04 - Back Spin

by Harlan Coben

  "It didn't work out."

  Esperanza finally turned around and looked at his face. "What happened?"

  He told her. Her dark complexion lost a bit of coloralong the way. When he finished, Esperanza said, "You need Win."

  "He won't help."

  "Time to swallow your macho pride and ask him. Beg him if you have to."

  "Been there, done that. He's out." On the television, the greedy woman bought a vowel. This always baffled Myron. Why do contestants who clearly know the puzzle's solution still buy vowels? To waste money? To make sure their opponents know the answer too?

  "But," he said, "you're here."

  Esperanza looked at him. "So?"

  It was, he knew, the real reason she had come down in the first place. On the phone she had told him that he didn't work well alone. The words spoke volumes about her true motivation for fleeing the Big Apple.

  "Do you want to help?" he asked.

  The greedy woman leaned forward, spun the wheel, and then started clapping and shouting, "Come on, a thousand!" Her opponents clapped too. Like they wanted her to do well. Right.

  "What do you want me to do?" Esperanza asked.

  "I'll explain on the way. If you want to come."

  They both watched the wheel decelerate. The camera moved in for a close-up. The arrow slowed and slowed before settling on the word BANKRUPT. The audience groaned. The greedy woman kept the smile, but now she looked like someone had just punched her hard in the stomach.

  "That's an omen," Esperanza said.

  "Good or bad?" Myron asked.

  Yes."

  Chapter 19

  The girls were still at the mall. Still at the food court.

  Still at the same table. It was amazing, when you thought about it. The long summer days beckoned with sunny skies and chirping birds. School was out, and yet so many teenagers spent all their time inside a glorified school cafeteria, probably lamenting the day they would have to return to school.

  Myron shook his head. He was complaining about teenagers. A sure sign of lost youth. Soon he'd be screaming at someone for turning up the thermostat.

  As soon as he entered the food court, the girls all turned in his direction. It was like they had people+weknow detectors at every entrance. Myron did not hesitate.

  Making his expression as stem as possible, he rushed toward them. He studied each face as he approached.

  These were, after all, just teenagers. The guilty one, Myron was sure, would show it.

  And she did. Almost instantly.

  She was the one that had been teased yesterday, the one they taunted for being the recipient of a Crusty smile.

  Missy or Messy or something. It all made sense now.

  Crusty hadn't spotted Myron's tail. He'd been tipped off ln fact, the whole thing had been arranged. That was how Crusty had known that Myron had been asking questions about him. That explained the seemingly fortuitous timing that is, Crusty hanging around the food court just long enough for Myron to arrive.

  It had all been a big setup.

  The one with Elsa Lancaster hair screwed up her face and said, "Like, what's the matter?"

  "That guy tried to kill me," Myron said.

  Lots of gasps. Faces lit up with excitement. To most of them, this was like a television show come to life. Only Missy or Messy or some name with an M remained rockstill.

  "Not to worry though," Myron continued. "We've just about got him. In an hour or two, he'll be under arrest. The police are on their way to find him right now. I just wanted to thank you all for your cooperation."

  The M girl spoke: "I thought you weren't a cop."

  A sentence without the word like. Hmm. "I'm undercover," Myron said.

  "Oh. My. God."

  "Get out!"

  "Whoa!"

  "You mean like on New York Undercover?"

  Myron, no stranger to TV, had no idea what she was talking about. "Exactly," he said.

  "This is so cool."

  "Are we, like, going to be on TV?"

  "'The six o'clock news?"

  "That guy on Channel Four is so cute, you know?"

  "My hair totally sucks."

  "No way, Amber. But mine is like a total rat nest."

  Myron cleared his throat. "We have this pretty much all wrapped up. Except for one thing. The accomplice."

  Myron waited for one of them to say, "Accomplice?"

  No one did. Myron elaborated. "Someone in this very mall helped that creep set me up."

  "In, like, here?

  "In our mall?"

  "Not our mall. No way."

  They said the word mall like some people said the word synagogue.

  "Someone helped that skank?" .

  "Our mall?"

  "Eeeuw."

  "I can't, like, believe it."

  "Believe it," Myron said. "In fact, he or she is probably here right now. Watching us."

  Heads swirled about. Even M managed to get into the act, though it was an uninspired display.

  Myron had shown the stick. Now the carrot. "Look, I want you ladies to keep your eyes and ears open. We'll catch the accomplice. No question about it. Guys like that always talk. But if the accomplice was just a hapless dupe . . ."

  Blank faces.

  "If she, like, didn't really know the score" not exactly hip-hop lingo, but they nodded now "and she came to me right away, before the cops nail her, well, then I'd probably be able to help her out. Otherwise, she could be charged with attempted murder."

  Nothing. Myron had expected that. M would never admit this in front of here friends. Jail was a great fearinducer, but it was little more than a wet match next to the bonfire that was teenage peer pressure.

  "Good-bye, ladies."

  Myron moved to the other side of the food court. He leaned against a pillar, putting himself in the path between the girls' table and the bathroom. He waited, hoping she'd make an excuse and come over. After about five minutes, M stood up and began walking toward Myron.

  Just as he planned. Myron almost smiled. Maybe he should have been a high school guidance counselor. Mold young minds, change lives for the better.

  The M girl veered away from him and toward the exit.

  Damn.

  Myron quickly trotted over, the smile on full blast.

  "Mindy?" He had suddenly remembered her name.

  She turned to him but said nothing.

  He put on the soft voice and the understanding eyes. A male Oprah. A kinder, gentler Regis. "Whatever you say to me is coniidential," he said. "If you're involved in this "

  "Just stay away from me, okay? I'm not, like, involved in anything."

  She pushed past him and hurried past Foot Locker and the Athlete's Foot two stores Myron had always assumed were the same, alter egos if you will, like you never saw Batman and Bruce Wayne in the same room.

  Myron watched her go. She hadn't cracked, which was .

  a bit of a surprise. He nodded and his backup plan went into action. Mindy kept hurrying away, glancing behind her every few steps to make sure Myron wasn't following her. He wasn't.

  Mindy, however, did not notice the attractive, jeanclad Hispanic woman just a few feet to her left.

  Mindy found a pay phone by the record store that looked exactly like every other mall record store. She glanced about, put a quarter into the slot, and dialed a number.

  Her finger had just pressed the seventh digit when a small hand reached over her shoulder and hung up the phone.

  She spun toward Esperanza. "Hey!"

  Esperanza said, "Put down the phone."

  "Hey!"

  "Right, hey. Now put down the phone."

  "Like, who the fuck are you?"

  "Put down the phone," Esperanza repeated, "or I'll shove it up a nostril."

  Wide-eyed with confusion, Mindy obeyed. Several seconds later, Myron appeared. He looked at Esperanza.

  "Up a nostril?"

  She shrugged.

  Mindy shouted, "You can't, like,
do that."

  "Do what?" Myron said.

  "Like" Mindy stopped, struggled with the thought "like, make me hang up a phone?"

  "No law against that," Myron said. He turned to Esperanzai "You know any law against that?"

  "Against hanging up a phone?" Esperanza emphatically shook her head. "No, senor."

  "See, no law against it. On the other hand, there is a law against aiding and abetting a criminal. It's called a felony. It means jail time."

  "I didn't aid nothing. And I don't bet."

  Myron tumed to Esperanza. "You get the number?"

  She nodded and gave it to him.

  "Let's trace it."

  Again, the cyber-age made this task frightening easy.

  Anybody can buy a computer program at their local software store or hop on certain Web sites like Biz, type in the number, and voila, you have a name and address.

  Esperanza used a cellular phone to dial the home nunber of MB SportsReps' new receptionist. Her name was, fittingly, Big Cyndi. Six-five and over three hundred pounds, Big Cyndi had wrestled professionally under the moniker Big Chief Mama, tag-team partner of Esperanza "Little Pocahontas" Diaz. In the ring, Big Cyndi wore makeup like Tammy Faye on steroids; spiked hair that would have been the envy of Sid and Nancy; ripped muscledisplaying T-shirts; and an awful, sneering glare complete with a ready growl. In real life, well, she was exactly the same.

  Speaking Spanish, Esperanza gave Cyndi the number.

  Mindy said, "Hey, I'm, like, outta here."

  Myron grabbed her arm. " 'Fraid not."

  "Hey! You can't, like, hold me here."

  Myron maintained his grip.

  "I'll scream rape."

  Myron rolled his eyes. "At a mall pay phone. In broad iluorescent light. When I'm standing here with my girlfriend."`

  Mindy looked at Esperanza. "She's your girlfriend?"

  "Yes."

  Esperanza began whistling "Dream Weaver."

  "But you can't, like, make me stay with you."

  "l don't get it, Mindy. You look like a nice girl."

  Actually, she was wearing black leggings, too-high pumps, a red halter top, and what looked like a dog choker around her neck. "Are you trying to tell me that this guy is worth going to jail over? He deals drugs, Mindy. He tried to kill me."

  Esperanza hung up. "It's a bar called the Parker Inn."

  "You know where it is?" he asked Mindy.

  "Yeah."

  "Come on."

  Mindy pulled away. "Let go," she said, stretching out the last word.

  "Mindy, this isn't fun and games here. You helped someone try to kill me."

  "So you say."

  "What?"

  Mindy put her hands on her hips, chewed gum. "So, like, how do I know that you're not the bad one, huh?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You, like, come up to us yesterday, right, all mysterious and stuff, right? You don't, like, have a badge or nothing. How do I know that you aren't, like, after Tito?

  How do I know that you aren't another drug dealer trying to take over his turf?"

  " 'Tito?' " Myron repeated, looking at Esperanza.

  "A neo Nazi named Tito?"

  Esperanza shrugged.

  "None of his friends, like, call him Tito," Mindy went on. "lt's way too long, you know? So they call him Tit."

  Myron and Esperanza exchanged a glance, shook their heads. Too easy.

  "Mindy," Myron said slowly, "I wasn't kidding back there. Tito is not a nice fellow. He may, in fact, be involved in kidnapping and maiming a boy about your age.

  Somebody cut off the boy's finger and sent it to his mother."

  Her face pinched up. "Oh, that's, like, so gross."

  "Help me, Mindy."

  "You a cop?"

  "No," Myron said. "I'm just trying to save a boy."

  She waved her hands dismissively. "Then, like, go. You don't need me."

  "I'd like you to come with us."

  "Why?"

  "So you don't try to warn Tito."

  "I won't."

  Myron shook his head. "You also know how to get to Parker Inn. lt'll save us time."

  "Uh-uh, no way. I'm not going with you."

  "If you don't," Myron said, "l'll tell Amber and Trish and the gang all about your new boyfriend."

  That snared her attention. "He's not my boyfriend," she insisted. "We just, like, hung out a couple of times."

  Myron smiled. "So I'll lie," he said. "I'll tell them you slept with him."

  "I did not!" she screamed. "That's, like, so unfair."

  Myron shrugged helplessly.

  She crossed her arms and chewed her gum. Her version of defiance. It didn't last long. "Okay, okay, I'll go." She pointed a finger at Myron. "But I don't want Tit to see me, okay? I stay in the car."

  "Deal," Myron said. He shook his head. Now they were after a man named Tit. What next?

  The Parker Inn was a total redneck, biker, skeezer bar.

  The parking lot was packed with pickup trucks and motorcycles.

  Country music blared from the constantly opening door. Several men in John Deere baseball caps were using the side of the building as a urinal. Every once in a while one would tum and piss on another. Curses and laughter spewed forward. Fun city.

  From his car parked across the street, Myron looked at Mindy and said, "You used to hang out here?"

  She shrugged. "I, like, came here a couple of times," she said. "For excitement, you know?"

  Myron nodded. "Why didn't you just douse yourself with gasoline and light matches?"

  "Fuck you, all right? You my father now?"

  He held his hands up. She was right. None of his business. "Do you see Tito's truck?" Myron just couldn't call him Tit. Maybe if he got to know him better.

  Mindy scanned the lot. "No."

  Neither did Myron. "Do you know where he lives?"

  "No."

  Myron shook his head. "He deals drugs. He wears a swastika tattoo. And he has no ass. But don't tell me . . . underneath all that, Tito is really sweet."

  Mindy shouted, "Fuck you, all right? Just fuck you."

  "Myron," Esperanza said by way of warning.

  Again Myron put his hands up. They all sat back and watched. Nothing happened.

  Mindy sighed as audibly as possible. "So, like, can I go home now?"

  Esperanza said, "I have a thought."

  "What?" Myron asked.

  Esperanza pulled the tail of her blouse out of her jeans. She tied it up, making a knot under her rib cage and revealing plenty of flat, dark stomach. Then she unbuttoned her top to a daring low. A black bra was now visible, Myron noticed, trained detective that he was. She pulled down the visor mirror and began to apply makeup.

  Lots of makeup. Far too much makeup. She mussed up her hair a bit and rolled up her jeans cuffs. When she finished she smiled at Myron.

  "How do I look?" she asked.

  Even Myron felt a little weak at the knees. "You're going to walk in there looking like that?"

  "That's how everyone in there dresses."

  "But everyone doesn't look like you," he said.

  "Oh, my, my," Esperanza said. "A compliment."

  "I meant, like a chorus dancer in West Side Story."

  " 'A boy like that,' " Esperanza sang, " 'he keel your brother, forget that boy, go find another ' "

  "If I do make you a partner," Myron said, "don't dress like this at board meetings."

  "Deal," Esperanza said. "Can I go now?"

  "First call me on the cellular now. I want to make sure I can hear everything that goes on."

  She nodded, dialed the phone. He picked it up. They tested the connection.

  "Don't go playing hero," he said. "Just find out if he's there. Something gets out of hand, you get out of there pronto."

  "Okay."

  "And we should have a code word. Something you say if you need me."

  Esperanza nodded, feigning seriousness. "If I say the words premature ejaculation
, it means I want you to come."

  "So to speak."

  Esperanza and even Mindy groaned.

  Myron reached into his glove compartment. He snapped it open and pulled out a gun. He was not going to be caught unprepared again. "Go," he said.

  Esperanza hopped out of the car and crossed the street. A black Corvette with flame decals on the hood and an extra-vrooming engine pulled up. A gold-chainenmeshed primate raced the engine and leaned his head out the window. He smiled greasily at Esperanza. He hit the gas again, giving off a few more deep vrooms. Esper-anza looked at the car, then at the driver. "Sorry to hear about your penis," she deadpanned.

  The car drove off. Esperanza shrugged and waved at Myron. It wasn't an original line, but it never failed her.

  "God, I love that woman," Myron said.

  "She's, like, totally hot," Mindy agreed. "I wish I looked like her."

  "You should wish to be like her," he corrected.

  "What's the difference? She must, like, really work out, right?"

  Esperanza entered the Parker Inn. The first thing that hit her was the smell a pungent combination of dried vomit and body odor, only less olfactorily pleasing. She wrinkled her nose and continued inside. The floor was hardwood with lots of sawdust. The light was dingy, coming off the pool table ceiling fixtures that were supposed to look like imitation Tiffany lamps. The crowd was probably two-to-one men over women. Everyone was dressed in a word -cheesy.

  Esperanza looked around the room. Then she spoke out loud so that Myron would hear her through the phone.

  "About a hundred guys in here fit your description," she said. "It's like asking me to find an implant in a strip club."

  Myron's phone was on mute, but she'd bet he was laughing. An implant at a strip club. Not bad, she thought. Not bad at all.

  So now what?

  People were staring at her, but she was used to that.

  Three seconds passed before a man approached her. He had a long, kinky beard; bits of coagulated food were lodged in it. He smiled toothlessly, looked her up and down unapologetically.

  "I've got a great tongue," he said to her.

  "Now all you need is some teeth."

  She pushed past him and made her way to the bar. Two seconds later, a guy jumped toward her. He wore a cowboy hat. Cowboy hat. Philadelphia. What's wrong with this picture? '

  "Hey, sweetheart, don't I know you?"

  Esperanza nodded. "Another line that smooth," she said, "and I may start to undress."