Out of Control

by Sarah Alderson

  But Jay shrugs me off and walks inside. I hover in the doorway on the balls of my feet, glancing once over my shoulder back down the stairwell, before I push my instinct down and follow him inside, bringing the gun up to shoulder height.

  The apartment is eerily silent. I can just hear the sound of a TV in an adjacent apartment blasting a Spanish soap opera through the walls and, somewhere in the distance, on the street below, the sound of rap music thumping.

  The kitchen is tidy but a glass of water sits on the table and there’s a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast sitting on the side. We edge along the hallway towards a small living room. I take in the religious pictures on the wall and the gilt-framed photographs of three dark-haired, smiling children at various ages and breathe out a sigh of relief that there are no signs of a struggle. And no body either.

  When I turn around Jay has vanished. I head back into the hallway, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I can’t shake the sense I’m being watched, but that could just be the doleful eyes of Jesus on the wall. Jay walks out of one of the rooms off the hallway.

  ‘She’s not here,’ he says.

  ‘Why was the front door open?’ I ask in a whisper.

  Just then we hear a creak and both of us fall silent. My stomach clenches and I grab Jay’s arm. With a finger to his lips, Jay gestures behind the living-room door and as silently as possible we ease ourselves behind it, sucking in our stomachs to fit. He positions himself in front of me, so my cheek is pressed against his shoulder blade.

  A footstep, heavy and slow, heads in our direction. I close my eyes and lift the gun, my palms sweating, my heart slamming against my ribs. I try to picture Felix beside me, coaching me, telling me to brace, to check the safety, to take aim.

  Someone stops behind the door. I can feel Jay in front of me, so tense he’s practically vibrating. He’s holding his gun by his shoulder, like I’m holding mine. Neither of us dares take a breath. Whoever is on the other side of the door isn’t moving. Do they know we’re here?

  Shit. I glance at Jay and he glances at me. The meaning in both our eyes is clear. We can’t just stand here. I nod. He nods back and then we both leap from behind the door, guns aimed.

  It’s only down to sheer luck that we don’t fire ten bullets through the woman standing there. I smack Jay’s shooting arm down even as he smacks down mine, yelling, ‘Don’t shoot!’

  The lady standing in front of us – a tall, robust woman in her seventies, with greying cornrows, wearing a floral summer dress and big woollen slippers that at first glance look like bedraggled cats – lets out a scream. Her hand flies to her chest. ‘Dear Lord! Mary, mother of Jesus! Don’t you dare be shooting me.’

  ‘Mrs Francis?’

  Jay runs to her side and puts his hand on her arm, guiding her towards one of the sofas. She collapses into it, fanning herself, still clutching a hand to her heart. I’m fairly sure that however hard her heart is beating, my heart is beating fifty times harder.

  ‘You almost killed me,’ she screeches. ‘What you trying to do? Give an old lady a heart attack? What you doing with a gun?’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Francis. Sorry,’ says Jay, kneeling at her side, ‘I’m looking for my mom.’ He glances at me. ‘She’s a neighbour,’ he explains, before turning back to the woman. ‘Have you seen her?’

  Mrs Francis straightens up, pulling her dress tighter at the throat. ‘Sure I seen her,’ she says. ‘She went off this morning with those two police.’

  ‘Police?’ Jay interrupts, undisguised terror in his voice. ‘Mrs Francis, what do you mean, police?’

  ‘Of course,’ she says, ignoring him, ‘I was thinking it was Teo. What with the crowd he’s running with these days.’

  The tendons in Jay’s neck are stretched so taut they look like they might be about to snap, but Mrs Francis seems oblivious. ‘And now I see it’s you she’s got to be worried about, as well as him. And you being the one boy your mama’s always so proud of.’ She shakes her head at the gun still in his hand, her lips pursing in disgust. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘Mrs Francis, what about the police?’ I interrupt, before Jay loses the plot completely.

  ‘It’s none of my business of course,’ Mrs Francis says, her eyes landing on me and narrowing like pincers. ‘I was just going about my day but they were so noisy, bang bang banging away on the door to get Lucia to open it.’

  ‘What did they look like? This is important,’ Jay asks through gritted teeth. ‘Do you remember?’

  ‘It was two police.’ She says it po-leece, and at the same time her nose wrinkles. She’s clearly no fan either of the men in blue. ‘They took her with them this morning.’

  ‘What did they look like?’ I repeat, almost about ready to start threatening her with the gun if she doesn’t hurry up and tell us.

  Mrs Francis gives me a look that would knock a man dead at fifty paces. But, after the day I’ve had, I’m hardened. I just smile sweetly back, trying not to bare my teeth.

  ‘There were two of them, like I said,’ she says. ‘A man and a woman.’

  My gut tightens. ‘A woman?’

  ‘Mmm-hmmm,’ Mrs Francis says. ‘Not that I was listening, mind, but they was talking so loud you could have heard them all the way over in Jersey. She said she was an agent. Looked like that Jennifer Lopez girl. Pretty. About thirty. And the other was a black man. Handsome as Sydney Poitier.’

  Jay’s staring at me.

  ‘It’s her,’ I say. ‘It sounds like Agent Kassel. The woman who tried to get me into the car. And Agent Parker. The guy who was driving.’

  Jay’s brow furrows in confusion.

  ‘My mom went with them?’ Jay asks, turning back to Mrs Francis.

  ‘Mmmm-hmmmmm, yes she did.’ Mrs Francis nods.

  ‘And they didn’t force her?’

  ‘Nope, she went placid as a lamb.’

  To the slaughter? The thought pops into my head before I can stop it.

  ‘And then about an hour later those other police came knocking,’ Mrs Francis adds, turning her steely eyes on Jay.

  ‘What other police?’ Jay and I both ask at the same time.

  ‘Two men in real police uniforms showed up – not plainclothes like the others – and let themselves in. I spied on them through my little peephole. Them two police, they went in, had a look around, left. I was just coming by now, because I saw they left the door hanging wide open. And I wanted to see if that good-for-nothing brother of yours was home.’

  ‘Did one of them have blond hair and blue eyes?’ I ask, gripping Jay by the shoulder.

  Mrs Francis sucks her teeth loudly. ‘Yes, that’s right. He turned in the hallway, looked right at my door. I swear it was like looking the devil right in the eye. I’ll remember that face until the day I die.’

  24

  We stumble out of the apartment, ushering Mrs Francis ahead of us. My mind is whirring, frantically trying to process everything. Nothing is making any sense and I can tell from Jay’s brooding silence that he can’t make sense of it either but that he’s assuming the worst. I want to take his hand, tell him it’s going to be OK and that we’ll figure it out, but we’re both holding guns and Mrs Francis is staring at us like we’ve got horns growing out of our heads.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ I tell Jay. ‘You never know, they may come back. They might be watching the place.’

  Jay barely responds. He looks utterly defeated, so I grab him by the arm and start yanking him down the stairs. Mrs Francis stands at the top, holding on to the banister, making that sucking noise through her teeth and muttering something about the youth of today.

  Halfway down the stairs I think to ask Jay whether he wants to get anything while we’re here – clothes or money – but he just shakes his head dumbly at me.

  I lead him back into the basement and find a dark, dusty corner that stinks of mildew. I pull up two old boxes and Jay slumps down on to one.

  ‘Who do you think they
are?’ he asks in a voice that makes me want to lean across the darkness and take his hand.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions. At least it wasn’t the others. If they’d got there first, well . . .’ I break off. I don’t need to spell it out to him, he’s already seen what would have happened.

  ‘What if those agents – Agent Kassel and the other one – were sent by your dad? You ever think of that?’ Jay asks. ‘What if you were wrong and your instinct was off? I mean who else could they be? They knew your name. They turned up on the street corner you told your dad you’d be waiting at.’

  ‘They pulled a gun on me.’

  ‘Yeah, there is that,’ Jay admits, frowning at the ground.

  ‘Look, I’m still wondering about them too,’ I admit. I mean, while she did try to force me into the car at gunpoint, they did also come to my rescue and ram that cop’s car.

  ‘She said she was an agent. What does that mean? Are they FBI, do you think?’ Jay asks.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But why would they come here?’ Jay asks. ‘To where I live?’

  ‘They must have figured out that we were together – maybe from the phone call you made from my dad’s or maybe they have CCTV footage from the police station? Who knows.’

  ‘But what would they want with my mom?’

  I shake my head. Nothing makes sense and sitting here in the dark is only making me feel more lost and confused. I have a sudden urge to be outside, to be back on the High Line again in the sunlight, licking ice-pops, lying next to Jay, not having to think about any of this or deal with any of it. Jay’s mother is in trouble because of me. I don’t know what to say so I turn away, my hands fisting. I feel like punching the wire cage in front of me.

  ‘And what about Teo?’

  ‘What about him?’ I ask, turning around but unable to look Jay in the eye.

  ‘Where is he?’ Jay continues. ‘He’s usually at home most the day. He never gets up before noon.’

  ‘Why don’t you try calling him?’ I suggest.

  Jay already has his phone in his hand and is tapping in the number. The light from the handset illuminates his face, throwing a ghostly pall over his features. He stands up and starts pacing and I watch, wishing there was something I could do and feeling like I want to throw my head back and howl. My insides are frayed and my emotions swinging all over the place. I’m the one who got Jay messed up in all this and now his mum has disappeared and his brother’s God knows where. I stare at the gun in my hand. How the hell did I get here? And more to the point, how do we fix it? I don’t know what to do any more. I wish Felix was here to tell me.

  Jay hangs up, slamming the phone into his palm. ‘No answer,’ he says.

  Just then I have an idea. It’s a stupid one but it might be worth trying. ‘Give it here,’ I say, holding my hand out. Jay passes me the phone.

  I switch it to internet mode and type in FBI Bureau New York and then hit the switchboard number. After a few seconds the phone connects and it starts ringing.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Jay asks.

  ‘The FBI,’ I say.

  ‘What?’ he asks, jumping up from his box.

  Just then the operator picks up.

  ‘I need to talk to Agent Kassel,’ I hear myself say.

  There’s a silence on the other end before I hear, ‘Just putting you through.’

  My heart dives to the bottom of my chest and stays there. I hadn’t actually expected that to be the response. I thought that I’d get a I’m sorry we don’t have anyone of that name working here. Not that it’s necessarily the same agent, I tell myself as I wait on hold to be transferred. I mean there might be someone else called Kassel who works for FBI. It’s possible.

  A man picks up – gruff, tired-sounding. ‘COU,’ he says.

  ‘Um, I’m looking for Agent Kassel,’ I say.

  ‘She’s not in the office. Can I help?’ the man asks, and maybe I’m imagining it but he suddenly seems to sound less tired and way more alert.

  ‘Um . . .’ I say, thinking on my feet. ‘How about Agent Parker?’

  ‘He’s not here either.’

  My heart’s now beating a hundred times a minute. Jay’s crouched beside me, one hand gripping my knee, his head pressed against mine, trying to listen in on the conversation.

  ‘What’s COU stand for?’ I ask, my mouth suddenly drier than the desert.

  ‘Criminal Organisation Unit,’ the man says, then, ‘Can I help at all?’

  ‘No, no, it’s OK,’ I stammer and then I hang up. With a shaking hand I break the phone apart and slide out the SIM, then crush it beneath my heel.

  Jay stares at me in the gloom. ‘I thought your dad worked for a gang task force.’

  ‘Yeah, he does.’

  There’s a long silence, and then he says, ‘Now I’m confused.’

  ‘Me too,’ I tell him. ‘He said it was the Criminal Organisation Unit.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You think they have my mom?’ he asks me, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

  ‘Yeah, I’m guessing.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say again, feeling even more helpless and lost than I did a few minutes ago. Knowing that they are FBI makes me feel better – but then again, does that mean I can trust them?

  ‘Maybe it’s for her own protection,’ I tell Jay, not wanting to worry him. ‘Maybe they knew those guys would come here looking for you or me and so they took her into protective custody?’ It certainly makes sense as hypotheses go and Jay seems to brighten at the thought. But if they’re FBI agents why’d they pull a gun on me? And what were they doing there in the first place?

  ‘We could go there,’ I say, my gut lurching even as I say it because it’s the last thing I want to do. ‘If you wanted. We could find out for sure.’

  Jay shakes his head, grim-faced. ‘I can’t go. Besides I need to find Teo. And I promised you I’d stick with you until you got back to your dad.’

  Of course, Jay’s still a wanted man. I rub my eyes. What do we do? I don’t want to leave him. And I don’t trust the police, or necessarily the FBI either. Felix and my dad always said that there was more corruption and more criminals inside the police force and government institutions than there was on the outside – it’s part of the reason the task force my dad works on is made up mainly of civilian and NGO experts. And even if we could trust them, it’s not like they can even protect us from these people who are after me. An entire police department couldn’t keep me safe.

  I look up at Jay. His eyes glimmer in the darkness as he waits for me to answer. Trust is as rare as unicorn horns, but I’ve found it. I haven’t trusted anyone in a long time, but I trust Jay.

  We’ve been doing fine on our own so far, I decide. We can last until morning, until I meet up with my dad. And then he can get us all the answers we need. And, more to the point, he can protect Jay.

  ‘OK,’ I say, standing up. ‘We stick together. We try to find Teo. And then tomorrow we meet my dad and let him take it from there.’

  25

  I pull down the Yankees cap that I just bought from a guy selling fake Chanel handbags and baseball paraphernalia from a stall on the street and glance over my shoulder. I don’t like this. Nerves take a hold of me and my teeth start chattering. I realise that I’m feeling this way because I’m suddenly on my own. There’s no Jay by my side, shooting me that easy grin, or relaxing me with a sarcastic comment.

  I take a deep, steadying breath and keep walking. I can see the place up ahead; the neon sign – a pair of flashing scissors – is obvious as signs go. Darting another glance over my shoulder, I hope that Jay is OK and that he’s staying well hidden. We figured that it was too dangerous letting him show his face. So he’s hiding behind a dumpster down an alleyway a few blocks back.

  I push open the door to the hair salon and the noise of gabbling women, c
licking scissors and Jessie J’s vocals blast me. The women instantly stop talking. There are three women having their hair and nails done at a row of chairs facing along one wall. They all lift their eyes and stare at me over the tops of magazines, gazes flickering head to toe, taking in my scabby knees, beat-up Toms and messy hair.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  A woman with a really bad perm and red-painted talons stands eyeing me from her position in the centre of the salon. She’s holding a hairdryer in one hand and a brush in the other. People let this woman loose on their hair? For a moment I lose track of why I’m there as I catch sight of the frazzled bleached mop atop the woman she’s currently working on.

  ‘Um,’ I say, wishing that I could speak Spanish, or that I looked a little more like I belonged in this part of town. ‘I was wondering if Marisa was available.’

  ‘What? You want a manicure?’ the woman says, scrunching her nose at me in suspicion. Her hand goes to her hip as she takes in my appearance. Admittedly I don’t look like someone who goes to nail bars regularly, and my hair, stuffed under the cap, doesn’t look like it’s seen sight of a brush for well over a day. Not that I’d ever let her near it, however.

  A girl a little older than myself, seated at a manicure table behind the scary talon lady, stands up. ‘I’m Marisa,’ she says, eyeing me warily. She’s about five foot and voluptuous as can be, with a cleavage so eye-popping it momentarily renders me speechless.

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ I ask, feeling all eyes still glued to me. The chatter has fallen away completely and only Jesse J can be heard, singing about bling and wanting to make the world dance.

  Marisa looks to the woman, her boss I assume, for permission. The woman gives me a look that could relax a perm and says, ‘Yeah, you can take five. But only five, mind.’ Marisa switches a little fan on and places her client’s wet nails beneath it, then indicates with a nod of her head for me to follow her through a beaded curtain and towards a back door.