Trouble Makes a Comeback

by Stephanie Tromly

  “‘Visitor Information Form.’ Ezekiel’s real name is Nicholas Peavey?” I said. “He’s like a Dickens character.”

  “Let’s just keep calling him Ezekiel,” Digby said. “Doesn’t sound half as cool to say I almost got killed by little Nicky Peavey.”

  “‘Question seven: Relationship to above-named inmate.’ You wrote, ‘I was his victim.’ ‘Question nine: Did you know this person prior to his current incarceration?’ Your answer was, ‘Yes. He once beat me up, kidnapped me, and then tried to kill me in an explosion,’” I said. “Are you kidding me?”

  “It was my first draft. First drafts always suck,” Digby said.

  “How was he?” I said.

  “Surprisingly normal. He’s gained some weight. They put him in a cell with an embezzler and some low-level mob guy whose main job in life is to take the fall and go to prison,” Digby said. “He asked about you, by the way.”

  “Ezekiel did?”

  Digby leered at me.

  “Ew,” I said. “I don’t need to worry about what happens to me when he gets out, do I?”

  “It’s not like he’s planning on coming after you or anything. He wasn’t even mad at me anymore after I pointed out that if I hadn’t gotten him popped, the bosses would’ve probably killed him by now for stealing all that money from them,” Digby said. “So, really, I did him a favor.”

  “Yes . . . I’m familiar with these favors of yours,” I said.

  “Anyway, I think I have a line on Ezekiel’s friend Joe. He goes by the name ‘Bullet Time.’”

  “The guy who ran the crack house? Who saw Sally nine years ago?” I said. “What I don’t understand is if this Bullet Time guy had information, why didn’t he go to the police nine years ago when he could’ve collected the reward for helping find Sally?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

  “You know where he is?”

  “Not yet . . . but I have people working on it,” Digby said. “It helps to have friends in low places.”

  “And then you’re just going to show up. At his crack house,” I said. “And start asking questions?”

  “Relax. I never go into a place without knowing how to get out,” Digby said. “Besides . . . aren’t you coming?”

  “I’m not sure how useful I’d be if you took me,” I said.

  “You see stuff I miss all the time. Just like . . .” Digby stared at me. “I see stuff you miss too.”

  I groaned. “That’s an Austin comment again, right?”

  “I’m just saying, Princeton, the kid’s a player. Girls for glory. The football team—that’s how those guys are.”

  “Henry’s on the football team,” I said.

  “Henry’s not normal and you know it. In fact, that’s who you should talk to. Go ask Henry about Austin,” he said.

  “Why do I need to ask Henry? I’m asking you,” I said. “This hinting around is lame. Do you have any solid information?”

  He hesitated, then said, “No, I don’t. And you’re right. None of my business. Forget it. I’ll go to Bullet Time’s place on my own.”

  “Okay.” But I could see it was killing him.

  He said, “But you know—”

  “And yet you are still talking,” I said.

  “Just promise you’ll make him work, okay? Make him work to deserve you.”

  And so there I was, standing in the middle of the mall, crabby with sleep deprivation and interrogating my boyfriend, trying to prove to my inner Digby that I was making Austin work to deserve me. It felt mean and lowdown.

  “Can we start over?” Austin said.

  I willed my face to ignore my brain and smile. “Let’s get coffee,” I said.

  “Okay, but first . . .” Austin kissed me.

  I guess I was angrier than I thought, because our kiss felt weird. “We should hurry. My break’s over soon.”

  “What? Fisher’s cracking the whip?” Austin laughed.

  “It’s because he’s so nice that I don’t like coming back late, Austin,” I said.

  “Okay, fine.” Austin put his arm around me and said, “But maybe after work . . . I could go to the market, get some food . . . you could come over, we could make pasta, watch something . . .” He rubbed my neck.

  “Why don’t you come over to my house? Mom and Cooper are going to the movies, so we’d have the place to ourselves for a while,” I said.

  “My parents are up in Maine with my sister looking at schools. We’d have the place all night. Plus, I checked with Allie and she said she’d cover for you and say you’re crashing at her place. She could even pick you up at your house so it’d all look legit,” Austin said.

  There it was. It only took me a second to decide. I wasn’t ready. And it annoyed me that he’d schemed with Allie about our date.

  “You and Allie really have this all planned out. Did she also decide on an outfit for me?” I said. “And when were you two sitting around talking about me?”

  “Whoa. I bumped into her at the market after Spring Fling. Did I just get Allie in trouble? Don’t be mad at her—she was just trying to help out,” Austin said. “And why are you mad at all anyway? Don’t you want us to spend time alone? That’s all your friends and I are trying to make happen.”

  It was true. I didn’t know why I was mad. “I don’t feel comfortable lying to my mom.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s the tiniest lie,” Austin said. “Besides, are you telling me you didn’t lie to your mom when you and Digby were running around town last year blowing up houses?

  “Look. I’ll pick you up at seven and you can come over for pasta. That’s it,” he said. “Don’t look so tense. It’s just pasta.”

  “Right. Of course. Just pasta.”

  SEVEN

  It was complicated getting ready for my dinner date with Austin later that night. I didn’t want to send the wrong message, and every outfit I tried on read like a potential invitation. I finally decided on skinny jeans that I neutralized with a long hoodie and boots with knee-high laces that take forever to undo. It was a mixed message but it was the only one I was comfortable sending.

  When I got downstairs, Mom was in a killer dress putting on lipstick and getting ready to go out. “It’s fancy for dinner and a movie, but it’s Mike’s last night before shift change. I’m just waiting for him to get home,” she said.

  Ah, shift change. It was Cooper’s last day on every cop’s favorite shift, the eight a.m. to four p.m. He was about to start the dreaded graveyard shift: midnight to eight a.m.

  “Oh, great. Graveyard Cooper,” I said. Cops all got a month on each shift and in the three months since he moved in, I’ve known three versions of Mike Cooper, each different according to what shift he was working. Graveyard Cooper was grumpy and made dark, sad jokes.

  Mom noticed my clothes. “I thought you were going to Austin’s place.”

  “I am,” I said.

  “Really? You usually get a little more”—she made a weird shimmying gesture—“with your clothes.”

  Just then, the door opened and Cooper walked in. With Digby. And Digby had his huge backpack with him.

  “Digby? What’s going on?” I said.

  “Guess what I found when we raided the Capri Motel on the south side this afternoon? Two assault rifles, seven handguns, eighty large in small bills, a suitcase of drugs . . .” Cooper said. “And this fricking guy.”

  “Was all that stuff his?” Mom said.

  “Of course not, Mom.” To Digby, I said, “It wasn’t, was it, Digby?”

  “Of course not,” Digby said. “If I had eighty grand, I would’ve checked into the Holiday Inn.”

  “He was living in the motel. Living in it . . .” Cooper said. “. . . alooooone.”

  “You said you were going to your mom’s after you moved out of
Henry’s,” I said.

  Digby said, “I didn’t say I’d go right away—”

  “Don’t try that with me,” I said.

  “Know what they say . . . you can’t go home again,” he said. “I just need some time to work up to it . . . and I had all that balloon money, so I thought . . .”

  “‘Balloon money’? What is that? Some heroin paraphernalia thing?” Cooper said.

  “Whoa. Stand down, Officer Cooper. I literally sold some balloons.” To me, Digby said, “Felix’s balloons.”

  “I said he could stay here until he figures things out with his mom,” Cooper said.

  “You what?” Mom said. “Shouldn’t we have talked about this first?”

  “And let him live in God-knows-where?” Cooper said. “I couldn’t leave him there.”

  “Mom, please, it won’t be for long,” I said.

  Mom made a face at Cooper, who said, “I’m not happy about it either . . .” He made a helpless hands-up gesture. It was a change to see someone besides me in the classic Digby no-win situation.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’s Austin.” I looked at Digby. “Please don’t be an idiot.”

  The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was that Austin had dressed up.

  “Austin. Hi . . . you look great,” I said.

  “Thanks . . . and you, you look . . .” God love him, Austin tried.

  The collared shirt under the sweater and pea coat was a departure from his usual athletic gear. The second thing I noticed was that he’d put on cologne. Lots of it. Like, seemingly, every ounce he owned.

  “Wow. Hello, J.Crew,” Digby said.

  “I cannot seem to get away from you, dude,” Austin said.

  “Big date tonight?” Digby said.

  “Zoe and I were just going to make pasta at my house,” Austin said.

  A hush descended over the room. Like the needle skipped off the record.

  In the silence, Cooper pointedly unsnapped his gun holster and put it on the dining room table with a solid thump. “And will your parents be at this pastavaganza?” he said.

  “Well, my parents are gone for the weekend . . .” Austin said. “But I’m very responsible.”

  “You hear this?” Cooper said to Mom. “Unsupervised.”

  “Don’t stay out too late, Zoe,” Mom said.

  “That’s it?” Cooper said.

  “Mike, I trust Zoe,” Mom said.

  “She isn’t the problem,” Cooper said.

  “It’ll be okay.” Digby patted Cooper on the shoulder. “She put on her combat boots and look, she didn’t even shower. Her hair still has the ponytail bump from earlier today. He’s staying on the bench tonight.”

  “Maybe we should go, Mike? The movie’s starting in half an hour,” Mom said.

  “We should probably get going too, babe . . . if you don’t want to stay out too late,” Austin said. I would’ve thought the disappointment in his voice was tragic if I weren’t so relieved that I no longer had to worry about arguing with Austin about not spending the night.

  To Digby, Mom said, “Food in the fridge, no pay-per-view, please, and the Wi-Fi password is—”

  “Wait, he’s staying here?” Austin said.

  “Actually.” Digby pointed at Austin. “I was going to ask if you could give me a ride.”

  “Where are you going?” Austin said.

  “Where do you live?” Digby said.

  “Mulberry and Eames,” Austin said.

  “Perfect,” Digby said.

  “A bunch of buses go there,” Austin said.

  “Sure, we can take you,” I said.

  “Where are you going, exactly?” Austin said.

  “Just start driving and I’ll tell you where,” Digby said.

  “I don’t know . . . we still have to start cooking the dinner and it’s getting late . . .” Austin said. “Sure you can’t take the bus?”

  “Austin. Come on. There’s, like, one bus an hour after five o’clock.” I stared Austin down until he finally nodded.

  “Shotgun,” Digby said. “Kidding.”

  • • •

  We got in the car and Austin pulled away from my house, driving fast and jerkily. He turned up the music to kill any ideas of conversation, but we didn’t make it a block before they started fighting.

  “Oh, come on, J.Crew. Are you pouting? Upset you got all lathered and shiny for nothing?” Digby said.

  “What is it with the Princeton J.Crew crap? Use our names,” Austin said. “Your little nicknames aren’t clever.”

  “Okay,” Digby said. “So, Zoe, I noticed the guest bedroom’s right next to your room. We’ll practically be roommates.” The extra bass he put into saying my name was perfectly calibrated to drive Austin crazy.

  Austin slammed on the brakes. “What’s your problem, guy? If you like her so much, why didn’t you do something about it when you had the chance?”

  “The way you’re going, man, I think I still do,” Digby said.

  “Can you two not talk about me like I’m not here? Digby, I know what you’re doing. Cut it out,” I said. “And Austin? Can you not drive so fast? I’m nauseated.”

  “Why are you making me do this, Zoe?” Austin said.

  “Come on, Austin. We’re almost there.” I turned to Digby. “Right? We’re almost there, right?”

  “Yeah, sure, just go two more blocks and then a right on Linden,” Digby said. “And then six miles down the highway.”

  “That’s downtown,” I said. Was he going to find Bullet Time’s place now?

  “And the exact opposite of where my house is. Not to mention insanely dangerous.” Austin pulled over and cut the engine. “This is ridiculous. Sorry, Zoe, I’m trying to be cool, but he’s hijacking our date and he knows it.” To Digby, he said, “Get out of the car.”

  “Austin,” I said. I sensed the impending doom of one of Digby’s schemes, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of Austin. “Digby . . . stop being a jerk.”

  “Okay, look,” Digby said. “I haven’t seen Princeton in a while. I guess I got carried away. But I can walk from here.”

  He opened the car door but didn’t get out. “I’ll talk to you later, Princeton.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Austin? Please?”

  The three of us were deadlocked. Thankfully, Austin was the first one to give in.

  “Fine,” Austin said.

  Digby shut the door. He and Austin stared at each other in the rearview mirror.

  Austin started the car and we drove in silence except for the occasional “take a right” or “left here.”

  Finally, Digby said, “152 Irving Street. We’re here.”

  “Here” was the middle of a still-ungentrified part of downtown. The street was made up of squat brick buildings in varying stages of disrepair. He was totally going to look for Bullet Time.

  “I’m just going to be a minute, okay?” Digby said.

  “You expect us to wait here for you, dude? Just sitting here in the open like this?” Austin said.

  Sure, some of the windows were boarded up and yes, the mean old dog sprawled across one of the stoops was growling in a menacing way, but still, there was nothing to panic about.

  “Relax, Austin, I don’t think it’ll be that big a deal if we wait.” To Digby, I said, “You’ll be quick, right?”

  “Like I said, just a minute.” Digby jumped out and jogged down an alley.

  Once we were alone, Austin exhaled loudly and said, “Do we need to talk? You keep telling me not to worry, but he’s always hanging around. You’re sure nothing is going on?”

  “There’s nothing going on between Digby and me.” I noted that by answering in the same present tense Austin used, I hadn’t been lying. Well, not lying lying.

&nb
sp; “And he hasn’t said anything to you like . . . how you should dump me or anything like that?” Austin said.

  “What?” Technically, still not a lie.

  “Because he doesn’t like me, you know.” Austin looked guilty. “Like . . . from before you moved here.”

  “You knew each other? I didn’t know that.” I was in for a rough ride if Digby really was nursing a grudge against Austin.

  “We took the same bus in middle school . . . one time, I was . . . having fun. I took his coat, threw it out the window, and . . . it blew into the river before the driver could get it . . .” Austin said.

  “No wonder he hates you,” I said.

  “So he has been talking smack about me.”

  “Well, I mean, do you blame him?”

  “Should I apologize?” Austin said.

  “No. There wouldn’t be any point,” I said. “You threw his coat out the window?”

  “I was trying to get in with some older guys. One of them had cool parents who had barbecues and let us drink beer. You realize how clutch that is?” Austin said. “Maybe I should just say sorry. This is really hard on you, isn’t it?” He stroked my hair.

  “Look, I’m really sorry about tonight . . .” I said.

  “Don’t apologize,” Austin said.

  “I . . . I guess I’m just not ready—”

  Austin kissed me. A nice no-pressure kiss. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you didn’t feel ready for. But you know . . . when you’re ready . . .” He kissed me again. This time, his kiss had more of a message. “I’m right here, Zoe.”

  “Yes . . . I’m glad . . .” I said. “Look, I should go check on Digby.” I pulled up my hood and got out of the car.

  EIGHT

  I went down the alley leading to the back of a red brick warehouse, where I found Digby standing beside a row of overturned trash cans.

  “Oh, Princeton, did I ruin pasta night?” he said.