Tracers

by J. J. Howard

  “They say animals are good judges of character,” she added.

  Jax and Tate let out a loud cheer as the Jets made a field goal.

  “Yeah, I guess so, although I’m starting to lose feeling in my leg,” Cam replied, shifting his weight.

  “Come here, Sammy,” Nikki told the dog, patting her leg. All three of the dogs took that as an invitation, and they charged her. “No, I didn’t mean—Noodle, get off!” She pushed at the biggest of the three, laughing.

  “You’re gonna have to burn those clothes,” Tate said. “You know your roommate’s not having that stink.”

  Nikki froze; she looked uncomfortable. She didn’t quite meet Cam’s eyes when she offered her one-word explanation: “Allergies.”

  The arrival of the pizza broke the strange mood Tate’s comment had created, and Cam was distracted by the food and conversation. He realized how long it had been since he’d done anything as simple—and nice—as sitting around with a bunch of friends, eating pizza and watching a game.

  When the game was over, and every scrap of pizza was gone (and even a few of the vegetables), Dylan invited Cam to train with them the next day.

  On the train home, Cam was still smiling—at Jax’s stupid jokes, at Dylan’s perfect impression of that insurance lizard from the commercials—but mostly he was just smiling because he felt, for the first time in forever, like he wasn’t completely alone.

  There was even someone who cared enough to tell him not to get his bandage wet before his cut healed. If only he could figure out what was going on between them—and why she was always shutting him out.

  SEVEN

  CAM WOKE up choking.

  The dream had started out the same as always. He’d been having nearly the same one, over and over, since that desperate day, one of the last of his mother’s life, when he’d finally gotten up the nerve to borrow money from the Tong. He couldn’t count the times he’d replayed the scene, the day he accepted the money, and the terms attached to it. He’d met his contact, Kai—Jerry’s predecessor—in an abandoned theater on Division Street. Standing in front of an empty stage, listening to Kai’s warnings, dream-Cam kept nodding, just as he had in real life. Just like on the real day, there had been no documents to sign. Hu had been there: standing like a sentinel, arms crossed, face frozen in his permafrown. In a way, Hu was the terms of the loan. Pay the money back: good. Don’t pay it back: Hu.

  Cam had never asked what happened to Kai, but the guy still had a recurring role in his nightmares. This time, his face kept shifting back and forth. One minute he was Kai; the next minute he seemed to shrink and grow younger, and he was Jerry. Jerry/Kai was telling him how they’d find him if he didn’t pay.

  “It doesn’t matter where you go,” Jerry/Kai told him, smiling as his face changed yet again. “You understand?”

  Cam was nodding. “I understand.”

  In the dream, he understood that this was a mistake. He knew the outcome . . . that it wasn’t going to be enough to save the house anyway, that it was going to wreck his life, but when he tried to say he’d changed his mind, he just started coughing. It was like his throat was full of sand.

  All this was a normal part of the dream, familiar even. But then something changed.

  Suddenly, Cam heard the sound of laughing. He turned to see that it was Hu.

  Hu never laughed.

  The reason for the laughter soon became clear. His eyes followed Hu’s up to the stage. A moment ago it had been hidden in darkness, but now the lights were on. In the bright spotlights, his new friends were posed like performers frozen in a tableau. There was Jax, sitting on the floor, his arms wrapped around his dog Noodle. There was Tate, holding a slice of pizza. And center stage, Dylan stood behind Nikki, frozen in the act of planting a kiss on the top of her head, as he had the day before.

  But they were dead. They didn’t move or speak or breathe; the cold pallor of their faces and their blue lips made it clear what Cam was seeing. Dream-Hu’s laughter grew louder. Cam tried to speak but he found that his throat really was full of sand. He couldn’t scream—he couldn’t even breathe.

  Jerry/Kai moved so that his face was close to Cam’s.

  He repeated the promise Jerry had made to him just two days before:

  “If you don’t pay, we don’t shoot you, Cam.”

  • • •

  The horror of the dream stayed with him for the rest of the night. Without question, the idea of anyone getting hurt because of his mistakes with the Tong was a horrible one. But it was the image of Nikki’s dead eyes in her frozen, blue-white face that would not leave him.

  Maybe he cared even more than he’d realized.

  His heart continued to race the whole ride down to the cargo ship. Cam thought maybe he’d just have a heart attack and that would be the end of it.

  The dream hadn’t just rattled him. No, he was plain old afraid.

  Maybe dreams could be warnings. If so, then the message was clear: he had to pay back his debt. He thought briefly about just cutting ties with his new friends, but what if Jerry and Hu had already followed him? He’d been hanging out with them for days now.

  He’d planned to keep hanging out with them—earn their trust. Find out about their business—the one Miller seemed to be grooming him for. Weigh his options and decide if what Miller had going was worth the risk.

  But now he was out of options, and time. The only solution was money—no matter what he had to do to get it.

  Cam burst into the “clubhouse” on the cargo ship unannounced.

  Dylan, Tate, Jax, and Nikki were playing Ping-Pong. Nikki saw him first. She missed the ball.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Cam tried to ignore her, looking right at Dylan. “I want in.”

  “You are in. We don’t let just anybody train with us.”

  “No. I’m talking about work. Whatever you guys got going on, I want in on it.”

  “You okay, dude? You seem kind of . . . strung out.” Dylan was looking closely at him.

  Cam forced himself to inhale, exhale. Stop acting like a crackhead. “I’m fine. I just want in.”

  Dylan was still staring at him intently. Nikki looked up at her brother, her eyes huge.

  “What’s your problem?” Cam demanded, keeping his eyes on Dylan. “Do you guys think I’m a narc or something? Come on.”

  Nikki grabbed Dylan’s arm; she was staring at him. “It’s a bad idea,” she told her brother, her tone insistent.

  “Why?” Dylan looked down at her. “You know something I don’t?”

  She glanced nervously in Cam’s direction, then back at her brother. Throwing her hands up in defeat, she stomped off.

  Cam stared at her retreating figure, watching Dylan pull out his phone and make a call he knew was to Miller. Cam felt detached from what was happening. He wasn’t nervous or excited.

  He was just out of options.

  • • •

  A little over an hour later, Cam was forcing himself to stay focused. Miller was explaining to him what being in meant. In detail.

  Miller, it turned out, was one of those guys who was pretty freaking fond of the sound of his own voice.

  “We’re in the transport business, Cam. We move valuables. The difference is, I provide assurances that other people can’t. I guarantee the work. You want some evidence to disappear? We can take care of that for you. It’s a profession. We’re not thrill seekers who pull any score that comes along. The key is speed . . . and silence. In and out, fast and quiet. We do our research, plan every move. Work as a team. Everyone knows their job. Documents, chemicals, technology. Anything. We don’t take sides.”

  Cam nodded, making sure he looked like he was paying attention. But really, it was like he’d told Miller the day before. He really didn’t care what was in the package. The only side he was on was
his own. Dylan and Nikki had brought him to see Miller, but they were hanging back, just out of earshot. Nikki was pacing around the warehouse. (So far all of Miller’s business seemed to be conducted in abandoned buildings.)

  Miller had stopped for breath (everyone had to sometime), but then he continued: “I’ve just got two rules. One: you get in trouble, I’m your first call. Second: stay away from Chinatown. You stay out even if you’re not on the job.”

  “How come?” Cam asked. He couldn’t help it—that was the first interesting thing the guy had said.

  Clearly, though, it had been the wrong question. Miller gave him a death glare. “This is my family, Cam. I’m inviting you to pull up a chair and sit down at our table. Show me you know how to be a good guest.”

  Cam nodded dutifully. Miller nodded too, and stalked off.

  Great, Miller had dumped a whole load of Philosophy of Stealing on him, and he still didn’t have the details on an actual job.

  Dylan met his eyes. “Don’t worry. That’s just Miller. You’re in. I’ll text you the details of our next job soon.” He looked from his sister to Cam, and then walked out of the warehouse.

  Nikki was still pacing. “So that’s it,” Cam said into the silence that stretched between them. “Easy so far.”

  She stopped pacing and whirled to face him. “Easy? You’re in the wrong place if you think what we do is easy.”

  Cam closed the distance between them in a few short strides. He could tell he’d surprised her. She looked up at him, her eyes huge. “Well, you make it look easy,” he told her, his voice low.

  Nikki opened her mouth as if to speak, but she sort of sputtered instead, clearly still angry—or frustrated. “I . . . well, it’s not. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t have to . . .”

  “You don’t know anything about what I have to do,” Cam told her.

  Nikki flinched. “No . . . I just mean, I want to warn you . . .”

  He took another step. They were almost touching. “So warn me.”

  She stared at him. Her silvery blue eyes shone in the dim light coming through the dirty windows of the warehouse.

  Cam moved slowly, putting one hand on her waist. She didn’t move away; instead she closed her eyes, exhaling a ragged breath. “Cam . . .”

  “Tell me to stay away,” he breathed.

  Her eyes flew open. She stared at him for a few more seconds, breathing in and out like she’d been running for miles. “I can’t,” Nikki choked out. She broke away from his light hold, and ran out the way her brother and Miller had gone. Cam stood still, frozen. Excited that she’d said “I can’t,” but confused about why she’d run away—again.

  By the time Cam walked out of the warehouse, they were gone.

  EIGHT

  THE NEXT MORNING he got a text from a 917 number he didn’t recognize.

  It was short: u want to train later?

  There were only two people in the group he hadn’t exchanged numbers with: Miller and Nikki. If the message was from the former, Cam was definitely not in the mood to play eager student to Miller’s Mr. Miyagi.

  If the invitation was from the latter, well, he wasn’t sure what his attitude actually was regarding mystery girl. Sometimes it seemed pretty clear that she was interested in him. The bike, for one thing. But it was also obvious that she didn’t want him involved in the group’s real business. Was she worried about him because she cared—or was there something else going on?

  His phone buzzed again, and he read the message: This is Nikki btw.

  Cam sighed, relieved that at least he knew who was on the other end of the invite now.

  But now that he knew it was Nikki, his mind flew back to their last awkward moments the day before. She’d said she wanted to warn him not to get involved with Miller’s business—she wanted to tell him to walk away.

  “I can’t,” she’d finally said.

  Cam stared at the phone in his hand like it was some kind of live explosive. Finally, he wrote back: Sure. Where?

  You Pick.

  ok. Riverside Park at 103rd-1 hour?

  c u there.

  Cam shook his head and pocketed his phone. He decided to head uptown early. He could get in some practice before she got there.

  He was heading for the door when he remembered to do a T-shirt check.

  Even though he was headed out to run, he didn’t want to smell horrible when he first got there. He grabbed a clean shirt and threw it in his duffel, then headed out to make a pit stop at the Y a few blocks away (his squat was conveniently priced at free, but whoever owned the place hadn’t been thoughtful enough to keep paying the water bill).

  • • •

  Thanks to his decision to shower before getting sweaty, Nikki was already waiting for him in the park when he walked up. She was stretching, using one of the wrought-iron benches to help her balance.

  She didn’t see him yet, so he watched her for a few moments. Her movements were graceful, but she still seemed aware of her surroundings—watchful, maybe even wary. An older man was walking slowly through the park, close to the river, and he watched her eyes follow the man’s progress.

  She lifted her arms above her head in a slow stretch, turned, and spotted Cam. He didn’t know why she’d texted him—what she wanted from him, if anything. He didn’t understand why she was so closed off. But if the sudden smile on her face wasn’t real, Cam didn’t know what in this world was.

  “You’re late,” she told him, but her smile stayed in place.

  “Had to make a pit stop,” he said, closing the distance between them.

  As soon as they stood close together, he felt the tension from their last encounter flare between them. Her smile turned tentative. When he spoke again, his voice didn’t sound as sure as he meant it to. “I was surprised you texted.”

  Nikki’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well, I just thought . . . you said you’d been practicing. I guess I figured we might as well go together.”

  As explanations went, it was pretty noncommittal, but whenever Cam pushed her, even the slightest bit, she seemed to retreat back into her protective shell, like a spooked turtle. So he took one step away from her, stretching his arms, and steered the conversation back to a neutral topic. “So I think I’m pretty good on tic-tacs, kong vaults, and dash vaults. Any idea what I should tackle next?”

  “Have you tried a palm spin?”

  Cam shook his head. “I haven’t seen that one.”

  “Well, you’ve seen Tate do it, for sure—he’s, like, obsessed with them. But he mixes them in with lots of other moves, so you might not have noticed. It takes a lot of core strength, so not everyone can do it. Jax can’t. But you said you used to do martial arts, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I can probably do it. Show me.”

  “Okay, first we need a low wall. Any of those around?”

  “Couple blocks up, there’s a wall around a bunch of playground equipment.”

  It was Nikki’s turn to nod. “Okay, let’s head up there. Just shout when we get to the spot.” She took off at a run, safety-vaulting over a line of benches. Cam shook his head, smiling. It wasn’t exactly easy to keep up with Nikki. Which was maybe the thing he liked best about her. He followed her lead, clearing each bench and picking up speed until they hit one where a woman was sitting, reading a book.

  “Down here!” Cam yelled, spotting the little playground close to the water.

  Nikki slowed her momentum and ran up beside him.

  She put her left hand on the low wall in front of her. “So you’re left-handed, which means you want to start with your right hand.”

  So she’d noticed he was a lefty. He forced himself to tune back in to her tutorial.

  “Hey, is your cut healed enough to try this? I almost forgot.”

  Cam’s breath caught for a second. He met her eyes and said,
“Yeah. It’s healing fine.”

  Nikki stared back for a few seconds before continuing. “Okay. So you put your weaker hand on the wall, fingers away from you. Then put your other hand on the edge, like this. Your thumb and palm go on the wall, your fingertips pointing back to you. See?”

  Cam nodded, but she was already grabbing his right hand and dragging it over to the wall. She moved his left hand and positioned it the way she’d described. “Good. Now you jump—both feet. Use your right hand to push off the wall. Push yourself around, and land back on the same side where you started. When you do it for real, you’ll approach the wall at a pretty fast run.”

  “I think I have seen Tate do this, actually.”

  “You wanna try?”

  He just smiled.

  She gave him a considering look. “Yeah, I didn’t expect you to wimp out. Okay, back up, get some speed—now go!”

  He took off, followed her directions, and executed the move—he suspected he’d done it perfectly. Cam stepped back. Based on Nikki’s expression, he knew he was right. “Nice,” she said, finally. “It took me like ten tries to even get the whole rotation.”

  Cam grinned. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner. Or maybe you’re just a good teacher.”

  She smiled shyly. “No. I just have to learn all the moves this way—break them up into each little part . . . and someone has to explain them to me. You could probably have watched Tate do it full speed and then just copied him. I’ve seen you do that already with some other moves.”

  “Oh, have you?” he asked, stepping closer to her. “So you’ve been paying attention to my moves?” he added in a lower tone.

  She laughed, but it sounded a little fake. She reached up and put a hand on his chest, lightly pushing him away from her. “Try it again. Maybe it was beginner’s luck.”

  “Doubt it,” Cam said, and backed up to go again. He did it once more. Perfectly, just like the first time. Then he moved back, ran up to the wall to go again. He slapped his hand down, started to jump, then let out a howl of pain and dropped to the ground. He lay there on his back, moaning.