“So what’s up with the green backpack? You said it was a gift.”
“Yeah, from this kid I know, Kyle.” His half smile returns when he says the kid’s name.
“That look… It was on your face when you first saw me.”
“It was?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you weren’t what I expected.”
“How do you mean?”
“Not sure. You just seemed different.”
“OK, I’ll take it. I never want to be what’s expected.”
Now his smile has returned, full blown.
“So, tell me about Kyle.”
“Well, he’s a kid from my trailer park. I hang out with him. He’s got no one, basically. His parents are major deadbeats.”
I watch his eyes go soft, which I’ve never seen before. Almost misty.
“I used to take him out on my friend’s refurbished Jet Ski, and we’d get hot dogs from the food carts near South Beach. We’re tight.” He pauses, and since I can only see his profile, I can’t tell if he’s choking up or clearing his throat.
“So, he gave you the backpack?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
“He made the money from his lemonade stand, and he knows my favorite color is green, so…”
Now I’m the one who’s getting choked up.
“Sounds like an awesome kid.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he loves music, so one of the things I want to get him is an iPod with those red headphones, you know?”
“Beats by Dr. Dre. Overrated, but great for kids.”
“Yeah, those. Anyway, I know the backpack is, like, cheesy or whatever, but I love it.”
I look in the backseat, and there it is, next to my Hello Kitty bag. Electric green and super shiny.
“I could tell. You did not want me making fun of it.”
He chuckles a little, changing his grip on the wheel.
A motorcycle passes us on the left, and we both tense up. Jamal is the conversation we don’t need to have. We are both still wondering if he’s even alive.
I grab the map. Jacksonville is the next colored-in circle.
“We need to avoid Jacksonville like the plague,” I say. “Just in case.”
We pass a couple of RVs and an old Ford driven by a guy with a gray ponytail and a smirk on his face.
Does he know who we are?
Eventually we pull over for gas, and on my way back from the bathroom, I ask a lady where the nearest library is. Levon finishes pumping, runs inside, and comes back with a bottle of Gatorade and a stuffed alligator. I put it next to the turtle on the dash.
“We should give them names,” I say.
“How about Mortimer and Randolph?” he offers.
“Ha! How do you know Trading Places?”
“It was one of the six movies we owned.”
“But you’ve watched a lot, right?”
“My whole life.”
“I knew it, ’cause you knew The Godfather. Do you know the film game?” I ask.
“No.”
“OK, if I name a film you have to name an actor in it. If I name an actor you have to name a film they were in, et cetera. If two actors are named consecutively, you have to say a film they were in together.”
“OK.”
“I’ll start easy,” I tell him. “When Harry Met Sally.”
“Meg Ryan.”
“Tom Hanks.”
“Sleepless in Seattle,” he says like it’s obvious.
“Ha. Bet that was one part of your collection. OK, this is where it gets harder, because I now have to name someone else that was in Sleepless in Seattle. Hmm. Oh! Victor Garber.”
“Wow. Do TV shows count?”
“Nope.”
“OK, hang on…Argo.”
“Brilliant film! Well, my friend, this is where I trump you. Alan Arkin.”
He thinks for a second, then bangs the steering wheel in a burst of defeat. Another motorcycle passes on the other side of the highway, and my mind flashes to Jamal and his blood running into the dirt—first red, then turning black. I touch my head where I banged it on the jack. It’s still tender.
“Where’d you get the money to do all this anyway?”
“Saved up. I cut grass.”
I picture him shirtless in the Florida sun, the roar of the mower and the sweat running from his chest down the ridges of his torso.
“And let me guess, you’re going to split the ransom money, if there is any, with your dad?”
He nods. “I want to get the money before he gets out.”
“Well, I have a proposition for you.”
He rolls his eyes like he’s used to it but still ready to hear me out.
“I want retribution too. So let’s work together.”
“How?”
“You and I both know it’s not about money, Levon. I mean you’ll get the money, I hope. But your father went to jail, and it should have been mine.”
“So…”
“Whisper is our key. If we can find her and she’ll testify, we can put my father away. Trust me, if it involves a rock star, cops will want to reopen the case.”
“What are you, a detective now?”
“All they have is your father’s testimony, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you said the accident happened in downtown Miami. Like, near businesses and stuff?”
“Right in the heart of it.”
“Then there’ll be surveillance tapes. They even have them in streetlights now. If they go back to find it, they’ll see that Wade was driving.”
“That’s a long shot.”
“Not at all. Especially if we have Whisper. Let’s start with the club. Do you know it? Where she danced?”
“I knew the one my dad went to, so that’s probably the same one.”
He speeds up a little, and I can tell I’ve got his juices flowing, even though he always plays it cool. I’m becoming better at reading him.
I reach over and grip the forearm I’ve been staring at for days. “And, Levon, listen to me. Whatever happens, you’re not going to jail. I’ll say it was consensual. I know people saw you forcefully take me, but I’ll say I knew you, that it was our plan all along.”
Levon focuses hard on the road. We pass a semi, its roar invading our ears. Then it’s just the whir of the wind.
“Wade should be punished for not keeping his word. Not to mention being a lame father, but killing someone and sending your dad to jail? He needs to go down.”
I see a trace of a nod. How can someone be so sexy when he’s just thinking?
“Let’s stop at the library in Charleston. They’ll have Internet.”
He looks skeptical.
“We’ll be in and out.”
“OK.”
We exit off of the highway and immediately see a sign for the library. When we get there, we enter the parking lot slowly, making sure there are no cops. We park, get out, and walk through the library’s grand entrance and onto the cool black-and-white tile. There are six computers against a wall. The two on each end are unoccupied. It’s mostly kids playing online games, but there’s one guy who looks like a journalist type, so I choose the one farthest from him. Yes, I’ve watched too many movies, but that’s coming in handy. I’m liking our whole adventure again, even though I’m still a little nauseous thinking that we may be wanted for murder.
“What was the name of the club?” I ask Levon. “The one your dad went to.”
He has to think for a moment. “Kit Kat!” He practically jumps from the chair he pulled up. Then he scans the room to see if anyone is noticing us.
“Calm down,” I tell him, but I’m thrilled. It feels like we’re really a team now.
I google
the club, which is now called the King of Diamonds. Then I google both with the name “Whisper,” but nothing comes up. Still, I write down the address. While Levon goes to the bathroom, I log on to my Gmail again, and there’s another note from Billy Ray.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: senior moment
Candy Cane—
I saw you on the news again. I hope you’re OK. I wanted to let you know, I ran into your grandmother in the Safeway, and she was talking to the melons. She didn’t recognize me, so I was worried. The cops had to take her home. I think she’s losing it. I miss you.
Billy Ray
Not now, I think. Not while I’m gone. Figures that’s the only time she needs me.
I quickly set up another email account so it’s not traceable and write Billy Ray back.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: omg
Billy—
I’m OK. I’ve been kidnapped, and some crazy shit has happened, but I’m actually having a good time. Thank you for letting me know about Rena. I will call her soon, but in the meantime, could you please check on her? Also, send me an MP3 of your solo stuff.
C
Just as I hit Send, I sense someone approaching. I can hear high-heeled shoes click on the tiles, getting louder with each step. I quit out of the screen and turn to see what looks like the head librarian in a sensible suit, hair in a tight bun, thin-rimmed glasses. She is holding a newspaper with my junior picture plastered on the cover, alongside the same picture they always use of my dad, scarves dangling like snakes from his microphone stand, his mouth in mid-wail.
“Excuse me…” she says, like she might have just discovered something important.
Before I get a chance to say anything, Levon starts motioning behind her back for us to get out of there. He points toward the back door, then leaves out the front. I look down and pass by her quickly, simply saying, “Sorry…”
I scoot behind the stacks of books and glance back. Two policemen are entering the library. The librarian approaches them, then points in my direction.
Shit.
I have to think of a diversion fast. I look to my left, where there’s an emergency door. I grab a hardback copy of Gone with the Wind and hurl it toward the door, and it’s a bull’s-eye. The alarm goes off. I crouch and start crawling toward the back exit. As the policeman and the librarian run toward the emergency door, I jump down the length of steps and sneak out the back. When I get outside, Levon is waiting in the car. I jump in, and we literally burn rubber. We both holler as we pass the empty, parked cop car, speeding away.
He heads toward the highway.
“No, we need to hide. Take this dirt road up here.”
He obeys, and we speed down it, kicking up dust in our wake. It’s dusk, the last bit of light lingering. The road goes on for a few miles, until we come to some train tracks. We pull up to the tracks, he shuts off the ignition, and we turn to each other, laughing in spite of it all.
“She was just a librarian!” I say.
“She knew though. She knew who you were. She was holding the newspaper.”
“That could have been a coincidence—seriously.”
“I don’t think so. Why were the cops there?”
“Maybe Jamal is alive and talked? Anyway, we should stay on back roads.”
“You think?”
I give him a look. It’s weird to hear him say something I normally would. As we lock eyes, smiling, the blinking lights on the train crossing flash red, and the signal starts to repeatedly ding like the ticking of a loud clock.
To our right, a train whistles as it approaches, smoke billowing above it in a thick cloud.
Then we hear another sound that literally makes our heads hit the ceiling. Sirens. Two squad cars, coming at us from behind. They pull to a stop, and we hear a loud voice over the intercom speaker.
“Please get out of the vehicle with your hands above your head. I repeat…”
The train is getting closer.
“Please get out of the vehicle.”
I feel my heart clench, twisting up into my throat.
This is it. This is the end of our fun.
Levon stares straight ahead. Slowly, he puts the car in Drive, inching up so the car is directly over the train tracks. My instinct is to get out, to run, but I can’t move. I just look to my right at the train rapidly approaching and yell, “Go!”
We peel out across the tracks and the train speeds by, nabbing the rear bumper and causing our car to fishtail. I look back at the train, the cops now stuck behind it. Then I look at Levon, who is yelling at the top of his lungs. I start to yell too, and we are full of adrenaline, speeding off into who knows where, not even looking back.
Chapter 16
“Oh my God,” I keep saying over and over. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Levon takes a left down another dirt road, then a right, like he knows where he’s going. He is driving fast—really fast—but for some crazy reason I’m not afraid. What could be worse than what just happened? Or more exhilarating?
It’s completely dark now, and there’s a thin layer of dust in our car.
“Levon…what the…”
“I saw it in a movie once,” he says, still breathing hard.
I look at him.
“So, you thought you’d just try it out?”
“I waited a little too long.”
“A second longer and we’d be street meat.”
This makes him laugh, but I’m not sure if it’s just nerves.
“You do realize the chances of us making it to Miami are now slim to none?”
“Not if we ditch the car and change our look again,” he says.
“OK, well, that’s a good plan. But what are we going to do tonight—sleep in a bush?”
“I don’t know. We need to drive some more.”
I let the wind brush my face, thinking about Rena in the grocery store losing it. It’s hard to picture because she’s always so stern and held together. I know I have to call her, but right now I just want to be free of everything.
“I didn’t think you had that in you,” I say. “What you did back there.”
“I didn’t either. I just didn’t want it to…”
“End?”
Before he has a chance to answer, we come to an actual end—of the road—which is a driveway to an old farm. There are two barns and a small house with the front porch light on. The paint is peeling, and there are mud boots lined up near the door. A farmer guy, probably in his sixties, walks out, waving us over.
“Act innocent,” Levon says. “We’re lost is all. OK?”
“Got it.”
The farmer peers into the car on my side, and I can smell beer on his breath. His white beard is crusty in a few places, and his teeth are crooked, but his smile is kind.
“You two must have lost your way.”
Levon is quiet again, and I know this is where my skills have to compensate.
“Yeah, we’re doing research for a school project. We decided to go off the beaten path a little.”
“That’s me. Off the beaten path!”
A silence descends, and he stares at us.
“Just kidding. I’m Jerry.”
“Nice to meet you. You know it’s getting late and…”
“What happen to your bumper, son?”
Levon shrugs it off. “Someone rear-ended me while I was parked,” he says rather unconvincingly.
“Jerry, do you think we could stay here for the night?” I ask.
Jerry acts like he’s mulling it over, but I can tell he’s tickled. Probably not used to visitors.
“It just so happens you young’uns are in luck
. I’ve got an old silo the day laborers sleep in sometimes. It’s got two bunks. It’s no great shakes, but you’re welcome to it for the night.”
“Do you think I could park behind it?” Levon asks.
“No, you can park right here.”
“OK,” I say, figuring we’ll deal with that issue later.
The silo is this huge, round structure that once held wheat or grain or something. As Jerry promised, there are two wrought-iron bunks and a large wooden box that’s turned over to make a table. Jerry lights the two candles that are on the box and gives us blankets that were stashed underneath it. When he leaves, I say, “You know, he totally could come out here in the middle of the night and, like, slaughter us.”
Levon chuckles.
“Jerry’s all right. I think he likes you though.”
“Tell him to take a number,” I say.
Levon grimaces.
“Ever been in a silo before?”
“No. Ever been stuffed in a trunk?”
“Yes. And it’s worse than it seems in the movies. I passed out from the fumes.”
“Well, that whole thing started with stupid me going to get this after my run.”
He pulls a pint of whiskey out of his green bag, unscrews it, takes a huge gulp, and passes it to me. I do the same. It slides down my throat, heating my blood and blurring the edges of my sharp thoughts.
We are in a silo in candlelight. The cops could come at any minute, but I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
We pass the bottle back and forth.
“OK, let’s play the film game again but add directors to the mix. I’ll start with a director, then you have to either name an actor or a film he or she directed. If you name a film, I have to name another actor in the film. If you name an actor, I have to name either another actor in the same film or another director that directed that actor. Get it?”
“Uh…I think so.”
“OK, we’ll start easy again. Woody Allen.”
“Annie Hall,” he says.
“OK, Blue Jasmine.”
“Haven’t seen that,” he says sheepishly.
“Cate Blanchett, I think she won an Oscar. My favorite of hers, though, was Babel.”
Stealing Candy Page 8
