’t panic about what?”
“We’re at Swedish. We can’t have cell phones on. A doctor just finally looked at me, so I wheeled myself outside to call you.”
“Wheeled yourself! You’re in a wheelchair?”
“Don’t worry. I just put too much strain on my ankle. It’sn ot life-threatening.”
“So Dad and Zack are there because they took you to the hospital?”
There was another pause. “No. They came because of Zack.”
“Zack?” Her breathing tightened. “Is he okay?” Frida's unconscious face with the huge gash across her forehead flashed into her mind.
“He had a reaction to the tear gas. They’re still in with the ER doctors.”
“But is he okay?”
“The nurse said he’ll be fine once they’ve treated him, but that’s all I know. Listen, Addie, where are you?”
It was all she could do not to start laughing hysterically; everything was such an incredible mess. “I’m at the King County jail, Mrs. T. I need to bail Whaley out. He came to rescue me, and now I need to bail him out and I don’t have any money. I mean, I have thirteen dollars. Could you tell my dad to come?”
“He can’t leave Zack right now, Addie.”
“Can you come? Dad could give you the money and—”
“Oh, sweetheart! I can’t drive! But, listen—I’ll think of something, I promise. Where are you?”
“Outside the jail. I’m going in to see about Whaley. I’ll be in the waiting room, if they have one.”
“Okay. Just sit tight. I promise, one way or another, someone will come.”
The Jewel and the Key Page 18
