To Digby, I said, “‘Talk to their supplier’? Really?” To Henry, I said, “Talk to them and say what, exactly?”
“Umm . . . stop?” Henry said.
To Digby, I said, “Are you kidding me? You can’t be that naïve.”
“Come on, Princeton, you know I don’t roll that way. We’re going to have a conversation with them, Felix is going to film the whole thing, and we’ll give it to the police and they’ll take it from there,” Digby said.
“Wait. We only go to the police if they don’t agree to stop selling to my teammates,” Henry said. “If they promise to lay off, then we erase everything.”
“That’s nice.” Digby patted Henry on the back. “Hang on to your hopes, my friend.”
“Wait. Felix is here?” I said.
“In the Laundromat next door,” Digby said. “He’s in charge of calling 911 if things go south.”
“Alone? You left Felix alone? Here?” I said.
Digby’s phone rang. “Hello? . . . Okay.” Digby hung up and said, “Felix said to tell you he’s fine.” He pointed at me. “But you two need to get in the car and get out of here.”
“You’re coming with me,” Sloane said to Henry. “This is stupid dangerous. And how will next season go if you get another teammate arrested? Everyone will be out to get you, off the field and on.”
“Sloane, I can’t do nothing,” Henry said.
Beside me, Digby groaned. “It’s too late anyway. Here we go.”
I put on my best poker face when Papa John, the defensive tackle who’d broken his fingers, walked into the store and greeted Digby and Henry.
“Hey, Zoe, what’s up? Is Austin here?” Papa John said.
I didn’t know if that was a casual kind of question or if that meant Austin knew about this steroids nonsense. I froze.
“Let’s not tell Austin about this, okay? Zoe’s the one with connections to sell to in New York,” Digby said.
When Papa John looked dubious, Digby added, “She needs to cover some expenses she doesn’t want Austin to know about.” Digby’s eyes flicked in the vague direction of my midsection and allowed Papa John to infer whatever he wanted to from that.
“And her?” Papa John pointed at Sloane. “Don’t tell me she needs money.”
Sloane stepped closer to Henry and said, “I go where he goes.”
“Ride-or-die chick, huh?” Papa John laughed.
“Is it just you, John?” Henry said.
“No, my supplier’s outside. The amount you need is more than I have . . .” Papa John said.
“But you’re the only one on the team who’s got stuff?” Henry said.
“What is this?” Papa John said.
“He’s still trying to figure out if he can get it for cheaper from your competition,” Sloane said. “Let it go, Henry.”
“Yeah, let’s do this,” Digby said.
Papa John stared us down until finally, he said, “Fine. Outside.”
As we followed Papa John out of the store, Sloane grabbed Henry’s hand and gave him a look to say, Get it together.
• • •
Papa John’s “supplier” was an extremely worked-out dude leaning against a muscle car chewing on a toothpick. It was such a cliché, I could’ve laughed.
If I hadn’t been so freaking scared.
“Is that you, Silk?” Henry said. They slapped hands and bro-hugged. “I haven’t seen you since . . .”
“The homecoming game,” Silk said.
I don’t know if Digby realized that this was the same Silkstrom guy with the bag of drugs Cooper chased down near school. If he did make the connection, he didn’t show it.
Henry introduced Silk to us. “Guys, this is Rob Silkstrom. We won state twice when he was quarterback.”
“It’s great dealing with someone we know we can trust.” Digby stuck out his hand to shake Silk’s but abruptly pulled it back. “Whoa. Did anyone see that?”
We all just looked at Digby’s wide-eyed crazy-man expression.
“Only me, then? Okay . . . anyway, I was saying it’s great doing this with a friend of Henry’s,” Digby said. “By the way, who else on the team is down?”
“You’re down with me and that’s all you need,” Silk said. “Henry, what’s with your friend? Why’s he so nervous?”
Digby was staring at his shaky hand but snapped out of it and said, “Sorry, man. Just a little blood sugar issue . . .”
I took a granola bar from my pocket, peeled it open, and handed it to him but he didn’t take it. “He’s fine, really. He just needs a little . . .” I held the granola bar up to Digby’s mouth for him to take a bite. “Please, just go on . . .”
Silk looked uneasy when Digby slumped against the car behind him.
Henry said, “It’s okay, Silk. We’re here to buy. Let’s do this.”
Silk thought a little before opening his trunk and pulling out and unzipping a gym bag filled with big Ziploc bags of amber glass vials and pills.
Digby pointed to bottles labeled in a foreign script. “Is that Hindi?” he said.
“Thai,” Silk said.
Digby Google translated it. “Nandrolone decanoate.” But he looked skeptical.
“I’ve got American, but it’ll cost more.” Silk pulled up another bag and opened it. The labels said TESTOSTERONE. “This is legit Upjohn T.” He pulled it away when Digby reached for it. “Double the price.”
“Relax. We’re good for it.” Digby took a closer look, holding up the packages in a way I realized would allow Felix to zoom in on the labels.
“Wait a minute. I know you . . .” Silk pointed at Digby and then swiped at Papa John’s head. “What are you doing bringing this guy? He’s a narc.”
Henry got between them. “It’s okay, Silk. It’s cool.”
Digby, his so-called blood sugar issue clearly worsening, pulled out a rubber-banded roll of cash that ended up flying out of his hand. I caught it. “The cops got it wrong. I’m not a narc,” Digby said.
Silk grabbed Digby and patted him down.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Digby said.
“A misunderstanding? Because of you, one of the biggest East Coast operations got shut down,” Silk said.
“We were there to make a deal. The expression was . . .” Digby made a vague gesture.
“You mean ‘explosion,’ right?” I said.
“What did I say?” Digby said.
Digby was pale and sweaty and his eyes couldn’t focus as he swooned onto the car parked behind Silk’s. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it definitely wasn’t his blood sugar.
Still, Digby and then Henry passed their pat-downs. And then my turn came around.
“Hey, what’s this?” Silk was holding the magazine of ammo I’d tucked into my pocket. “Where’s the gun?” Silk pulled out his own gun from his waistband, and let it hang by his side. “Where’s. The. Gun.”
A nearby car engine backfired and we all jumped. It was like a starter’s pistol for the flurry of chaos that came next.
Silk, clearly in possession of his reflexes from his playing days, pistol-whipped Henry in the face and threw him in the backseat of his car. Papa John wrestled Digby for the gym bag of pills.
Then Silk turned the ignition. Papa John abandoned his struggle and barely had time to jump into the front seat before he and Silk drove off, the trunk of the car still open.
Sloane and I watched the car disappear around the corner, looked at each other, and screamed.
FOURTEEN
Felix ran out of the Laundromat and joined our panic-fest on the sidewalk. “What happened, you guys?” he said.
Digby tried to say “They took Henry,” but at this point, he was slurring.
“Why do you sound drunk?” I said. “What is with you?”
“W
e have to call the police,” Sloane said. “What are they going to do with Henry?”
“Oh, wait.” I remembered Sloane’s phone was still in my pocket. I turned it on and found the blue dot. “They’re going up.”
“Up?” Felix said.
“Give me that!” Sloane grabbed her phone and dialed 911.
Digby lurched toward me. “She means norff . . .”
“Digby, what’s the matter with you?” I said.
Felix leaned against Digby to keep him from sliding to the ground. “Maybe we should get him to a doctor,” Felix said.
Digby’s head lolled around and his breathing was ragged. He pulled a medication bottle from his jacket pocket. “How many orange bippies?”
“Orange bippies?” I shook out his pills and counted.
“Are there eight in there?” he said. “Although . . . I think I know what the answer will be.”
“Seven,” I said.
“They put me on hold,” Sloane said. “Why does 911 even have hold buttons?”
“Think I’m having a reaction to my meds . . .” Digby said.
“You’re not ODing, are you?” I said.
Digby shook his head and said, “Sorry, Princeton. I’ll fix it.” And then he leaned over the side of the car and threw up.
Suddenly Felix yelled, “They’re hitting him. They’re beating up Henry.”
“What? How do you know that?” I said.
“I turned his phone into a hot mic.” Felix unplugged his headphones from a small receiver he was carrying so we could hear. It was muffled but we could make out Henry getting pummeled and shouting in between hits, “I can get you your bag back! I can get you your bag back!”
“Bag?” Sloane said.
Digby held up the gym bag he’d taken from Papa John.
“Get in the car.” Sloane hung up on 911 and ran back to Cooper’s car with Digby, Felix, and me behind her.
Sloane got in the driver’s seat and I took shotgun while Digby and Felix jumped in the back.
“Oh, man, this is awesome.” Felix strapped himself in. “We are back.”
“No, Felix,” I said.
“Zoe, navigate.” Sloane threw her phone at me and started the car.
“They got on the interstate.” I showed Sloane the blue dot on the screen. “They’re going north.”
She peeled off so fast, I smacked my head on my window. “Sloane, maybe you should slow down . . .”
But she kept her foot on the gas and soon we were on the freeway on-ramp, picking up speed. A few miles out, Digby said, “We’re heading to Niverton?”
“Niverton’s the next exit,” I said. “Why?”
Digby said, “Better cool it, Sloane . . .”
But it was too late. A black-and-white cruiser burst out of the tall bushes and lit us up.
“Now what?” I said.
Digby sat up and struggled with his seat belt. “Hit the gas, Sloane.” Digby finally got his belt on with Felix’s help. “Faster. Go way over the speed limit.”
“What?” Sloane said.
“Do it,” I said.
Sloane gripped the wheel tight and sped up.
In the mirror, we could see the squad car keeping pace.
“Faster,” Digby said. “Fast as you can.”
Sloane stepped on the accelerator again.
“Now hit the wig-wags,” Digby said.
“The what?” I said.
Digby pointed at a switch on the command console mounted between Sloane and me.
It was a classic Planet Digby double down moment. Trying to get out of trouble for impersonating a police officer by impersonating a police officer more. I flipped the switch and the lights on our tail and grille flashed in alternation.
“Now speed up again,” Digby said.
Sloane did and this time, the squad car didn’t follow.
“How did you know they’d be there?” Felix said.
Digby’s eyes were closed when he said, “. . . most famous speed trap on this interstate . . .” And then he was asleep.
“Silk just got off the interstate,” I said. “Take this exit, Sloane. Then we turn . . . oh, wait a minute.”
“What? Turn how?” Sloane pointed at the fork in the road ahead. “Left or right?”
“Wait.”
If we turned right, we’d be following Silk’s car down a windy road. But if we took the straighter road on the left, we could get in front of them and head them off. There was just the question of the patch between the two roads that I couldn’t make out on the map . . .
Sloane took the phone out of my hand. “Right turn? I make a right turn, correct?”
“Wait. Take the shortcut,” I said. “Go left.”
“Shortcut? What shortcut?” Sloane was driving while swiping the screen one-handed. “I don’t see a shortcut!”
I tried to convey the urgency. “We’re missing it. Sloane. We’re going to miss it!”
“Zoe, what shortcut?”
“Sloane! Just do it!”
Sloane and I were both screaming at that point. We were also about to miss the turn, so I made an executive decision. I yanked the wheel and made the turn myself, nearly running us off the road.
Sloane got the car back under control and said, “God, you almost killed us.”
“Now what? The blue dot stopped.” I worried we’d lost the signal from Henry’s phone. “Felix, what’s happening? Can you hear anything?”
“They’re yelling at Henry to get out of the car,” Felix said.
“Okay, Sloane, cross this field,” I said. “Henry’s pulled over on the road on the other side of this.”
Sloane pointed at the area of greenery I was talking about and said, “That’s not a field. That’s a forest.”
Sure, it was more overgrown than the phone led me to believe. “Not according to this . . .”
“Quit looking at that stupid phone and look at the trees in front of us,” Sloane said.
“What, those saplings?” I said.
“Saplings? Those are trees,” Sloane said.
“Sloane, they’re beating Henry up,” Felix said.
I made a move to grab the wheel again.
“Don’t. Even.” Sloane turned off the road herself, but as we bumped along the uneven ground and wove through clumps of vegetation, I felt her hesitate and slow down, which frustrated me because I could see the road ahead.
So I smashed my hand down on her leg. The car shot forward.
As it turns out, reality was somewhere between our expectations. What the car punched through was a pretty dense not-a-sapling-not-yet-a-tree situation. It felt like we were all screaming forever, but just as the map promised, when we emerged on the other side, we were on the road, driving toward Silk’s car way up ahead across a small bridge.
“That. Was. Fantastic,” Felix said.
Sloane held on to the wheel with one hand and started hitting me with the other, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “You mess with my driving again and I’ll kill you.”
“This is your boyfriend we’re rescuing, woman.” I hit her back. “Quit it. Just keep driving.”
“Uh, Zoe?” Felix pointed out the windshield, where we could just make out Silk standing over Henry, sprawled on the ground.
“Oh God,” Sloane said, pressing harder on the accelerator.
“We need a plan.” I looked to Digby, but he was a useless moaning lump in the backseat. “Okay. We drive over and stop. I tell them to let Henry go if they want the bag. I get Henry, then I give them the bag . . . you stay in the car with the engine running. Because the car is a weapon. Digby told me that,” I said. “What do you think?”
“Good plan. Good plan. Except . . . Zoe?” Sloane’s voice was high and tight. “It’s jammed. The pedal’s jammed.”
/> “What? What are you talking about?” I said.
Sloane jiggled her right leg dramatically to show me.
“It’s your stupid shoes,” I said.
“It’s because you jammed my foot down,” Sloane said.
“Okay, stop panicking.” I ducked under the steering wheel, where I saw Sloane’s heel was wedged under the gas pedal. I pulled at her leg. “Well, it’s really stuck.” I sat back up. We were coming up on Silk beating on Henry.
“Oh, God, they’re killing him,” Sloane said. “They’re killing him!”
It really did look like they were. “Okay, Plan B. Felix. When we get close enough, I want you to roll down the window and throw out that gym bag, okay? You get me?”
“I got you.” Felix unbelted himself and last I saw before I got back under the dash to get Sloane’s foot free, he was reaching for the bag. I was working on sliding out Sloane’s heel when she leaned on the horn. I tried to get back up to see but Sloane’s arm had me pinned. By the time I finally managed to sit up, Felix had already thrown the gym bag out the window. As I watched it arc away from the car, it struck me that there was something peculiar about it. And just as I saw the bag smack Papa John in the face and knock him down like he’d taken a bullet, I realized what the problem was.
“Felix. That was the wrong bag,” I said.
“What?” Felix picked up Silk’s gym bag from the car floor. “Whoa. They’re exactly alike.” Felix pointed out the window. “What was in that bag?”
“That was Austin’s gym bag,” I said. He must have left it in the car last Friday.
“We have to go back! I’m getting Henry!”
Before I could stop her, Sloane yanked the wheel to turn the car around. With her foot still jammed down on the gas, she sent us into a spin.
When Sloane wrestled the car back under control for the second time, we were still going fifty miles an hour in the wrong direction. And Sloane was still screaming.
“Stop screaming, drive straight, and I’ll get your foot out.” I ducked back down. A few more fruitless tugs and I finally hit on unzipping her boot. Once her foot was free, the heel easily slid out from under the pedal. She slowed down and turned around.
Trouble Makes a Comeback Page 11
