The Con Code

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The Con Code Page 9

by Shana Silver


  “I’m sure he already knows how I feel.”

  “Okay. Secret’s safe.” He waves his wrist to coax me to get on with it.

  I hesitate, hands trembling in my lap. His voice is so confident, so infectious, but he delivers both his lies and his truths with the same gusto. It’s a gamble. Throw down my cards and reveal my hand … or walk out of here empty-handed.

  I lean forward and ante up. “I need to find my mom. And the only way to do that is to find the rest of the clues she left behind.”

  His eyes flash. “When you say ‘find the rest of the clues,’ you actually mean steal them, right?”

  I hold his gaze. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “What are we stealing? Where are the rest of the clues? How many are there?”

  I hold up a hand. “I’ll tell you that information when you need to know it. Right now you only need to know that these heists are not going to be easy. In fact, they’re going to be downright dangerous. If you get caught, you’ll be trading in your anklet for an orange jumpsuit.”

  It’s only fair to tell him what he’s getting into, even if I can’t divulge what we’re after.

  “Why would I possibly help you, then?” He lounges back into the couch cushions, showing off just how good he has it here at home. “I only have to deal with two more months of this thing.” He taps the anklet. “I’m not willing to trade that in for years behind bars.”

  “If we can find the art my mom stole, there’s some money at the end of the rainbow, but I don’t think you care about that. I think you care about honing your skills as a con man, proving that you can do it without getting caught, and…” Then maybe he’ll finally notice me, he said in my bedroom. He never made time to hear what I had to say, he said only a minute ago. My voice rises in volume. “Getting back at your dad.”

  His mouth drops open just a little, and there’s a sparkle in his eye.

  “But we need to leave now. What size boxers do you wear?”

  He does a spit take even though he isn’t drinking. “I’m not sure which part to react to first, because they’re both insane. Now? Boxers?”

  “I need your T-shirt and pant size, too. I just led with boxers for funsies.” I’m smiling, but his eyes are wide, staring at me like I’m crazy. “Natalie’s heading to the store now for the final supplies. You can’t exactly wear any of your real clothes, because they might be traced back to you.”

  He sputters a cough.

  “For future reference, the part about leaving now was the one you should have focused on. We have a lot to do before nine a.m. tomorrow when the tour bus leaves, so it has to be now.”

  He just stares at me, clearly waiting for me to clarify.

  “Coast-to-Coast Connect Teen Tour. An educational adventure across the nation.” I fist-pump my arm in the air halfheartedly. “Get ready for the best summer of your life! You might even get to make s’mores by a campfire if you’re super lucky.”

  “But—but I can’t leave now.” He jabs his finger at his anklet.

  I reach into my backpack and pull out a giant pair of garden shears. I’m really enjoying dragging this out and watching him freak out the same way I did when Natalie first suggested this. It’s kind of fun to be on the other side. “The anklet won’t be a problem.”

  Colin stands up and starts pacing the carpet, treading footprints along his path. “Are you crazy? If … if you cut that, it’ll alert the authorities. It’ll—”

  I purse my lips. “Then I hope you’re good at running.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re not just asking me to perform a few heists. You’re asking me to become an escaped convict!”

  When he says it like that, it sounds pretty bad. “But did you hear the part about s’mores?”

  He rakes his hands through his hair and continues pacing.

  “Colin,” I say, all hints of humor leaving my voice. “I have your back now, okay? We’re in this together. You, me, Natalie, Tig. You won’t have to be alone anymore. We’re a family now, and we’re not going to let you get caught.”

  It’s the only thing I can offer him that truly matters. Sure, it’s a family by choice rather than by blood, but it’s a choice he can make.

  My words stop him short. His chest puffs in and out.

  “Okay.” He laughs to himself. “Holy hell, I hope I don’t regret this, but okay. Except … can I grab something from my room?”

  “You can’t take anything from here. It’s too dangerous. I’ll let you keep the clothes on your back … for now.”

  “It’s just a photograph. You’re going to find your mom … and I want mine with me on this journey.” His voice catches on the word mom.

  My heart tugs and I nod, my fingers twirling on my mom’s necklace dangling at my clavicle.

  “Okay, but be fast. We’ve got anklets to cut, hair to dye, and FBI to evade.”

  Colin’s eyes widen on that last part, but he rattles off his sizes and then treks up the stairs. I bang out the information to Natalie with my new burner phone, and by the time I’ve finished, he’s back downstairs clutching a photograph.

  “Can I see it?” I’m not sure why I whisper this question, but it feels like something I should tread lightly on.

  He holds the photo out to me. It’s of a woman with dark brown hair smiling down at a toddler as he sits on top of a green plastic slide.

  “She died a week after this was taken.” There’s such rawness in his voice that a lump instantly lodges in my throat. “Car accident.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, and this time I’m glad to be able to say it instead of holding on to it for a month, wielding it like a weapon.

  He takes a shuddering breath and then stands tall. “Okay. Let’s do this. I need to get the hell out of this house.”

  My heart pounds, the crime we’re about to commit solidifying like a thick ice cube blocking our path. We’re in this together. No turning back.

  He squeezes his eyes shut, lifts his sweatpants up to his knee, and clenches his teeth. I snap the anklet in two.

  CHAPTER 10

  Streetlamps illuminate circles on the deserted road, and pinprick stars are scattered across the inky black sky. Giant, colorful houses line the lane in front of us, each sealed away by curtains or fences. A slight wind seizes my long hair, sending it flying, and for once I let the strands stick to my lips and crowd beneath my neck. I’m going to miss my long locks.

  Everything looks so peaceful, even though we just spun our world into total chaos. No turning back now. My head pounds as I place one shaky foot in front of the other, my backpack hanging heavy on my shoulders. A sense of camaraderie with my long-lost mother nestles into my chest, burrowing there to keep me strong. She chose a life on the run over one huddled in a six-by-eight rectangular box. Her last words to me blink in my mind like neon lights. I hope you grow up to be exactly who you want to be.

  Who I always wanted to be was … her. The kind of person who wields middle fingers instead of guns, who steals what they want from those who don’t need it, who never gives up or gives in.

  The kind of person who follows the clues.

  A car ambles down the road, swinging headlights that force both Colin and me to squint. “Please tell me that’s not your dad’s car.”

  “He doesn’t drive an SUV, but just in case…” He rushes to duck behind a bush.

  I tug on his shirt to lift him upright. “Act cool, dumb-ass. Not incredibly suspicious.” Something in my chest swirls at my use of the word dumb-ass. I shouldn’t have said that. Not after promising him we’re family now.

  But when the car passes us by, we both let out heavy breaths.

  “Sorry I called you a dumb-ass.”

  “Wow, you don’t apologize for a full month, and now they’re freely flowing from your lips.”

  “I meant what I said earlier. We’re family now. Come on.” I wave him forward. “Let’s not chance that happening again.”

  We run for a single
block before we slide into the waiting seats of an idling taxi. The cushion squishes under my weight, and my head hits the back seat with the same relief as a pillow after a long day. I drop the heavy backpack at my feet.

  Colin squeezes in beside me. “Our perfect escape … involves a taxicab? Can’t this be traced back to us somehow?”

  “Shh.” I lean forward and brace my hands on the plastic window that separates us from the driver. “Sorry about the delay, we’re ready now.”

  The driver guns the engine and swerves toward a preplanned destination Tig helped me pick out. Streetlights sweep over the car, dropping temporary spotlights onto my worn-in knees. What better way to get rid of old pants than to plant them as evidence in the wrong place to throw the FBI off our scent!

  Colin’s eyes bug at the hefty number displayed on the running meter. “How long was he waiting here?”

  I pull a thick wad of bills out of my backpack and fan them. “The meter is nothing compared to the size of the tip I promised my new buddy.”

  “Cha-ching!” The driver rubs his thumb and index finger together.

  “So a payoff,” Colin whispers.

  The car bumps along the roads, obeying all traffic laws and the exact speed limit. We lurch to a stop at yellow lights as if even crossing through might be taboo. After twenty minutes, the cab pulls to an abrupt stop at a random corner in the Mission. The heavy beat from a nightclub pulses so loud, the sidewalks vibrate. Black lights in the windows cast purple highlights on the lingering crowd, and plumes of cigarette smoke curl into the air.

  I pass the driver a stack of folded bills so thick, my fingers extend to their limits. “I trust this covers both our agreement and a little extra for—” I press my index finger to my lips in the universal sign for shhh. None of this would be possible without the generous donations of my cheating classmates.

  “I picked up a couple of generic-looking kids to go to a nightclub. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  I pile out of the car and crook my finger toward my chest in a come-hither way to coax Colin to follow me. I’m really enjoying this dose of control and power over him. He hesitates for a moment, but follows. The people standing on the nightclub line swivel their heads in our direction, sizing us up. We keep on strolling right past the line, crossing the next street, where we stand on the corner and I lift my hand. Another yellow cab pulls up, and I throw my backpack onto the seat before shuffling inside.

  Colin grunts and plops down next to me. “Where are we going this time?”

  “Thirty-Fourth and Moraga Street,” I tell the cabbie.

  “Why there?” Colin squints at me.

  “It’s away from here.” It’s also a street with no cameras. A true blind spot. Just like this one.

  Neon signs blur into streaks from the velocity of the car. We switch cabs two more times before the third drives another forty-five minutes on the straight and narrow to an address that makes Colin’s eyebrows shoot way up. All the way in San Mateo. Residential houses line the destination, each one perky with alarm systems that would freak if they knew criminals lurked outside. Once the cab drives away, I fumble in my backpack and yank out two baseball caps. I toss him the 49ers hat, and he pulls it low over his eyes without question.

  I twist my long hair into a messy French knot and dump my own Giants cap on top to cover the escaping strands.

  “How many more cabs are we going to take?”

  “None. Now follow me and stay close. This stretch of sidewalk is blind to cameras.”

  He lets out a little laugh. “Of course it is.”

  At the end of the block, an ARCO gas station glowing with bright lights comes into view. Cars swerve in and out of the open gas lanes. To seem like we belong, we amble past the drivers filling their tanks and circle around the station to the single-occupancy bathroom on the side. Colin twists the knob and holds the door out for me, proving the incongruity that sometimes assholes can also be gentlemen.

  I stomp past him and wait a beat until he follows. Once he’s inside, I flip on the lock and the light in quick succession. Air leaks from my lungs. We’re safe. Which means my mom’s safe.

  “Do you take all your conquests to such romantic places?” He pinches his nose.

  It’s the equivalent of a cell, complete with a toilet and sink, and lacking any dignity. Dirty gray tiles lead up to the toilet overflowing with mushy white paper. I cough against the overwhelming stench of urine and kick the toilet handle to flush it.

  “Only the special ones.”

  I drop the backpack onto the tile with a loud thwap, missing a puddle of yellow liquid by only an inch. I crouch in front of the bag, forcing Colin to hop back a step and slam into the wall from lack of space to maneuver. I unearth an electric barber’s razor and stand to face him. “Turn around.”

  “Thanks, but I think you’ve already stabbed me in the back enough times for one lifetime.” He rakes a hand through his own beautiful hair. I admit, he’s been blessed in the follicular department. Ugh, and the face department, too.

  I roll my eyes. “You’ll get your revenge. Scissors in my bag. You can cut it short.”

  My hand flies to my precious dirty-blond hair, still tucked beneath the baseball cap. My dad used to urge me to chop my long locks. It’ll be easier to stuff under a wig, he’d claim. I’d dangle a bald cap in his face in retaliation. My forgeries defined me anonymously, but my waist-length hair helped me stand out in high school, the only place safe enough to indulge in being recognized. Plus, I haven’t cut it since my mom left, as if keeping my strands the same length was a gateway drug to putting everything back to normal if—no, when—she returned.

  Colin reaches into the bag and grabs the scissors. We glare at each other in a dumb staring contest neither of us has the balls to lose.

  “Ladies first.” He gets up right in my face, so close I can smell his brand-name soap above the lingering stench of urine. His smirk does the talking while his hand flies toward me and knocks against the underside of my cap. It hits the opposite wall before sinking to the floor. When my long hair flops against my shoulders, I feel the urge to fight him off but force myself to surrender. This was my choice, after all. But I can still give him a hard time during it.

  He grabs a clump of my hair from my side and yanks it away from my arms. The sickening metallic scrape of the scissors across my hair also cuts a figurative hole through my gut.

  He waves a fistful of at least fifteen inches of my glorious locks. “I won that round.”

  My chest cinches tight, but I combat the feeling with a fierce glare. “It’s not a competition. I literally gave you permission.” My shoulders tremble. “You better not make me look ridiculous.”

  “Hey, don’t go blaming your natural appearance on me.” He crosses to the garbage, but I shake my head. “Flush it.”

  A tilt-o-whirl of hair swirls until it disappears down the drain. If we leave the hair behind in the garbage and the cops find it, they’ll be able to deduce what I look like now.

  I kneel on the floor in front of him, my knees sinking onto a towel he laid out from the bag. Each snip of his scissors tears my heart in two. Long strands flutter to the floor like snowflakes that melt as soon as I scoop them up and destroy the evidence, each one forcing me to stifle a whimper.

  “Ta-da! I tried to make you look better, but even I can’t work miracles.”

  On shaky legs, I take tentative steps toward the streaky mirror, cringing. Choppy ends crest my chin, and sharp angles frame my face, dancing when I shake my head in a way my heavy locks were always too lazy to do. I allow myself only ten seconds to mourn the loss before I reawaken my stiff fingers by wrapping my hand around my revenge weapon. “My turn to castrate you.”

  This time he gets to be the submissive one. I force him to kneel in front of me on the towel that will catch his strands. A pang of regret swoops through me, and for a split second, I almost toss the razor out the window instead. I may hate him, but that doesn’t mean I hate how stop-tra
ffic good-looking he is with this particular style. The way he’s always pushing it out of his eyes, like he’s revealing a secret.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “It’ll grow back.”

  That does it. I flick on the razor, and the static buzz grounds me. I run my fingers through his silky hair for the first time, for the last time—and then I exact my revenge by gliding the device over his scalp. Strands fly in all directions, dropping onto the towel in clumps. Each piece that falls gives me a satisfaction I’ve never felt before. He’s my enemy, but he trusts me with what could potentially be a weapon. I brace my hand on his shoulder, gripping tight. “Thank you,” I whisper, even though he can’t hear it above the buzz of the razor. “For helping me.”

  I switch off the razor, cringing at the abrupt silence.

  He pushes himself up and heads to the dull mirror and purses his lips at his reflection. Damn it, he’s still incredibly good-looking with his head completely shaved. Sometimes hotness is wasted on the undeserving.

  “So, you mentioned hair dye earlier, but I’m assuming that’s only for you. Considering I’m now lacking in the hair department.”

  “Wow, nothing gets past you.”

  He riffles through my bag, unearths three boxes of hair dye, and lines them up along the sink. “They say blonds have more fun, so it’s a good thing we’re about to dye your hair. It sounds like we have a lot of work ahead of us.” He nudges the first box, where an orangey-red head beams at me. “What’ll it be? Ariel mermaid hair?” He taps the second box. “Rebellious blue. It’ll make you stand out, yes, but in that cliché teenage rebellion way that adults will roll their eyes at.” He tosses the third box in the air and catches it. “Or maybe you want to go dark, like your personality?”

  I snatch the third box out of his hands. Dark brownish black is the most natural. Most realistic. Most likely to be ignored. “The other two are going to be planted evidence.”

  Rule #8: You can’t just plan for your main exit strategy, you have to plan your decoys as well. My plan is to empty the other boxes out in the sink and then abandon the auburn box with my clothing and the blue box with Colin’s at two different locations. One in this bathroom and then one at whatever rest stop we pull in to on the teen tour. Hopefully, they’ll assume I’m now a redhead and he’s now a Smurf.

 

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