Path of Thieves

by Sunniva Dee

  He straps them like a pro, like I’m a pro. They form to my feet, and they’re so light I feel like Superman when I jump on my mattress.

  “Now, now,” my father laughs. “Don’t break the bed or we’ll have to sell the cleats to get you a new one.” That stops me, but it doesn’t wipe the grin off my face. I don’t dare to push my luck and ask if I’m allowed to join the team yet.

  “How did you know what I wanted?”

  My father arches a brow and lifts his arm in a slow swipe of my room. “Oh I don’t know.” Poster after poster of DeSean Jackson, Santonio Holmes, and Greg Jennings cover the walls. “Not to mention…” He indicates the playground outside the window.

  “The playground?”

  “Or should we call it your makeshift football field?”

  The grin might get stuck on my face.

  “You guys have been at it for how long now? You’re getting good. I see you through the window, you know. You might think I’m too busy to notice, but I do.”

  He notices.

  I don’t think I could be happier than I am right now. If I were, my chest would explode and that wouldn’t be pretty. I snicker.

  “What’s so funny?” He asks, eyes bright.

  “I just don’t want to explode.”

  “That mad, huh?” He bumps my shoulder while we stand there in the window. We have a connection now, Dad and I, one I’d do anything to keep.

  “Naw, not so mad.” I play it cool, and my father smirks, knowing.

  “Is it time for pie?” he asks in lieu of digging in more.

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  As he puts the plate in front of me on the windowsill, I suppress Mom’s Georgia peach pie from my mind, because that’s a spoiled thought, one for someone ungrateful. It’s just that it was warm with a dollop of cream on top... and made by my mom.

  “Things changed in the middle of the birthday party,” I tell Nadine even though I shouldn’t divulge so many old secrets. She doesn’t know my legal name or where my house is though. Then again, she’s been to my high school, and I’m the only one named Cugs, probably anywhere.

  Nadine’s eyes soften. “Why? Was the party at your house?”

  “Yeah, and it started out great. My dad had already adopted the routine of not taking me shopping on weekdays. My birthday was on a Tuesday, and between that and an awesome start of the morning, I didn’t think I’d have to go anywhere.

  “But as a dozen candy-eating friends ran around playing hide ’n seek, my father got a phone call, much like he did tonight.” I laugh, but she doesn’t laugh with me. Her hand settles on top of mine, and it’s weird how good it is to share when all you’ve ever done is hoard.

  “Phone call?”

  “Yes, from his fences. They not only fence but request products too, and that’s what they did on my twelfth birthday. Long story short, I threw a fit when he cut the party short and packed me in the car. I yelled that I wanted to move, that I hated what we did and was done being a part of his scam.”

  He got me good. What was I thinking? While eating pie in the morning, I’d reminded myself to not act like a spoiled brat and look how long that lasted.

  “Then what happened?”

  “He gave me a black eye and a stomach ache that lasted a few days.”

  “Stomach ache?”

  “Yep, a kick in the gut.”

  She sucks in a deep breath. “Whoa, that’s crazy. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He needed me to snap back into gear and remember that a damn birthday doesn’t change who you are.”

  My father’s eyes shine when I arrive at Harbor Street Fifteen.

  “Cugs.” He waves me into the shadows. I parked half a block away in a public parking lot and made sure the wreck was a few rows away from Dad’s.

  “See that there?” He points at a monstrosity of a warehouse, walls and roof entirely made from corrugated aluminum.

  “Yeah, that doesn’t look like a residence.”

  “You’re correct. We’re expanding our options!” He opens his arms wide like he’s showing me the gateway to some paradise.

  “Dad…”

  “See how I listen to you? You always feel bad breaking into people’s homes. Tonight we’re going to shop from a rich business owner.”

  I’m suddenly exhausted. All I want is to get in the wreck and drive back home. My voice is flat when I ask, “What are we stealing, Dad?”

  “It’s actually just a chip. Here, I brought you a black tee although this should be the safest of all our gigs.”

  “A chip?” I pull the T-shirt over my head not worrying about removing the one I’m already wearing.

  “Yep, a computer chip.” He leans in as if we’re in a bugged room. “It’s in the CEO’s office, in his safe, and we’ve got the code.”

  “What the hell? Where do Oliver and Toeffel get their information from? Do they know what’s on the chip?” I have no idea what a chip actually does.

  He waves me along the fence until we get to a barb-wired gate. “None of that is any of our business. The less we know, the better. Four, five, five, six, three.” He juts his chin for me to enter the code. The small door at the side of the gate opens silently. We walk through.

  “We need to know what we’re looking for,” I mutter. Stress hormones rise in my body, displacing the mental exhaustion.

  “Calm down, Cugs. There. Green door.” He waves his weapon toward the only door at the end of the building. “Toeffel showed me a picture. Small silver thing. I’ll recognize it as soon as I see it.”

  “Dad, put away the gun.” This is so not good. My father brings his gun to most of our sprees, but he never pulls it out of the holster. The fact that he does now triggers hot alarm in me. “Please, let’s just turn around and leave.”

  “Sorry. Holstering it now.” He floats a smile my way, jittery with the rush of darkness. “Let’s move. The sooner we get this covered, the sooner we’re on our way home. Second floor. See the stairs?”

  I see the stairs.

  We climb them, my father first. On the second flight, I turn briefly and take in the floor below us. It’s one giant room boasting nothing but cardboard packages that are the same size. They could be anything, a single brand of lawnmowers, for all I know.

  My pulse hammers in my temples.

  There are four offices upstairs. “Which one’s the CEO’s?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Fear pricks at the base of my skull. What’s wrong with him? He gets information down to the code of a safe, but he doesn’t know what office we’re going to?

  I want to get out of this place quickly. I want to get out now! But does this mean we have to search every office for a hidden safe?

  “Why don’t you do your homework?” I burst out.

  “Cugs!” He straightens, but then my father is shorter than me. “Shut your mouth or you’re in serious trouble once we’re back home.”

  “You’re shouting,” I say though I started this game. I stand tall too, half a head above him. All these years he’s been so big. How long have I been taller? I shake my head and turn away because I can’t look at him.

  “Okay. We’re looking for a safe.” I’ve got to fix my voice, because it’s breaking. “I can do the offices to the left if you do the others.” Though my father likes to be the boss, he doesn’t object.

  The offices are locked. They have glass windows. We crush the glass. unlock them from the inside. The safe is in my first office.

  “Over here.” I wait for my father to join me.

  Excited, so excited he is. “I’ll key in the code.” A beam of a light hits the window. I shrink to a side, peering out.

  “Is that security? Dad. They’re stopping.”

  He shoots me a glance, gloved hands working fast. The safe pops open. It’s
big with three shelves.

  “They’re running toward the entrance. We gotta get out of here.”

  “Hold on. Almost there.”

  “You got the chip?”

  “No. But we’ll bring everything in here if we have to.” He waves his sack at me before ducking into the safe.

  The building is simple, the main room downstairs, steps winding up to the half-second floor we’re on. The front door flings open, and the sound crashes through the space.

  “Dad. Please?”

  “Hmm, yeah, I can’t see a chip in this mess.”

  “They’re on the steps. Isn’t it the only way out?” I hiss. “We need to leave.”

  “Worst case, we’ll take the window. Open it.”

  “But we’re on the second floor, and there’s asphalt below.” The blood pounds in my ears. “We won’t be able to escape with broken legs.”

  “Shh.” Dad taps off his flashlight and hoists the bag over his shoulder. His silhouette moves, but I’m frozen by the door. What am I supposed to do?

  There’s this ice cream place that’s open late. We were supposed to go there after the fights. Right now, in this instance, I could have been eating ice cream with my friends. I should have kept my phone off.

  Security guards storm down the narrow gallery in front of the offices. Dad fights with a window. They hear us. Dad curses, wrangles it, but then he twists around as they enter, two figures in dark clothing with badges and buttons that shine.

  “Drop your weapons. Hands up,” someone yells.

  Dad’s bag thumps to the floor, and his gun rises in my peripheral. Then the world explodes.

  “Out! Out! Jump!” Dad’s commands are stuffed with cotton.

  Blood-red pain. One side of my head has stopped working. I can’t move. No, I can’t, but then air hits me. I fly—it’s not right—and someone screams above me.

  My father’s there, collecting me once the pain extends to twisted bones and limbs. I groan, unable to speak. I’m wet. My head is wet. He drags me along by an arm, and when that doesn’t work, he carries me.

  Until the world goes dark.

  The drive back to Newbark was a blur of pain.

  “You’re insane,” I yell at Dad, now, at the prefab. “Do you realize what could have happened? You could have killed me!”

  Step-Cynth stands in my doorway. For once, I don’t notice what she wears. All I see is panicked eyes and bandages and medical bottles she clutches hard in her hands.

  “I’m so sorry.” Dad’s face is ashen. “The bullet hit too close. I was aiming at a picture that hung to the side of the exit.”

  “I don’t care! You hit me, and it’s just—” Phantom pain sucker-punches my stomach, leaving me breathless; that was my father shooting me. He shot me. My physical injuries have nothing on complete loss of illusion.

  “Cugs. Calm down. I barely grazed the tip of your ear.”

  “Oh right, cool! We’re good then. Let me know when you want me to return the favor.” I glare. “How are you doing? Any bullet holes?”

  He has the decency to bow his head.

  “Wonderful. Nice to see you walk just fine too. The jump from the second floor wasn’t an issue? I guess it’s easier to land on your feet if you haven’t been shot first!” I rock on the bed, trying to sit up, but pain sears my spine and shoulder.

  “Sweetie, please don’t work yourself up.” Cynthia gathers the medical equipment under one arm and reaches for me with the other. “You should take a nap. You’ll feel better then.”

  I ignore Dad’s wife-toy. “So this is funny. I’m having the hardest time remembering the E.R. visit, because surely you took me there.” I pierce him with my stare. “Surely, you weren’t worried about having to explain how a bullet ripped up your son’s ear. Oh wait, you were, and we never went!”

  “Enough! I’ve heard just about enough, Cugs.”

  “Oh really, because guess what, Dad? I’ve had enough!”

  Nadine texts, telling me her family wants to meet me. I tell her she’s crazy.

  I have my phone next to me on the night stand and too much time on my hands, so I read and re-read Paislee’s Facebook messages. She sends them to me almost every day. They’re short, and they make my chest constrict in a steel clamp.

  My father has alerted school to me being out for a while due to appendicitis surgery. I wonder how he’ll explain my bruising. My dislocated shoulder and twisted ankle. My freaking fractured vertebrae. Yeah. I won’t be fit for much for a while.

  For the last forty-eight hours, Dad has stayed out of my room. His wife passes through, specter-like, silently feeding me and cleaning my injuries.

  It’s not that I can’t sit up. The rip on my ear doesn’t hurt much anymore either. Once it stopped bleeding, it was small enough to be covered by a Band-Aid. But thanks to Dad, I probably won’t make it to the last games of the football season.

  Where does that leave me? I don’t want to think about it. Because without funds, without financial support, my only chance at escaping Newbark disappears with the football.

  It wasn’t your fault, Nadine texts once I recount what happened. You just need to get away from your father.

  I do.

  What’s your plan for next year, after high school?

  Didn’t I just tell her about South Beach? My plans disappeared with a shot from my Dad’s gun.

  Changed up my plans, I type to Nadine while someone else’s message pops in, a red dot against the blue at the bottom of my screen.

  What were your plans + what are they now?

  I was going to college. Now I’m not.

  Why not?

  Because wrong side of the tracks. Because criminal. Nadine, I gotta go.

  K… Later?

  Later.

  She sends me an emoticon of some animal blowing air kisses.

  I shut her down and open the new Facebook message. It’s Paislee. Paislee Marie Cain. I wish I’d had the guts to delete her friend request, but apparently you can’t help whom you love.

  I’m glad she doesn’t ask anything of me. I can read these messages as long as she keeps it that way.

  Mom’s turned my room into a sewing room. Can you imagine? What nerve. Sure, I don’t live at home anymore, but my old room should still be mine. She adds a winky-face.

  Does Mom still live in the same house? White, no stairs. It looked big to me when I was little, but it probably isn’t. I wonder what she did with my room. Did she use it for something else as soon as I left?

  It’s difficult to read Paislee’s messages without thinking about the past. I miss Mom and her, wish things were different. I wouldn’t have minded living up there in the icy cold if it meant being close to family.

  “Son. They were just a half-sister and a stepmom. You and I, we’re real family.” Dad’s words.

  I pull my cleats out from underneath the bed. Put the first one on the good foot without getting off the mattress. I watch my swollen ankle, press the bag of half-melted ice against it. Then, of all things, I cry.

  All I want is to sleep. My future has crumbled so I might as well chill. Both Nadine and my sister keep texting me. Paislee, I’ve never answered, while Nadine I’m cutting off on purpose.

  Twice, coincidence placed Nadine and me face to face in a doorway. Later, it took me one date to grasp that her future twinkled with opportunities. I should have let her go at once. I’m not an awesome person, though, so I kept right on seeing her. But after a few nights injured, I’m on stoneground with reality. I wish I hadn’t accepted Nadine’s phone number, and I wish I hadn’t wheedled myself into her life.

  It’s day five at the prefab when Step-Cynth peeks into my room. “Someone’s here for you,” she says, her pitch weak like she too feels sick. I struggle to open my eyes. It’s funny how used one’s body gets to resting.
<
br />   Bear has been by once or twice. He brought Liza too the other day.

  A silhouette appears, blurry against the light from the hallway, and Step-Cynth murmurs out there before turning back to me. “It’s Nadine Paganelli. Can she come in and say hi?”

  I blink, struggling with this jolt from hibernation. Did Nadine drive two and a half hours just for me, or is she visiting her godmother? Either way, her coming here is a terrible idea. “What time is it?”

  “Six p.m.”

  Sunset. She’ll have to drive back in the dark.

  My mouth is dry. Water waits on the nightstand, but everything hurts and I don’t feel like reaching for it. “No, she needs to go back home before it gets dark.”

  “Cugs, hey.” A shift in the door and the wife-toy disappears in favor of someone smaller. I fight to sit up, but a sting shoots through my shoulder. Nadine runs for me. Pillows are fluffed, and my torso sunk against them. I hope I didn’t groan.

  “You don’t look good.”

  I can’t take her pity, and my pride isn’t dead yet so I wait until my grimace smooths. “More than I can say about you.” I hike the sides of my mouth upward.

  Her brows contract. “Are you on meds or something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  I cough and reach for the water after all. A few sips in, I can talk again. “You’re so pretty you might as well have stepped straight down from some mascara billboard.”

  “Mascara. You think that’s all we put on?” She does a demonstrative circle over her face, indicating pink on her cheeks, red on her lips and something else over the eyes.

  “Mascaraish stuff,” I correct.

  “Weirdo.” She smiles.

  “You’re awesome, and I’d hate for you to become not-awesome by hanging out with me.” I lift my healthy arm and rub sleep from my eyes. I rub at the hopelessness too but can’t get it off. “I’m contagious.”

  “I’m up to date on vaccines.”