by Tara Lain
Peter pulled back. “You realize this is crazy, fanciful, and irresponsible.” He gave a half smile.
“Depends on how you look at it.” Wen flashed his teeth.
Their eyes danced like electrons orbiting the same nucleus.
“Alan, we have an agreement.” His father’s frown carved lines in his forehead.
“No, sir, we don’t, and I have responsibilities.”
Wen started to run, and Peter held on to his own personal shooting star. Heads turned as they ran through the club, but when Wen pushed open the huge doors to the outside, Peter stopped and laughed. Wingman, Map, Dudish, Samu, Tink, and Mr. Pennymaker all stood on the sidewalk.
Mr. P., resplendent in a full safari outfit complete with wide-brimmed hat and alligator-patterned boots, pressed his hands together. “Excellent. Let’s all get in the car, and we can explain the plan to Peter as we drive.”
Halfway to the city, Peter pressed Mr. P.’s phone to his ear as it rang.
Hooker’s voice said, “Yeah.”
“Vadon, it’s Peter.”
“Well, hello.” His cold smile projected through the phone.
“Look, I’m on my way to you. You’re at the club, right?” Peter glanced at Mr. P., who nodded.
“Uh, I can be.”
“Good. Bring John there, and I’ll turn myself over to my father’s stooge.”
“I want to be sure you’re there before I hand over John.”
“And I want to be sure Wen has John before I give myself up.”
“Listen, fairy boy, if you ever want to see this kid again, you better show up.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t hurt John. I’ll be there soon.”
“Good.”
Peter clicked off. “That should get him out of the apartment.”
Wen nodded. “Those hired hands of his aren’t too bright. Without Hooker they won’t be able to make a decision.”
Mr. P. held up a finger. “The power of surprise, my dears. Always a winner.”
Murphy pulled the limo up to the curb in one of the seedier parts of Manhattan. The apartment building had the look of some developer’s bad investment in what he guessed was going to be a gentrifying neighborhood that went the other way—overbuilt and underleased.
Murphy opened the door, and Mr. Pennymaker bounded out. Wen and Peter followed him with the rest behind them. Wen said, “Sir, you don’t have to risk your own safety. You’ve done way more than we ever could have asked already.”
“Nonsense, my boy. You can’t expect me to miss all the fun.”
Wen grinned that pretty smile of his. “No, sir, I guess not.” He turned to the others. “Everyone know their bit?” They all nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
They rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor, giggling a little from nerves. Outside the door of number 1127, Wen stepped up to the door and knocked. They all stood far to the side so no one could see them through the peephole.
“Who’s there?” The voice sounded angry, suspicious, and a little bit nervous. Good.
Wen adopted a Brooklyn accent. “Hey, man, this is JZ.” He used the name of the thug they’d captured at Wen’s apartment. “I got the dude Hooker’s looking for. Let me in.”
“Stand where I can see.”
“Look at this, man.” Peter stepped in front of the peephole with his hands behind his back like he’d been tied.
“No shit!”
The sound of locks being released echoed through the door. Samu picked up Peter and as the door banged open, Peter “flew” through the door above Samu’s head. Three rough-looking dudes gasped in amazement. Tink followed them with her parasol unfurled and ran straight into one of the three thugs, spearing him with the spiked tip. The guy yelled, and Wen charged in, wielding the gun they’d taken from the man they’d captured.
Samu set Peter down and he, Map, and Wingman grasped the three men as Wen handed the gun to Mr. P. and raced down the hall of the sparely furnished apartment. Peter ran behind him.
Wen looked in one room. Nothing. He glanced at Peter and hurried to a second room with a closed door. He tried the handle. “Locked.”
Peter called, “Samu.”
Samu lumbered down the hall, looked at the door, stepped back against the wall, and kicked the sucker so hard the wood splintered and the door fell open. Peter ran in behind Wen.
John lay on a single bed with his leg tied to the bedpost, his eyes so big they consumed his face. “Wen! Peter!” He threw himself toward them, came to the end of his bonds, and started to fall until Wen caught him.
Peter stopped halfway across the room. Yes, Wen catches us all before we fall.
Wen hugged and rocked John, tears running down his face. “Oh God, I was so scared. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
John shook his head. “Nah. I gave them a pretty hard time, so they finally tied me up in here. I knew you guys would come. I knew you’d never let them win.”
Peter knelt in front of John. “I’m truly sorry. It was my fault you got in the middle of this.”
John frowned. “Seems to me that dude Hooker is the one to blame. He left a little while ago, or you would have caught him too.”
Mr. Pennymaker’s voice came from the doorway. “Exactly right, John, and we’re going to manage that now.” He dialed his phone. “Yes, may I speak to Detective Tock? Tell him it’s Carstairs Pennymaker.” He listened for a minute. “Well, yes, hello, Detective. Very well, Tick it is. I have a problem I need your help with.” He launched into an explanation of the kidnapping. “The boy’s fine now. My friends and I were able to retrieve him but, I assure you, not without difficulty. Now I’d like you to arrest the man responsible. I have endless witnesses who will testify against him. Yes, his name is Hooker.” He grinned as he winked at Wen and Peter. “You’ll find him in Neverland.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wen sat in a bistro chair at Neverland with John huddled beside him, half on his own chair and half on Wen’s. John put on a cocky, brave face for police detective Tock—whom everyone called Tick, apparently—but Wen could feel John shaking. Michaela hovered in a chair near the wall, but the detectives made her stay out of John’s recounting of the events.
John said, “Yes, it was dumb, but I was upset because I thought Peter was leaving, and I came to Neverland to find him. That dude, Hooker, grabbed me and shoved me in a back room. Later they brought me to that building.”
“Who are ‘they’ exactly?” Tock smiled and took notes, perched on his own wooden chair.
“Those three the Boys caught at that apartment, plus one other guy.”
“We’ll ask you to identify the other man later.”
John nodded.
“And you, Mr. Darling, received a ransom call from Vadon Hooker, correct?”
It seemed like they’d been over this about five times. “Yes. He wanted me to find Peter and bring him here. He said it was because he wanted the reward from Peter’s family, but when I offered him an equivalent amount, he refused it and still wanted Peter.”
“What was the amount again?” Tock was a tall, thin guy with a friendly face. He poised his pencil.
“Something north of a hundred grand. I never heard exactly. Mr. Pennymaker theorized that Hooker would have kept Peter and continued to blackmail the family.”
“That’s conjecture?”
“Yes, but Mr. P.’s a pretty good guesser.”
“So I’ve observed.” He raised an eyebrow as he wrote.
Across the room, another detective questioned Peter, and different officers sat with all the Lost Boys and Tink in various locations around the club. As Wen stared, Peter looked up and their eyes met. He smiled, but it seemed kind of sad. Wen’s stomach lurched. Are they giving Peter a hard time?
“May I ask why you decided to take, uh, the law into your own hands and rescue your brother?”
“For the reason I said. Hooker couldn’t afford to lose his leverage if he was going to stay out of jail, so he couldn’t give up b
oth John and Peter. We were fortunate enough to discover where he was hiding John. I lured Hooker away from the apartment, and we theorized that his hired hands weren’t smart enough to really put up a fight without him.”
“How did you discover where he was holding John?”
Wen grinned. “Tink.”
“Who?”
“Abigail Anderson. She convinced Hooker she was on his side and wheedled the information out of one of his assholes, excuse me, henchmen.”
“Very clever but still foolhardy and dangerous.”
“I don’t take a lot of chances, Detective. This one was worth the risk.” He hugged John tighter.
“So, John, I gather you must think very highly of Peter, uh Alan Wellington.”
“He’s just Peter Panachek to me, and yeah.” John glanced up at Wen and flashed the family dimples. “He’s like a member of our family.”
Wen said, “Are we almost done? John’s pretty tired.”
“Yes, done for now. We may have additional questions, and, of course, you’ll have to testify.”
“With pleasure. Hooker’s a bad dude. He’s done a lot besides kidnapping he needs to pay for.” Wen stood and pulled John up beside him. “Ready to go home?”
“I want to thank Peter, uh, and the Boys and Tink and Mr. Pennymaker. You know, for saving me.” Suddenly John didn’t seem quite as tired.
“Okay, if the police are finished with them.”
John broke into a trot and ran across the dance floor to where Peter sat with a policeman. “Peter!”
Detective Tock laughed. “He sure does love Peter, I mean Alan. Whatever.”
Wen sighed. “He sure does.”
Peter looked up, stood, and John hurled himself into the air. Peter caught him, although it knocked him back a step or two. As Wen walked up, Peter and John were laughing.
Wen said, “Hi.” Duh. Wit to spare.
Peter gave him an unreadable face. “Hi.”
Peter set John’s feet back on the floor, but John took his hand. “Thanks, man, for saving me.”
A flicker of some kind of pain whipped across his face. “Wen saved you. I just screwed things up so you got kidnapped.”
John crossed his arms and frowned. “We’re not back there, are we? Shit happens, Peter.”
Wen sucked in breath to chastise John for the language and laughed instead. “Yes, it does. You got John in trouble through no fault of your own, and he shouldn’t have been running off to Neverland at the crack of dawn anyway. ” He gave John a look. “Then you got him out of it. Our plan wouldn’t have worked without you.”
Peter shrugged.
Wen slowly inhaled. Am I doing this? “There’s something else. I don’t think we work very well without you either—John and Michaela and, uh, me. I know you’ve got a lot of decisions to make, but would you throw that into the mix?” He clenched his hands together and hoped.
Peter stared at him. “You’re kidding. I’m a ne’er-do-well with no job and no place to live and a demanding family breathing down my neck. You’re a head of household with kids to raise and taxes to pay and a job where they don’t appreciate you that you don’t want to lose. How the hell does that work?”
Wen swallowed. “I can’t believe you just used ‘ne’er-do-well’ in a sentence.”
Peter snorted.
“Ah, my dears, talking about the future?” Mr. Pennymaker walked up, prancing in his shiny boots, Aussie hat rakishly cocked on his head.
Wen stared at the floor. “Yeah, Peter just viciously delineated our impossible situation.”
“Let’s sit and let me expand on it.”
Wen looked down at John. “Are you up for this, or do you want Michaela to take you home?”
“You kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.” He looked over at his sister, who leaned forward on the edge of her seat. “Hey, Mich, come hear about Wen and Peter.”
That might not have been exactly the way he’d describe it, but what the hell?
Michaela flew out of her chair and joined the group as they pulled out chairs around a small table. Samu glanced over—maybe he’d heard what John said—and wandered closer. When Wingman, Map, Dudish, and Tink saw Samu, they all gathered around. What had been a small family gathering now became a large family gathering. Wen smiled.
Mr. Pennymaker leaned back expansively. “First I’d like to note that you two dwell on how different you are. Wen is the too-responsible adult while Peter is the flighty elf you can’t rely on. But Peter stepped forward and took total responsibility for John’s peril, even to the point of surrendering his own chosen life.”
Peter’s head snapped up like he was surprised at that description of his actions.
“Yeah, man.” Samu took two steps forward. “And he thinks the Boys take care of him, but I think it’s the other way around.”
Dudish said shyly, “He always protects me and goes to bat with Smee for me.”
“He cleans the apartment.” That was Map.
Wingman leaned over and patted Peter’s shoulder. “And he gives us his money.”
Peter made a rude noise. “What money?” But he still wiped at one of his eyes.
Mr. Pennymaker put a hand on Wen’s shoulder. “Now let’s talk about Wen, a young man who shoulders responsibility like a workhorse but still expresses his wildly creative nature in everything he does. When he needed to save his brother, he chose a blatantly outrageous plan because it made the most sense, and he wouldn’t clip Peter’s wings.”
“And he’s funny and fun,” said John.
“This is by way of saying, gentlemen, that you’re far more alike than you think.”
Peter gave Wen a long look with soft warm eyes, but he shook his head, and Wen’s chest contracted. “But that doesn’t change the situation. Hell, my family’s found me. I need to take the money Wen’s going to pay me and run.”
John yelled, “We’ll go too.”
For a second, Peter looked shocked. “You have to stay here and go to school and study theater and become famous.”
Tears leaked from John’s eyes. “But I want to be with you.”
Wen didn’t know where the words came from. “So do I. We’ll come too.”
Peter slid around in his chair to face Wen. “You can’t do that. The kids, your job—”
“I’m an adult. I have choices.”
John pumped the air. “Yes!” He looked at Michaela. “You want to go, don’t you?”
“I want to be with you and Wen…and Peter.”
Tink stepped forward. “I’mgoingtoo.”
“And me.” Samu put his arm around Tink.
The three other Boys raised their hands.
Peter seemed lost between laughter and exasperation. “Don’t be silly. I can’t hide from my family with eight people.”
Wen said. “We’ll think of something. When do you want to leave?”
Mr. P. raised a finger. “Ah, you see, boys and girls, there’s a problem. I need Peter and the Lost Boys to perform at my club, so none of you can go.”
Peter popped the crease between his red brows. “What club?”
“Why, this one, of course. Smee didn’t drive a very hard bargain when he realized he might be considered an accessory to Hooker’s drug dealing and wanted to get out of town.”
Wingman jumped up and cheered. “That’s fantastic! I mean, you want us to stay, right?”
“What would this club be without its headliners? We’ll be advertising all over town and in the city. I have many friends who will love to see your amazing talent. Incidentally, I also own several apartment buildings in Brooklyn, and I think we can find you better accommodations.”
The guys all hugged each other.
Mr. Pennymaker said, “I also have a bigger place for you, Michaela, and John, Wen. You all need more space to grow.”
John jumped from his chair and hugged Mr. P. “That’s fantastic. I need to get my brother off the couch.”
“But, sir,” Wen said, “I already pay
the most I can afford for the space we have. I need money for the kid’s schools and lessons.”
“The rent will be the same, and we need to discuss that income of yours.”
Peter sighed. “That’s all great. But you don’t need me, Mr. P. You have Dudish to be front man, and I need to leave. It’ll be so much better knowing everyone is doing well.” He smiled sadly.
“StillgoingwithPeter.” Tink crossed her arms resolutely.
Wen and John exchanged a look. Wen said, “So are we. Thanks for the offer Mr. P.”
“I totally understand, my boy.”
Peter slapped a hand on the table. “Hang on, you can’t do this!”
Wen pressed closer to Peter. “Watch me.”
Mr. Pennymaker held up a hand again. “Stop for a moment. Peter, what is your family’s business?”
“Wellington Worldwide.”
Wen looked up so fast he practically broke his neck. “You’re kidding?”
“No. My great-grandfather started it as a small design firm, my grandfather expanded the business to nationwide, and my father took it international.”
Mr. P. smiled. “For those not in the know, Wellington Worldwide is one of the largest advertising and communications agencies in the world.”
Peter wrinkled his upper lip. “So?”
“Your father wants the business to stay in the family, am I correct? That’s why he’s moved heaven and earth to find you?”
“Yes. He doesn’t care what I want to do with my life. He wants to ‘groom’ me to head the agency.”
“What if we could offer him an alternative plan?”
Wen’s eyes widened. So did Peter’s, but they looked scared.
C.D. Wellington looked one helluva lot more formidable in this situation than the last time Wen had seen him. Then Wen had defied him; now he wanted his agreement.
Wen adjusted his tie and watched Peter fidget in his dress shirt—green, of course—leather sports jacket, and black jeans. Sartorial splendor all compliments of Mr. P., who sat there relaxed in a pair of striped trousers and a red-and-yellow plaid jacket over a blue vest.
A fire crackled in the fireplace of the same private room at the Executive Club Wen had barged into before. It might have been cozy if Wen wasn’t ready to lose his breakfast.
