You Can't Catch Me

by Catherine McKenzie

  “You too. You look great. This girl,” I say to the man, “is amazing.”

  “I was just thinking that myself,” he says, smiling at Jessie indulgently.

  “Oh!” Jessie says, turning and patting him on the arm. “Is it all right, Robert, if she joins us?”

  He looks caught between wanting to please Jessie and being stuck with me. “Sure, of course. What were you drinking?”

  “We’re having champagne,” Jessie says enthusiastically, draining the rest of her glass. “Is that okay, Robert? We can pay our own way.”

  “Absolutely not.” He motions for the bartender, pointing to Jessie’s glass and holding up two fingers in a move that reminds me of Liam. What would he think if he could see me right now?

  “Thank you,” I say, shoving that thought aside.

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “Say, you look familiar,” he says to me. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “No, I’m good with faces. Give me a minute.”

  I turn away. We should abandon this mission pronto before he figures out that I’m that girl. I never thought I’d be recognized in Philly, especially now that all the press has died down.

  Robert snaps his fingers. “Can’t get it. You must look like someone.”

  “I have that kind of face.”

  I reach into my purse and pull out a pack of cards, putting it down on the bar. I put my hand back in, looking for something. “My stupid phone always gets lost in here.”

  “Oh,” Jessie says, picking up the cards. “Can you still do it?”

  “Do what?” Robert asks.

  “She can do magic,” Jessie enthuses.

  “Magic?”

  I aw-shucks kick at the floor. “Well, not magic exactly, but you know that card game? Three-card monte?”

  “Of course.”

  Jessie jumps in. “She can beat the game, every time.”

  “Impressive,” he says.

  “Anyone can do it.”

  “You’d finally be willing to teach me?” Jessie says.

  “Sure, why not.”

  I open the deck and find the three cards I need, then bend them in the middle, so they make a tent on the table. I show Robert the red queen. “This is the card you need to follow.”

  He nods. His face is puffy from too many stops at this bar on the way home, but he wasn’t a bad-looking guy once, if you go for the prep-school type.

  “Watch the queen.”

  I show it to him again, then start my shuffle. I flop the cards onto the table. The queen is in the middle, but if I’ve done it right, he should think it’s on the left.

  The bartender brings us our glasses of champagne. I take a sip. It’s cheap and sweet. No chance that it’s actually champagne, but grifters can’t be choosers.

  “Could I get an order of fish and chips?” I ask the bartender. He winks at me quickly. He’s seen this scam before, some version of it. And what does he care? He knows this guy is good for the bill.

  “Oh, that sounds good. Me too,” Jessie says. “Do you want anything, Robert? I bet you like the ploughman’s.”

  “I do, actually.”

  “I knew it.” Jessie rubs her hand along his arm. “So, we’ll have that too. Your drink okay?”

  “I’ll have another,” Robert says, pointing to his glass.

  The bartender turns to go, and Jessie picks up his glass and smells it. She wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, how do you drink this?”

  “I’ll teach you to appreciate it if you like.”

  Jessie smiles at him. “Maybe later. Let’s let . . . Oh my God, I forgot your name.”

  She means me. She’s slurring her words. She needs to slow down on the champagne.

  “It’s June.”

  “Right, of course, how silly of me. Robert, this is June.”

  We shake hands formally though we’re already past that stage.

  “June, finish the trick.”

  “So, Robert, which card do you choose?”

  He looks down at the cards on the bar. “I was distracted.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll do it again.”

  I go through the routine. His eyes have been following the wrong card the whole time. He points to the card on the left.

  “I just took your money.” I flip over the card to show him his mistake.

  “How did you do that?”

  “It’s simple.”

  I go through it again more slowly. Flash him the queen, then exaggerate the motion of switching it for another card.

  “It’s designed so that the player is following the wrong card,” I say. “That’s the trick.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  “If you know what to look for, you can win.”

  He sips on his drink slowly. “Show me again.”

  Several hours later, after more card lessons, a full bottle of what they’re passing off as champagne, and more food than I’ve eaten in a single meal in years, Jessie excuses herself to go to the restroom. Because it’s part of our plan, I know that the bar’s phone will ring in a moment, and so it does.

  “Shanty’s.” The bartender’s eyes flit to Robert. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him.” He hangs up and walks over. “Time to settle up.”

  “What’s that?” Robert’s slurring his words, deep into his fourth glass.

  “You need to pay your bill, sir, and get home. That was your wife on the phone.”

  “My . . .” He slips his ring-bearing hand into his pocket, then makes a big show of looking at his watch. “It’s late. I should be getting along.”

  “One bill, sir?”

  “What? Yes, of course.”

  Jessie returns from the bathroom as the bartender puts the bill on the bar in front of Robert.

  “Is the party over?”

  “I’m afraid so, my dear. I, uh, have an early meeting in the morning.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Robert takes his credit card out and passes it to the bartender without looking at the total. I can see it, though. Close to $500. This place certainly charges champagne prices.

  “It can’t be helped,” Robert says. “But I’d love to see you again.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Jessie takes a pen out of her purse and writes her “number” on a bar napkin. The bartender gives Robert a credit card slip to sign, which he does hastily, adding a crappy tip. He passes it back and takes Jessie’s napkin, tucking it into his pocket.

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Do.”

  She presents her cheek to him and he kisses it. Then he gathers himself and walks unsteadily out the door.

  I watch him leave, then take a twenty out of my wallet and put it on the bar.

  “I noticed he left a bad tip,” I say.

  “Thanks,” the bartender says. “Another drink?”

  “I think we’re done here.”

  He nods knowingly as Jessie and I stand to go. We walk to the entrance and wait a moment to make sure that Robert is truly gone. When we make eye contact, we burst out laughing.

  “Should we go?” I ask when we’ve regained control of ourselves.

  “Let’s.”

  Outside, the air is cooler, and I wish I had a coat. But the alcohol and food are warm inside me as we lean against the building.

  “We did it,” Jessie says. “I can’t believe it.”

  “We did. We really did.”

  “Are we terrible for doing that to someone, even though that guy was a jerk?”

  “He was—”

  “Pleased with yourselves?” a gruff voice says behind us, making me jump.

  I turn around. It’s a woman with close-cropped blonde hair wearing a military peacoat.

  JJ.

  Chapter 17

  How Do You Say Goodbye?

  Covington was the one who told me that Todd was dead. Another text in the middle of the night, a light flashing next to me on the nightstand. I’d for
gotten to turn off my phone because it was the end of term and I’d just graduated from J school. I’d gone to a party with this guy, Max, a guy I’d never paid much attention to, but who was good enough for that night. One thing had led to another, and he was breathing heavily next to me in my bed. He wore round glasses and had earnest ambitions about becoming the next Walter Cronkite or Brian Williams or whatever. The sex had been disappointing, so instead of dozing off in a comfortable haze, I was lying awake regretting my choices.

  When the text came in, I read it, then read it again. Covington had written: Yee-haw! Jester is dead! followed by a series of emojis that I think were meant to denote joy.

  Are you watching Top Gun? Again?

  No, dummy. Todd. Todd is DEAD.

  What? Are you sure?

  Yeah.

  How?

  My parents called.

  Holy shit.

  I KNOW.

  When did this happen?

  Couple days ago. Funeral is tomorrow.

  You going?

  Damn right. It’s going to be lit.

  You should come and dance on his grave with me.

  Todd was dead. I didn’t know what to feel. Happiness? Worry? Todd couldn’t touch me anymore, or anyone else. How did I feel about that?

  So, you coming, or what? Covington wrote.

  I’ll let you know in the morning. What time are you leaving?

  He told me, and I set an alarm and settled under the covers. Todd was dead. Somehow, I never thought of that as a solution. The regrets that had been keeping me awake drained away. I turned on my side, my back to Max, and fell into a deep sleep.

  In the morning, I shooed Max out, took a shower, and texted Covington that he should come pick me up. As the city, then the wilderness flashed by, I concentrated on one thing. Kiki.

  After I’d left the LOT, I’d tried to find a way to keep in touch with her, to let her know that the offer of rescue was still good, but it was impossible to reach her. The first summer, I borrowed Liam’s car and drove to the farmers’ market. I had my hair up in a baseball cap and sunglasses on—I was scared of being seen, caught, kidnapped in reverse. I waited around all day, but no one from the LOT ever showed. Feeling desperate when the market started packing up, I asked a few of the merchants I recognized whether they’d seen anyone from the Land of Todd.

  “You mean those cult people?” one girl about my age asked.

  I nodded.

  “They don’t come here no more. Not since last summer.”

  Not since I’d flown the coop. They must have figured out how Liam had gotten to me and had cut off that avenue of escape. What was I going to do?

  I could ask Liam, only I hadn’t told Liam about Kiki. He knew I had family in the cult, that my parents were still there, but I hadn’t gone into the details of anyone else who mattered to me. When I first left, I was in too much pain and guilt to talk about it. I’d left Kiki behind. Even then, I knew I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve forced her down the hill with me, even if it meant increasing the chance of discovery. She didn’t know what she was doing when she said she wanted to stay. She was programmed, brainwashed. What would Liam think of me if he knew I’d abandoned her? I was ashamed, so eventually I tucked Kiki away. I tried not to think about her. She’d made her choice, and there was nothing I could do.

  I played all the time that had gone by over in my head on the drive to the LOT with Covington. It had been five years since I’d escaped. Five years since I’d seen Kiki. Would we be strangers to one another? Could she forgive me? Or was she now as brainwashed as our parents?

  We timed our arrival so that we wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet of stares and questions our being there would raise. Todd hadn’t left instructions, so they were burying him in the Back Forest, Covington’s parents had told him. The main camp was abandoned and silent when we got there. Memories flooded back as we picked our way through the woods. Then we were there. A hundred people huddled silently around his grave. I picked out Kiki immediately, went to her side, and slipped my hand into hers. She squeezed it tight without looking at me, and my worry seeped away.

  I looked around the circle defiantly, meeting the startled stares of the Toddians and avoiding those of my parents. What I wanted to do was make eye contact with Kiki. But when I finally did, I felt a chill run through me.

  She didn’t look much different; she was different. She used to be positive and innocent. She wasn’t the most confident girl, but she was sure of her beliefs and her place in the world. She had confidence that Todd was right, that the path would be revealed, that everything had its purpose, including her. Her eyes told a different story now. She’d seen and experienced things she hadn’t thought possible, and I was afraid to ask what they were.

  I leaned my head against hers and whispered into her ear. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore, Kiki.”

  I felt her go slack. “Oh, Jess. Of course I do.”

  JJ, Jessie, and I are sitting in the dark corner of another bar a few blocks away. JJ’s sitting across from us and she’s not smiling. She’s been observing us since we got to Philly, and she’s found us wanting.

  “We were just having a bit of fun,” I say.

  JJ ordered an old-fashioned, but she’s barely touched it, and the fizz from the champagne and grift has evaporated.

  “I saw that.”

  “I’m sorry. That was unacceptable.”

  “It was.”

  “I could explain, but no excuses.”

  “I appreciate that,” JJ says. “I don’t like excuses.”

  “I get it.”

  She squints at me. Her face is permanently lined from the sun from when she served in Afghanistan. The false arm and hook she wears when cooking is absent; her green army-surplus jacket is tucked neatly over where her left arm should be. Her hair is that white, albino blonde you usually only see in children, her eyes a deep brown.

  “You do?” she asks.

  “You’ve seen enough bad in your life.”

  “I’ve certainly seen enough of you two.”

  “We deserve that. As I said, no excuses.”

  “Right.”

  She finally picks up her drink and swallows half the glass.

  “I am curious, though,” I say.

  “What about?”

  “Why didn’t you walk away when you saw what we were doing? Why stay and watch? Why reveal yourself?”

  JJ smiles slowly. Her teeth are straight and white, and the charisma I saw on YouTube finally shines through. “I’ve been asking myself those very questions.”

  “Any answers?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “Killed the cat,” Jessie blurts. I stomp on her foot, but not too hard because I’m pretty sure she’s drunk. Whether it’s on the champagne or the high of taking Robert for $455 including a shitty tip, I’m not sure.

  “That it did.” JJ finishes her drink and looks like she’s thinking about another. “Okay, so yeah, I’m curious. But I shouldn’t be. I should stay the fuck out of it.”

  “That’s what I said,” Jessie says.

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Curiosity for sure. Plus, she’s pretty persuasive, this one.” Jessie points her thumb at me.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’m a librarian in Upstate New York.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  She motions to herself. “Do I seem like the kind of person who’d willingly come all this way to try to talk someone into searching for the person who stole my money?”

  “You do not.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  “She gave me this whole speech about how we were a band of brothers and we had to stop Jessica Two before someone lost more than just their money.”

  “Jessica Two?”

  “It’s what I call her,” I say.

  “I am so fucking confused right now.” JJ leans back in the booth. She catches the ey
e of our waitress, and that silent signal for more passes between them.

  “I’m Jessica One,” I say. “To me, anyway. So, when I met the other Jessica, and she did that thing she does—you know, Oh, we have the same name, how unusual—I started thinking of her as Jessica Two. Jessie’s Jessica Three. You’re Four.”

  “Why do you get to be One?”

  The waitress delivers JJ her drink. She holds the glass in her one hand, staring at the liquid in the murky light.

  “This might be the stupidest fucking conversation I’ve had in a long time, and that’s including the one I had with her. No wonder she took our money,” JJ says.

  I lean forward. “Okay, let’s forget about what to call her, or us. We don’t have to be a band of brothers, or a band of Jessicas, or anything. But she took something from us. She did. And we should try to get it back.”

  “What makes you think you’ll succeed?”

  “I have no idea if I will. But I feel like the three of us together have a better chance than me alone.”

  JJ looks me in the eye. “She’s not going to like this, you know.”

  “Who cares what she likes or wants.”

  “You should care.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she doesn’t stop at taking your money. If she thinks you’re a threat, she’ll come for more than that.”

  “How do you know that?” Jessie asks.

  “Because that’s what she did to me.”

  Chapter 18

  You Know the Drill

  JJ’s story has a familiar ring to it. When she got back from Afghanistan and finished her rehab, she decided to pursue her first love, cooking. She did great in chef school despite her disability, but when she graduated, she couldn’t get a job. She was receiving a disability pension from the VA, but she was down. A friend of hers hired her to cater a dinner party to try to kick-start a business, and over drinks in the kitchen they were joking about all the silly advice she was getting.

  “Stay positive seemed to be the most consistent one,” JJ says. She points to her missing arm. “Like, forget this ever happened! Think of your blessings! You are such a lucky person!”

  “Sounds annoying,” I say.

  “I’ll say. But it got us thinking. If people buy into that shit, then maybe we should take it to its logical conclusion. Like, you want positive? I’ll show you positive. And that’s how the relentlessly positive one-armed lady chef was born.”