Or the Girl Dies

by Rachel Rust

  Yep, it was the shoes. Nothing but the shoes.

  Chapter Ten

  The phone rang three times before Josh finally answered. Despite it being midnight, he sounded wide awake, which didn’t surprise me.

  “Are you at home?” I asked him as Victor cranked the heat in the Trans Am.

  “No,” Josh said. “Why?—Wait, if you’re asking, does that mean you’re not at home either? It’s a school night, ya know.”

  “I know; it’s a long story. Where are you?”

  “Kyle’s.”

  “Are you going to be there for a while? I really need to talk to you.”

  There was a pause.

  “Okay,” Josh said. “Are you all right?”

  I glanced over at Victor who was lighting a cigarette. “I’m fine. I have to run home first, then I’ll be over. Don’t leave before I get there.” After ending the call with Josh, I scanned Victor head to toe. Sneakers, jeans, a ratty t-shirt. Nothing inherently wrong, but not quite right either.

  He exhaled smoke from his nose. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

  “We need to go to my house. You need different clothes.”

  He grunted a single laugh. “No.”

  I curled my lip. “Paybacks are a bitch. You can’t go looking like you’ve been hanging at Little Bobby’s when you go to Kyle Fitzpatrick’s house.”

  “Kyle Fitzpatrick? You think I’m gonna go to that prick’s house?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He took a drag. “What the hell for?”

  “Because my brother’s there and if anyone knows who’s selling pot at school, it’s him.”

  Victor started up his car. “Fine, we’ll make a quick stop, but if he doesn’t have any info, we’re leaving. I don’t have time to waste on—”

  “Rich kids who think they’re badass because they smoke pot?”

  “Exactly.” Victor peeled out of his parking spot and sped down the hill, through the tight, steep residential streets.

  My house was dark when we pulled up. Victor parked in the same spot behind the garage. “Aren’t your parents home?” he asked.

  “My dad’s out of town for business. My mom’s out of town for good.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I walked him to the back door. “She left a long time ago. Then came Delilah.”

  “Almost forgot about her.”

  “Wish I could.”

  Victor grabbed my hand before I could switch on the first set of light switches. “No lights,” he said.

  “If The Barber’s people are watching the house, they would’ve seen us pull up in the driveway. They already know we’re here.”

  “Yeah, but they’re only keeping tabs on us at this point,” he said, still with a grip on my hand. “They don’t need to see into the house, they don’t need to know what we’re doing. Keep it dark, let them think we’re…”

  “We’re what?” I asked. “Maybe they’ll assume you’re taking me for a, what did you call it? A test drive?”

  Victor averted his eyes, unable to look at me. He had no good response, but that was exactly what he had meant. Little Bobby and his people saw me as nothing but an object. Goods and services to be paid for and rendered.

  “It’s disgusting,” I said. “The way they treat people like sub-human products. Like those girls on Little Bobby’s sofa. He doesn’t see them as people. Just things to be bought and sold and used. It’s not right.”

  “I agree,” Victor said. “And I’ve never been a part of any of that shit. Like I said, I was just selling pills. I never wanted to get wrapped up in anything else.”

  “But you did get wrapped up into it, because you let yourself associate with those people.”

  He nodded and looked down.

  “But you’re a better person than them,” I said. “I know you are, and it’s good that you’re trying to get out.”

  His gaze stayed on the floor, a sign maybe that he didn’t totally agree with my opinion of him. But I knew Victor didn’t see me the way Little Bobby or Ramon had. Even when he was being an asshole, there was an underlying respect. Despite everything that had gone down already, I trusted Victor. If not for him, I’d have been rocking leopard print pants by now.

  I nudged his forearm with my own and our fingers brushed one another’s. “Come on.” I went up the stairs and Victor sauntered up behind me.

  In my bedroom, I traded the dress and heels for my original jeans, t-shirt, and Converse. After stuffing my phone and wallet into my pocket, I pulled my still-slightly-bouffant hair back into a messy bun. Relief washed over me—back to my old self. Or at least I looked like my old self on the outside. But on the inside, I knew I’d never be back to my old self. My old self who didn’t know about the fat drug-trafficking pimp who lived right in her own town. My old self who had never before been in true danger. My old self who had only ever been worried about her grades and academic future, unaware that with all the danger and evil in the world, a future of any kind was never a guarantee.

  Back out in the dark hallway, Victor’s outline could barely be made in the low light.

  “Come with me,” I said. He followed me into the bathroom. I handed him a towel and nodded to the shower. “You need to wash your hair.”

  He laughed and handed back the towel.

  “I’m serious,” I said. “I’m going to be totally blunt with you…your hair’s a mess and you reek like cigarettes. Josh and his friends are snobs and probably don’t like you. And Josh is really not going to like the sight of you with his sister. You have to clean up as best as possible if there’s any hope of him trusting you enough to tell you anything. So take a shower, wash your hair, and I’ll find you a nice shirt to wear.”

  “It’s after midnight, I don’t think anyone’s gonna give a shit what my hair looks like.”

  “My brother and his friends will. Rich kids who smoke pot are as judgmental and entitled as they come. But you already know that.”

  Victor pursed a smile and grabbed the towel back. “Hey,” he said before I walked out of the bathroom. “Did Josh tell you what happened between him and me earlier this year?”

  My eyebrows crinkled. “No, what happened?”

  “Josh and Kyle got up in my face one day after school, started talking shit to me,” Victor said. “Josh pushed me, so I pushed him and he fell and twisted his ankle in the process.”

  A single laugh burst out of me. “He said he hurt his ankle jumping out of a girl’s window because her dad came home.”

  Victor smiled. “Well, that’s a better story, but it was me, not a window or an angry dad.” He glanced down at the towel. “So I’ll take a shower and wear whatever shirt you want me to wear, but temper your expectations because there’s a good chance Josh won’t tell me a damn thing.”

  “It’s worth a try,” I said, then walked out and shut the door. I went into Josh’s room, knowing exactly what Victor needed—Josh’s blue v-neck that I had bought him for Christmas. A perfect combination of maturity and youth, or at least that’s what the sales guy said when I had bought it. Josh had youth in spades, but it was the maturity I had been after. If only a cotton-blend could have magically made it so, because when Josh had put on the shirt for the first time, he promptly raised the bottom hem and took a photo of his abs, which he then sent to a bunch of girls—including Sophia. She pretended to be offended for my sake, but I was pretty sure that picture was still in her phone.

  The hallway was nearly black as I sat down, head leaned back on the wall, torn between listening for an intruder and listening to the water of the shower running. Victor was in there with the water. Victor with no clothes. My palms pressed up against my eyes in an attempt to rid them of the mental images. It didn’t work. Not even a little bit.

  The water stopped. I waited a few minutes then hopped up and tapped on the bathroom door. “Victor?”

  The door opened and my eyes immediately went to the floor, and the wall, and the cei
ling and my feet—anywhere but to Victor’s naked chest right in front of me.

  “Here,” I said, holding out the blue shirt. He threw it over his head and in the two seconds of time that the shirt covered his eyes, I let my own canvas his chest. From the pecs down to the trail of dark hair disappearing into the waist of his low slung jeans.

  “There,” he said, adjusting the bottom hem of the shirt against his jeans. “It fits. Let’s go.”

  It most definitely fit. The material. The youth. The maturity. It was as if the shirt existed for him, not Josh. My eyes traced up his chest and shoulders, then they studied his face. It was all good, until I spotted his wet, meek hair.

  “Sit,” I said, pointing to the small stool in front of the mirror.

  “Why?”

  “Listen, buddy, I wore red stilettos for three hours for you, and now you’re going to sit your ass on that stool for fifteen minutes for me. Capiche?”

  He held his hands up in a mock surrender position and sat down with a grimace on his face. First came the blow dryer and the commencement of Victor’s eye-rolling marathon. Then came a vat of sculpting mud that Josh hardly ever used. Victor glared at me in the mirror—and that was before the gunk even touched his hair.

  I liked his hair. It was thick, slightly coarse, and had a bit of a wave to it. It tickled the sensitive skin between my fingers. I tried to remember what Brody’s tussled hair looked like, trying to shape Victor’s in the same way, but Victor’s hair was different. More vibrant than Brody’s. In fact, compared to Victor, the memories of Brody’s hair seemed flat.

  I spiked a few more pieces. “What do you think?”

  He made a face. “It’s boy band hair.”

  “Then it’s perfect for where we’re going.”

  He raised both hands and pushed the volume of his hair down a bit. I grabbed his wrist with the 22 tattoo.

  “What does twenty-two mean?” I asked.

  He pulled his hand away. “Nothing.”

  “People don’t get tattoos of numbers that don’t mean anything. So what does it mean? Have you been arrested twenty-two times?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been arrested?”

  Victor paused. “Next question.”

  “Okay,” I said with a laugh. “Are you twenty-two years old?”

  “Eighteen. And I’ve never been held back in school either.” He grinned at me in the mirror. “I know the rumors about me.”

  I decided to ignore the rumors conversation, knowing damn well that I had most likely played a role in perpetuating some of them at one time or another. “Do you have twenty-two kids?” I asked flippantly.

  He chuckled. “God, no.”

  A laugh came out of me, then abruptly stopped. “Do you have any kids?” I knew almost nothing about Victor’s past, but finding out he had a kid wouldn’t have surprised me in the least. Wherever he had spent his eighteen years, and whatever he had done in those years, it seemed likely that he had been around the dating block a few times. And who knew how many girls had woken up alongside him in mornings past—girls I wanted to punch in the face even though they existed only in my mind.

  Victor stood up and grabbed his old t-shirt off the counter, flinging it over his shoulder. “No kids.”

  “Twenty-two cats?”

  He laughed. “No pets either. Any more guesses, Inquisitive One?”

  I glanced at the tattoo again. “I can’t think of anything else, but I’m going to figure it out.”

  His lip curled. “You do that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Kyle lived only three blocks from my house. Victor pulled up along the curb, behind Josh’s purple monstrosity of a car. There were a bunch of other cars in the driveway—Kyle’s Lexus, a black BMW sedan, a red sports car of some kind, and a black Camaro. Other than the Lexus, I had no idea who the other cars belonged to, but it looked like a convention of snobs.

  Victor turned off his engine, then placed a hand on my arm to keep me from opening my door.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Someone followed us here.”

  Dread ran up my spine. “You really need to stop saying things like that.”

  Victor’s eyes were on the rearview mirror. “Half a block behind us, someone just made a U-turn and drove away, headlights off.”

  “The Barber’s people?”

  “Most likely. But, like I said, they’re probably just keeping tabs on us.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I can’t, but there’s only one way to find out.” He opened his car door and got out.

  I followed suit, commanding my eyes not to look down the block. I didn’t want to catch a glimpse of the enigmatic car driving away. Nightmares for days, that’s what that was.

  Kyle’s house was two stories with a double front door. I knocked louder than necessary. “Let me talk first,” I said. “Kyle’s an ass even to people he likes.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  The door opened and Kyle stood in front of us wearing a maroon ball cap. Similar to the hat that had produced mine and Victor’s names less than a week ago. “Sophia’s not here,” he said. “She left about an hour ago.”

  “I’m not here to see Sophia. I need to talk to Josh.”

  Kyle’s eyes swept over to Victor and he sneered. “I see you brought…company.”

  Time ticked by as he and Victor stared at one another in silence. I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms, and sighed loudly—anything to slice through the thick aura of machismo building in the space between them. Testosterone walked a fine line between totally hot and totally exasperating.

  Kyle stepped back and held the door open for us to walk inside. The front foyer was nearly the size of my living room with a curved dark-wood staircase and white-tiled flooring. The visual of the clean, magazine-worthy foyer didn’t harmonize with the overpowering smell of marijuana, which seemed to emanate not from the air, but from the structure itself. It made me wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick ever engaged in their own personal botany research. Their son certainly did.

  Kyle led us to the back of the house where there was a large rec room, complete with a huge TV, a stone fireplace, a pool table, and a bunch of guys.

  Including Brody Zane.

  I nearly lost my cheeseburger at the sight of him. He stood up at the sight of me and watched me cross the room. My stomach twisted with regret. Despite the excitement of the evening and Victor’s bare chest, which had burned into my brain, I should’ve said yes to Brody’s coffee date. It would have been the safe choice. The smart choice. Screw my government grade. Screw Columbia. My life was on the brink of disaster because I chose Victor over Brody. I chose getting an A on my paper over kissing the boy I had been madly in love with since ninth grade.

  I was fucking stupid.

  Brody smiled as I approached, a wide smile which lit up his blue eyes. “Hey, Natalie,” he said. He stepped closer and whispered, “Please tell me you’re not still working on your assignment at almost one in the morning.”

  Still working on it? We hadn’t even started.

  “Yeah, we are,” I said.

  Brody’s eyebrows shot up. “Screw him,” he whispered, giving Victor a nasty glance. “Go home and go to sleep. Tell Mr. Kellen tomorrow that Greer didn’t hold up his end of the bargain. I’m sure he’ll give you a good grade just for your portion.”

  Before I could answer, Josh came out of a nearby bathroom. “What the hell?” he asked, staring from me to Victor then back to me again. “Natalie, what’s going on?”

  “Victor and I have a class assignment together,” I explained, sort of. “And I really need to talk to you.”

  “All right,” Josh said, not taking his eyes off Victor. He led me to a back patio door, then turned to Victor who was right behind me. “Wait here.”

  “No, he’s coming with us,” I said. “This involves him, too.”

  Josh didn’t reply. He gave me a look that was a mesh between concerned and liv
id, looking way too much like our dad. The three of us stepped outside and Josh shut the door behind us. On the other side of the glass, Kyle stood, arms crossed, watching Victor intently, as Brody stared at me, probably slightly pissed that his would-be date of the evening had spent the entire evening with Victor Greer.

  I gave Josh an abbreviated version of the night’s events, leaving out me being sold to a fat man, getting drunk off wine, and being alone in a dark house with a half-naked, freshly-showered Victor. Josh had a tendency to go into dad-mode whenever he felt I was being careless, always reminding me that he was thirteen minutes older. Josh the Wise Elder.

  Josh held his hands palm up. “I don’t know who sells weed at Kennedy. Kyle buys for me and I pay him back. I’m not stupid enough to conduct that kind of business at school.”

  “What’s the name of the guy Kyle buys from?” I asked.

  “I don’t know and I don’t wanna know.” He smirked. “Plausible deniability.”

  Victor sneered. “Good luck with that one. Trust me, it doesn’t work.” Josh looked at him, scanning him head to toe, pausing slightly mid-chest, probably wondering how it was possible that they owned the same shirt. Victor asked, “Has Kyle said anything about anyone new trying to sell to him? Has the guy he buys from complained about anyone new moving in on his territory?”

  Josh stared long and hard at him before finally gracing him with an answer. “No.”

  “Think, Josh, please,” I said. “Have you heard anything at school about who’s selling or where they’re getting it?”

  Josh sighed, running his hands through his flat hair, which definitely did not have any sculpting mud in it. “I don’t know, a guy at school mentioned something last week about trying some new stuff. Could mean he has a new dealer. Said he got it down at McNally’s.”

  “What’s McNally’s?” Victor asked.

  “An old mechanic shop south of town,” Josh said. “Been abandoned for years.”

  “Abandoned?” I said, looking over at Victor. His clenched jaw confirmed my own thoughts—an abandoned building would be a great place to hide a kid. “We have to go there.”