“Yeah. Why would you want to go back there, where they might be waiting for you? Especially after you warned us not to go there?” Alex chimed in.
Rinteau looked at Alex and smiled. He stood and walked toward the cell door.
“The Galleria is where I hang out. I said you should stay away, I didn’t say anything about myself. I can handle Booker; you obviously can’t, so that’s why you don’t want to go back there. The next time I might not be there to bail you out,” he said. He put a lot of emphasis on his yous.
Okay. Here’s an important Alex safety tip. Never, ever tell him that he can’t do something, especially not when it comes to physical macho-type stuff like taking on a crazed, knife-wielding gang leader. It will get you off his Christmas-card list quicker than anything. Rinteau might as well have spit in his oatmeal. Alex was embodying a coiled spring again.
“Or maybe you just want to go back there to hook up with your gang buddies and see if you can pull some other scam. That lady is lucky we were there or you would have stolen her money for sure—”
Alex didn’t get a chance to finish what he was saying because Rinteau had sprung the remaining few feet from the door right toward Alex. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know that Mr. Kim is a world-class martial artist. Before Alex could get his fists up, Mr. Kim had caught Rinteau mid-leap with one arm and put his other hand on Alex’s chest.
“Enough!” Mr. Kim said. “Alex, apologize.”
“But—” Alex started.
“Kalyeo!” Mr. Kim said sharply. Uh oh. Mr. Kim was speaking Korean, which meant he was darn serious. Kalyeo means break or stop in Korean. It’s a word we use when sparring in the do jang. Mr. Kim was telling Alex to stand down. Harshly, I might add.
The command got Alex’s attention. He nearly bowed. The training does that to you, even when you’re not in the do jang. His expression turned darkly serious. Alex worshiped Mr. Kim, and he was clearly embarrassed that he’d been reprimanded. But he had enough teenage hormones coursing through his veins that he still wasn’t happy about having to apologize.
“I apologize,” said Alex. He didn’t take his eyes off Rinteau.
“What is your problem with me?” asked Rinteau. “I mean, if it wasn’t for me Booker would have gone all Hulk on your butt, so what’s your deal?”
“I don’t trust you,” said Alex.
“Alex …” I started. But then Rinteau started laughing. Laughing?
“Yeah? Well, so sorry I was too busy saving your hide to earn your trust.”
I noticed then that Rinteau had dimples in both cheeks when he laughed. Dimples! Mr. Kim spoke up.
“Mr. Rinteau, Alex was wrong to question your motives. However, he has apologized and I think it’s best for all of us if you accept his apology and we put this behind us.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Kim,” Rinteau said. “You think he really means it? He seems a little headstrong to me. I mean, if he’s not sincere, I’m not sure I can accept.”
Mr. Kim seemed taken aback. “But I assure—”
Rinteau punched Mr. Kim lightly on the shoulder and winked. “Relax. I was just messing with you. No hard feelings.” He stuck his hand out to Alex. Alex stood there for a moment, but after another glare from Mr. Kim (and me) he quickly shook Rinteau’s hand. At least he didn’t wipe his hand on his shirt afterward.
Alex had a look on his face that I’d never seen before. For some reason he’d taken an instant dislike to Rinteau and I couldn’t figure out why. I’d have to quiz him about that later.
Mr. Kim smiled. “Well then, again, we appreciate your help. May we drive you somewhere?”
Rinteau started getting all twitchy when Mr. Kim asked about driving him somewhere. He fidgeted a little bit and looked around like he was all nervous.
“Nah. Seriously, I’ll walk back to the mall. It’s cool. I hang there a lot. You don’t owe me anything; I’m glad I could help.”
“But surely you must have a home somewhere,” insisted Mr. Kim. “You were released to my custody and I’m afraid it would be irresponsible of me to drop you at the mall, especially since it may not be safe.”
Rinteau started down the steps of the courthouse like he was in a hurry to get somewhere, then stopped and looked back at Mr. Kim.
“Look, I thank you for squaring things with the cops. I really do. But I’m kind of a loner. I like my ‘me time.’ Don’t worry, I can handle Booker. To be truthful, he shouldn’t have been there. He’ll have his hands full once word gets out to some of the other gangs that he was working neutral territory. I doubt he’ll show up again.”
We walked out of the holding area and back through the courthouse, and in a few minutes we were outside. It was getting colder and Rinteau didn’t have a coat. He was still in his Harley-Davidson T-shirt. I looked up at the gray sky and saw that a few snowflakes were starting to fall.
“So, again, thanks for straightening everything out with the cops. See you around.”
With that, he turned and trotted down the steps of the courthouse toward the sidewalk.
“Mr. Kim, you have to do something,” I pleaded with him.
“I know, Rachel,” he said. “But the question is, what can I do? He seems unwilling to accept our help.”
Rinteau turned around and looked at all of us standing on the steps above him. He gave me a little wave. I mean, actually, he might have been waving to the whole group, but I choose to believe that he was waving directly at me: my very own special little wave. Then he disappeared around the corner. I couldn’t help thinking to myself—okay, selfishly, I’ll admit it—that I might never see him again.
Turns out I was way wrong about that.
CHAPTER SIX
Newsflash: Boys Are Jerks!
THE NEXT DAY, we were back at school enjoying a typical Sunday morning breakfast. You would think that the cafeteria in a boarding school would be kind of deserted on a Sunday morning, with most kids sleeping in and taking it easy. If you thought this about Blackthorn Academy, you’d be wrong.
Blackthorn Academy is not like ordinary boarding schools. Students here do not waste away the day with sleep or frivolous activities. Not when Sunday is a perfect day for studying, working out, practicing Tae Kwon Do, and other such pursuits. Here, time is to be consumed and not frittered away. So the cafeteria was full of students like any other morning.
The four of us were sitting at our usual table in the far corner of the room. I was talking about my new favorite topic, Michael Rinteau. Brent and Pilar were pretending to be interested and Alex was taking every opportunity to needle me.
“I wonder what his deal is?” I asked for maybe the fortieth time that morning.
“Oh, for crying out loud, would you just let it go? Stop talking about the guy already. You’re creeping me out. You’re like a stalker or something,” Alex groused.
“I am not like a stalker,” I said. Well, okay. In a way, I sort of was. But, come on, the guy had dimples for heaven’s sake! “Besides, why did you take such an instant dislike to him? I mean, he really helped us out there.”
“Something about him isn’t right,” Alex said. “The whole thing about him showing up in the nick of time was just a little too convenient. I don’t trust him.”
“But you don’t even know him,” I told him.
“Neither do you.”
Leave it to Alex to get everything all tangled up with the facts.
“But I just don’t know why you’re so convinced he’s a bad guy; I mean, if he was, Pilar would be able to tell. She gets those ‘feelings’ about people. Right, Pilar? If he were bad, you’d know, right?”
Pilar looked at the two of us. She kind of had a thing for Alex; they were a couple, sort of. Like most things about this school and the people in it, I hadn’t been able to figure it all out yet. I knew they liked each other but I wasn’t sure yet if they were serious. Still, Pilar looked distressed. She didn’t want to be dragged into another Alex and Rachel fight.
“Umm … Wel
l … Not necessarily,” she said.
“What? What do you mean? You would be able to tell if he was up to no good, wouldn’t you?” I asked.
“No. I mean, I don’t know. Sometimes I get feelings about people. But not always. Usually it’s only when the people themselves are feeling some kind of strong emotion. I get a sense of what they are doing or thinking. But with some people, I don’t get anything at all. Blankenship, for instance—him I totally can’t read. It’s like he’s got some kind of filter on or something. But you, Rach, your emotions are always right at the surface and I can get a real sense of what you’re thinking or feeling most of the time. But I’m not infallible. And I wasn’t around him long enough to get a feel for what he was thinking.” She smiled at Alex. She’d managed to stick up for his point of view without making me feel stupid.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said. “Still, Alex, I think you’re wrong.”
“So what else is new?” he said grumpily, picking up his tray and storming off.
I looked at Brent and Pilar with a “what did I say?” expression on my face, and they both shrugged.
“Well geez-o-pete,” I said. “Why is he so touchy?”
“You don’t understand him at all, Rachel,” Brent said. Brent speaking was an event in itself, almost. In case I didn’t explain it well before, Brent is not a big talker. He notices everything, and is probably one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met—he just isn’t inclined to be verbal. Which is fine with me, because I certainly don’t have a problem in the being verbal area. But when he does say something, it’s usually pretty smart and he knows what he’s talking about. I always end up wishing I’d said it. The other thing I’ve learned about Brent is that there are three things in the world that he values more than anything. One is Mr. Kim; two is building and experimenting with the little gadgets he’s always working on; and the three is Alex Scott. Alex can do no wrong in Brent’s eyes.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“You just don’t get him. He’s still upset for the way he acted at the jail. How Mr. Kim had to reprimand him. You think Tae Kwon Do, something Alex is so passionate about, is just a physical activity, like gym or something. But to Alex, it isn’t just an after-school activity; it’s a way of life. It’s a philosophy that influences and guides everything he does. He feels like he’s embarrassed himself and, more importantly, his Sabum nim, Mr. Kim, and he’s still smarting from it. He is studying to become a warrior, to live by the code of the Hwa Rang Do. And yesterday he lost his cool and broke the code. It’s eating at him.”
I guess I sort of knew this about Alex. I mean, he took this Tae Kwon Do stuff very seriously. He wasn’t cocky about it, just serious. What Brent was telling me was that Alex had a deep respect for his Sabum nim, which is Korean for “revered teacher.” The literal translation of Hwa Rang Do is “way of the flowering knights,” and it was a code that the first Korean Hwa Rang warriors, who invented Tae Kwon Do, followed religiously. It’s sort of the equivalent of the Japanese Bushidō, or the Way of the Samurai. I knew all this because Mr. Kim made us study the history and meaning of Tae Kwon Do in addition to the physical stuff. We also used some of these translations and stories in our patterns and sound offs while training in the do jang. I guess I just never thought about it in this context.
This whole exchange was probably the longest conversation I’d had with Brent since I’d been at the school. It was kind of nice to hear what he had to say about something important to him, even though he was sort of dissing me.
“Really? He’d be that upset because Mr. Kim was stern with him? Everyone loses their cool once in a while. I just don’t see what the big deal is,” I said.
“Because you have a different relationship with him than he has with Mr. Kim. You and Alex argue a lot and he gets mad at you and even loses his temper sometimes. That’s just normal teenager stuff. But to lose his focus like that in front of Mr. Kim bothers him,” Brent said.
“That’s all well and good, but it still doesn’t explain why he’s so down on Rinteau. He doesn’t have any reason to dislike the guy that much,” I said.
Brent shrugged. Back to his normal non-verbal self. Apparently he had no opinion on that subject, at least not one that he was ready to share.
The next day at breakfast, nobody said anything about Rinteau. Alex wolfed down his food and left the three of us sitting there. It was almost time for class, so Pilar and I said goodbye to Brent and headed toward the academic wing. We were almost at the classroom when my watch buzzed gently against my skin. Since all this hoo-ha with Mithras had started, Mr. Kim had given us all special watches that were actually very complex communication devices. They were little cell phones, pagers, wireless transmitters, and GPS locators all in one. And besides all that, they were extremely fashionable!
I glanced around to see if anyone was looking and carefully pushed a little button on the side of the watch. The watch face disappeared and a small high-def screen took its place. It read, “off. 15.” It was Mr. Kim’s top-secret spy code and it meant he wanted to see me in his office in fifteen minutes. He had never summoned me to his office during class time before, so it must have been something very important. I was guessing he probably needed my advice on a new tactical plan to take down Mithras. Or perhaps he was being called upon to completely reorganize the FBI and needed my input. That was probably it.
Pilar said she’d take notes for me, and I excused myself from the room and made the trek to Mr. Kim’s office. In a few minutes, I was knocking on the door. He yelled for me to come in. Mrs. Marquardt, Mr. Kim’s creepy assistant, had the door to her office standing open. It was directly across the hall from Mr. Kim’s so she could see me knocking. I glanced at her before opening his door and she gave me one of her weird, freaky quasi-evil looks. I’ll admit it; the lady gave me the willies.
Mr. Kim sat at his desk, which had a single manila file folder on it. Ordinarily, his desk was completely free of any objects. No pens or papers or a nice desk blotter, just a big old mahogany desk with nothing on it. Not even anything in the drawers. I know this because I once searched through Mr. Kim’s desk looking for clues to his whereabouts and discovered his secret aversion to office supplies. Well, I don’t know if empty desk drawers constitute an aversion, exactly, but it did seem pretty weird.
His back was to me and he was staring out of his office window. Before he turned to face me, I snuck a quick look at the file folder. There was a little label on the tab and my pulse quickened when I saw the words Rinteau, Michael. What was up with that?
Mr. Kim swiveled to face me and he smiled. He pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk and I sat down.
“Thank you for being so prompt, Rachel,” he said. “How are you today?”
“Fine, I guess.” Okay, this was weird. I was sure Mr. Kim didn’t want to indulge in idle chitchat about my state of mind.
“You’ve been sleeping well? Getting enough rest? How are your classes? Not too difficult I hope?”
“What’s up with Michael Rinteau?” I asked. Mr. Kim blinked in surprise, then smiled as I pointed to the file folder.
“I’m pretty good at reading upside down,” I explained.
“Ah. Yes. Well, once again, you’ve shown me your resourcefulness.” Why was he trying to butter me up? He left the folder lying right out in plain sight. I’m fairly certain he meant for me to see it. It was another one of his little tests. He was trying to see how observant I was being. Or not being.
Mr. Kim pushed the folder across the desk with his index finger and gestured for me to pick it up.
“Have a look,” he said.
I opened the folder and found that there wasn’t much there, just a copy of the police report from the Philadelphia PD about the incident at the mall, and a two-page copy of Rinteau’s police record. Nothing else.
“I’m officially lost. What are you asking me?” I said, looking at him with a quizzical expression.
“Mr. Rinteau has been
on my mind since Saturday. I’ve been thinking about how he managed to resolve your situation with the gang and also how he left us so abruptly at the police station. I worry he may be in trouble if this Booker person is looking for revenge, even though he tried to downplay the fact that he might be in any danger. I asked my friends in the Philadelphia PD to keep an eye on the mall and to keep a watch on Booker.”
“That’s good.” And it was. But what did that have to do with me? I was missing valuable time in languages class and this week we were working on a Serbian unit. Trust me, Serbian is not easy.
“Yes,” said Mr. Kim. “But what else do you notice in the file about Mr. Rinteau?”
I opened the file again and studied his record. Loitering. Disturbing the Peace. Truancy. The guy was handsome and dangerous!
“It looks like maybe he has a few issues,” I said.
“Really? I found the report to be most interesting for what isn’t in it. No permanent address. No listing for family or parents. No record of schools attended. Mr. Rinteau seems to be something of a mystery. According to the police report, on his first arrest, he claimed to be from New York City, but did not give an address. Nor did he reveal any information about his current address or family. Strange. Very strange.”
Now that he mentioned it, looking at all the paperwork more closely, it did seem a little odd. Mysterious, in addition to dangerous and hot. I felt myself flush.
“Maybe he’s a runaway. And when he got pinched by the cops he didn’t want to tell them who he was or where he was from because he didn’t want to go home. Or he’s in witness protection or something, because he witnessed a mob hit and had to take on a new identity,” I said. This was kind of fun! I was coming up with all kinds of cool stories to explain his mysteriousness.
Mr. Kim just stared at me before letting out a long sigh. I think I wear him out sometimes. I do tend to joke a lot. It’s kind of my thing. It’s a coping mechanism. An annoying coping mechanism, sometimes, that tends to exasperate people. But it works for me.
The Spy Who Totally Had a Crush on Me Page 4
