by Natasha Deen
“Where’s Sammy?” I ask Mom.
“His room.” She looks up from the baingan bharta she’s making and gives me a tired smile.
If Sammy’s hiding, the parents have been fighting. “Is it me?” I ask him as I walk into his room. “They’re fighting because of me again?”
He looks up from his comic book. “Yeah. Mom wants to sell you to the neighbors, but Dad figures we can get a better price if he takes it international.”
“Lame.”
“Tell me about it. There’s 1.27 billion Indians in India. The market’s full of brown.”
“Ha-ha.” I shove him aside and flop onto the bed. “I meant your snark is lame. I already used the selling-to-the-neighbors line on you a couple of days ago.”
“Dang,” he says. “I thought it was weak when I said it. Now I know why. It came from you.”
“Was it bad? The fight?” I ask.
He shrugs.
Yeah, it was bad. “I’m sorry. What I did was totally stupid, and it’s screwing up everything—”
Sammy rolls his eyes. “You, doing something stupid. What a news flash.” He punches me on the arm. “Forget it. Okay?”
But I can’t. And now the shadow is getting darker. “Got a question for you. How would you—” Then I stop. He’s just a kid, and getting him involved in this mess feels wrong.
“Don’t leave me hanging. How would I what?”
I sit up. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“So are you, and yet, here we are. What’s going on? Is it the job?” He catches my stare of surprise. “You couldn’t lie to save your life,” he says.
No wonder Kevin saw through my lame ploy.
“What’s going on? The boss doing something he shouldn’t?”
I stare hard enough at him that I think my eyes are going to pop out of my head.
Sammy sighs. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Let’s talk hypotheticals.”
Now it’s his turn to stare at me.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just surprised you know what hypothetical means… you do know what it means, right? You’re not just repeating words to seem cool?”
“Loser.”
He grins.
“I need to get someone to confess,” I say.
“Duh. Use the voice-record feature on your phone.”
“But they have equipment that detects stuff like that.”
“Oh. Well, that’s harder.”
“So, genius? What do you have?”
He leans back on the bed, closes his eyes. “What are they doing?”
“I don’t want to say.”
He opens his eyes. Watches me. “Sucks, bro. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything.”
“Still…”
“Thanks.”
“So is this what happens when you like a girl? You do dumb things to impress her?”
“You definitely do dumb things to impress girls, but what I did—it had nothing to do with her. I was stupid and macho, and she was totally pissed that I let her brother egg me on.”
“And now you’re stuck with a bad boss.”
“Something like that.”
“Can’t you just tell your probation officer?”
I shift and say nothing.
“Oh.” He closes his eyes again. After a minute, he says, “The boss is doing something bad, and the probation officer doesn’t care.”
“Yeah.”
“And you can’t go to the cops—”
“The word of an offender against that of an upstanding citizen, and I have no proof.”
“Why not?”
“Huh?”
“Why don’t you have proof?”
“He makes other people do the…uh, bad things.”
Sammy sits up. “Any way to make it look like he’s doing it?”
“Huh?”
“What’s he making you do?”
I hesitate.
“Javvan, come on. You’re already 98 percent in on this with me. Go all the way.”
I tell him everything and finish with, “Now they want me to steal.”
“And you have to do it or they say you violated your probation and frame you for theft.”
I nod. “Something like that.” I think about Mom and Dad, then force myself to stop thinking.
Sammy gives me a smile. “Sometimes you’re so dumb, it’s cute.”
“Wow. Thanks for the love, bro.”
“What you need to do is basic magic. Wear gloves—”
“Well, no duh—”
“—and plant his prints all over the stuff. Then report him.”
He’s got my attention. “What? How do I get his prints on stuff without cutting off his hands?”
“It’s super easy to do. Get something he touches. Lift his prints. Stick it on the stuff you’re supposed to steal. Go to the cops.” He frowns. “We’ll need to figure this out. A good trick is all about the magic.”
We. I love that word in a new way.
“We need to visit the magic shop.” Sammy hops off the bed. “So? We gonna do this or what?”
I grin and follow him out the door.
Chapter Eleven
When we get home, I spend the next while with Sammy, learning how to steal the glass off the table.
“You have to be quick, smooth and fast—”
“That’s how I got Tiffany.” I smile.
He snorts. “Please. That classy chick? That was her pitying you. The key to a sleight-of-hand trick is distraction. Get the guys at the table looking one way while you scoop the glass.” He sets a mug on the kitchen table and makes me practice sweeping it into my hoodie with a napkin. “Be careful—don’t smudge his prints or get yours on it.”
When I get the movement figured out, he ups the level. I have to do it during dinner without Mom or Dad noticing. No surprise that the first time, they both notice. Dad says nothing. Mom frowns and warns me about spilling milk on the floor.
“But if you do,” Sammy says, “we won’t cry over it.”
We all stare at him.
“Get it? Cry over spilled milk?”
I hide my grin behind a mouthful of chocolate cake. Mom and Dad smile.
Since both Mom and Dad caught me, Sammy makes me practice after dinner. Three hours of rehearsals, and I can do it with ease.
Chapter Twelve
Friday’s the big day. We head to some chain restaurant that Alphabet swears has the best steak. Kevin orders nachos and potato skins. He orders beer for the adults and sodas for the any one underage. I keep an eye on his glass, ready for the end of the night. My hope is that everyone will be busy—putting on their jackets, paying, downing the last of the food. The contained chaos will give me the cover I need to snake the glass.
I run into the big problem a half hour into the meal. The waitress. She’s not just bringing fresh pitchers, she’s bringing fresh glasses. Crap. How am I going to get the beer mug now? I take a breath and consider my options. There’s only one—get the glass from her. The problem with this is that she’s a good waitress. She’s got the tight outfit and tighter work ethic to prove it. She takes the glasses from us, heads directly behind the bar and dumps them into the washer. I watch Kevin’s glass, and my chances for freedom disappear in a wash of hot water.
“Javvan, man, you with us tonight?” Kevin claps me on the back, all friendly-like, and brings me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
He scans my face.
“Girl problems,” I say.
It’s the truth. The watchful look in his eyes dims, and he turns his attention back to Alphabet.
I return to my problem. I can’t just ask for the glass. Can’t go behind the bar. And I only know the one magic trick Sammy taught me—how to make the glass disappear.
It takes me a couple of minutes, but I figure out the solution. If this works, I’m going to have bra
gging rights for the next week. I eat the chips, drink the soda and wait.
When she comes with a new pitcher, I wait and let her collect the dirty dishes. I grab two napkins. With the first one, I make like I’m wiping my mouth, then stuff it into the glass Kevin used. Now I’ll know which one is his. The second one I stuff into the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie. The waitress turns to leave. I give it a five count, then follow her to the bar. “Hey.”
She turns, smiles.
“Can I grab some change?” I pull out a twenty.
“Sure, hon. What do you want?”
I shrug. “Not sure. I guess enough to pay my share”—I give her what I hope is a charming smile—“and the tip.”
Either the smile works or she’s too much of a pro to roll her eyes. “How about a ten and two fives?”
“Sure, that works.”
We exchange the money, I turn, then turn back. “Sorry. You know what? Can I break a five?”
“No prob.” As she goes to hand me the change, I pull my hand away. The coins scatter to the floor.
“Crap! Sorry!”
She—ever the pro—bends to collect the coins.
I give a quick glance at the table. No one’s watching me. All eyes are on the baseball game on the big screen. I whip out the napkin, swipe the glass and then put it in my kangaroo pocket.
My silent cheer of victory is short-lived when I realize how awkward it is to carry the glass around in my pocket. But luckily for me, the restaurant is darkly lit, my hoodie’s black, and no one seems to notice the sudden bulge at my midriff.
When I get home, I immediately head to Sammy’s room. I brag about my troubleshooting, then pull out the glass with a triumphant “Ta-da!”
He just rolls his eyes. “Asking for change. That’s something a five-year-old would have thought of in thirty seconds. Trust you to take two minutes.” Sammy moves to his closet and pulls out the stuff we’ll need.
I figure it will be some tape to lift the prints and a sheet to hold them until they’re needed. Of course, I’ve underestimated Sammy. He’s got a whole setup, including superglue, graphite powder and a camera. It takes us a few hours, and it’s time wasted. Maybe on tv it looks easy, but faking fingerprints in real life is almost impossible. At least, it is for us.
Sammy sees the defeat on my face. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll figure out a way.”
Maybe. But we only have two more days, and I’m back with Kevin, Mary and this whole terrible thing.
Chapter Thirteen
It takes forever to fall asleep, and just when I do, Sammy starts shoving me, trying to wake me up.
“Go to Andrea,” he says when I finally sit up.
“The cop?”
“She’s good people—I feel it.”
I push aside the covers. “Your feelings don’t count. Kevin and Mary said there are other people—justice people—involved. Andrea might be one of them.”
“Or she might not be.” He sits at the end of the bed. “Besides, she was the one who stepped in between you and Dwayne. She vouched for you when she didn’t have to. I’m telling you, she’s good people.”
“You remember her from the courthouse?”
“Not to put a stake through your heart or anything, bro, but your theft rocked the family. Trust me, I remember everything about that day.”
I put my face in my hands. “I’m such a screwup. The first Malhotra in our family to be on the wrong side of the law.”
Sammy punches my foot. “Don’t whine. You did it, you’re making up for it. Don’t let some sleazeball boss screw you over. Go to Andrea.”
I watch him for a minute. “You got your cell phone?”
“In my room.”
“Go get it.”
“You’re going to call her now?” His eyebrows rise with disbelief. “It’s 2:00 am.”
“I’m going to call her station and find out when she’s working, and then I’ll go in and see her.” I hold up my hand. “And then I’ll decide if she can be trusted or not.”
Sammy goes to get the phone and I dig into the laundry hamper, looking for my pants. I find them crumpled in the bottom, and in the pocket is Andrea’s number. I know I shouldn’t get too excited, but the idea she could be trusted, that she might believe me… I check the card. It’s got the main line and her direct number.
When Sammy comes back, I dial her directly. The phone rings four times, and then the voice mail picks up. My optimism sinks as I listen to her message.
“What happened?” Sammy asks when I hang up.
“She’s away for the next few days.”
“Oh, right. At the magic shop, she was talking about the gift for her niece. I think they live in Edmonton. I guess we’re back to square one, unless you don’t mind stealing for Kevin for the next few days.”
“Yeah, right.” I hand the phone back. “Thanks for trying.”
“Yeah,” he says glumly. “No problem.”
After he leaves, I lie in bed trying to think of a way around Kevin, but all I see is my probation getting revoked and me in juvie. I fall into a fitful sleep.
“If you’re going to keep doing this,” I tell Sammy when he wakes me a second time, “at least bring some chai.”
“When do they meet? Your boss and your probation lady?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, well, the scanning device. Is it just in his truck?”
“I think so.”
“And it’s not always on?”
I think back. “No, he had to turn it on. Why?”
“Simple. We stick your phone—your old one that Dad has—in his pocket and record him talking to Mary.”
“That’s not going to work on a bunch of levels. What do I do, walk up and shove it in his pocket?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
“It’ll work. Just listen to my plan and then tell me if you disagree, okay?”
I nod. What do I have to lose? By the time Sammy’s done going over his idea, the hope is back. This might actually work. And if it does, not only can I get out from under Kevin and Mary, but I stand a good chance of bringing them down.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, I take the car to work. We’re in the southwest this time, dealing with a flooded house. Now that I know how Kevin operates, I wonder if he’s the one behind the flooding. When Kevin’s finished dividing up the tasks, the rest of the crew goes to their jobs, but I hang back.
“I want to talk to you,” I tell him.
His mouth lifts into a half smile. “Unless it’s to tell me you’re on board, I have work to do.”
“I want to meet with you and Mary.” My hands are sweating, and I hear the tremor in my voice.
This gets me a smirk from him. “Why?”
“I want to make sure my butt’s covered in all of this.”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, and I’m telling you, I want the meeting.”
He steps in. The smile’s still on his face, but his eyes are hard.
The sun’s bright and behind him, and I have to squint to maintain eye contact.
“Remember who you’re talking to, boy. I can get you reported.”
“Maybe.” I swallow. “But I’m the one who can raise a stink. And sure, it’s your word against mine. And yeah, maybe you and Mary have been smart about hiding the evidence, but whispers can destroy a company. When no one wants to hire you ’cause they’re not sure if you’re a good guy or a bad guy, what’s that going to do to your bottom line?”
The smile vanishes. “Fine. In a couple days—”
“Today. After work. I want this over and done with.”
He stares me down for what feels like forever. “After work.” He bites out the words.
I hold my breath as he turns away, and I don’t let it go until he’s out of sight.
At the end of the day, Kevin comes up. “Let’s go.”
“I’ve got my car.”
He shrugs.
“Suit yourself.”
I follow him to Mary’s office and park as far as I can from him while still keeping him in view. Kevin gets out, crosses the lot and starts for the main doors. I give him a few seconds to get ahead of me, then follow. The sidewalk’s mostly quiet. A few walkers, some skateboarders.
As he gets closer, one of the skateboarders starts doing tricks. His buddy pulls out a camera and starts filming, and the first part of Sammy’s plan goes into effect.
Chapter Fifteen
Sammy’s the one with the camera. Wheezer’s doing the tricks, and he makes sure to skate and then wipe out. Right into Kevin. They both go down. Sammy and the rest of my friends run to them. They pull Wheezer and Kevin up and make a big show of dusting off my boss, asking him if he’s okay.
He’s irritated. He mouths off to them a little, then heads inside.
Sammy looks away from Kevin and catches my eye. He nods.
Part two, complete. My phone—wiped of all personal information except a voice-activated recording app—has just been slipped into Kevin’s pocket. As soon as Kevin starts talking, the phone will start recording everything he says.
I head inside and to Mary’s office. Kevin’s standing by her desk. Mary’s sitting.
She scowls when she sees me. “Shut the door.”
I do.
They watch me.
“Look.” I lift my hands. “I just—”
“Where’s your phone?”
I jerk my thumb at the outer office. “In the bin. Just like always.” I turn out my pockets, lift my shirt and jeans. “I got nothing on me.”
They glance at each other.
“I might be dumb enough to steal a car,” I say, “but I’m not stupid. You guys have my life and my future in your hands. I’m not doing anything to mess with you.”
The answer seems to satisfy them, because their shoulders drop.
I let my hands fall to my side. “Why not just let me finish the work and go? I promise I won’t tell.”
Mary rolls her eyes. “You know our dirt. The only way to protect ourselves is to share some of the mud. You get on board, or I bury you so deep you won’t come up for air until Christmas.” She sneers at me. “Or whatever holiday you people celebrate during winter.”
