(the most isolated entrance).
They can hear music wafting through the trees, the string quartet rehearsing
(or something).
(Rich-people stuff.)
“You don’t have to come with me,” Eric tells Liam. “It will probably get crazy in there. You should probably walk away.”
Liam stares out the window. “What if I drive away from here and the police don’t defuse the bombs?”
“I mean, I can still probably stop him.”
“But what if you can’t?” Liam shakes his head. “People could die. I can’t just bail now.”
Eric looks at him. “Well, thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Liam kind of laughs. “It’s not like I want to be here.”
326.
Eric and Liam sneak into the park. Creep toward the gala, the red carpet, a big tent, and the aforementioned string quartet. There’s a valet stand out front, a parking lot.
(There’s an army of police officers, too. They’re everywhere.)
Eric and Liam hide in the trees at the edge of the parking lot. They hide for a long time. They watch the cops guarding the tent, and the workers scurrying in and out, and they listen to the string quartet rehearse the same goddamn Vivaldi number, like, eight million times.
And as the afternoon turns to evening, the party begins. Luxury cars fill the valet parking lot. Rich people in designer clothes line up outside the tent, posing for pictures on the red carpet.
Eric and Liam scan the arriving guests for any sign of Jordan. Search the valet lot for Jordan’s dad’s Tesla.
They don’t see Jordan.
(But they do see . . .)
327.
Eric grabs Liam’s arm. “Over there,” he says, pointing. “That’s Paige.”
Liam frowns. “Oka-ay?” he says. “Who’s Paige again?”
Eric gives him a look.
“Oh,” Liam says. “One of the girls. You think she’s here with Jordan?”
Eric doesn’t know why Paige is here at all. He doesn’t know why Paige isn’t, like, a thousand miles away from here.
“You need to get her out of here,” he tells Liam. “Take her somewhere safe until this is over. I’ll watch the tent.”
“You want me to talk to her?” Liam says.
“I can’t go out there. What if the police know about me? I can’t take the chance.”
Liam just watches as Paige crosses the lot to the line outside the tent. She looks around the park, once, and then joins the line.
“Go,” Eric says. “Before she’s inside.”
Liam pauses another beat. Then he swears and climbs out of the bushes, shaking his head.
328.
Eric watches as Liam hurries across the valet lot to the line. He watches Liam approach Paige, tap her on the shoulder. He watches Paige frown as she turns and sees Liam. Watches her features darken as Liam says something.
Paige shakes her head.
She gestures emphatically.
She doesn’t look like she wants to go anywhere.
Liam glances back at the bushes. Eric screams at him telepathically. Do not. Let her. Go into that tent.
Liam turns back around to Paige. He says something else. Paige looks past Liam. She looks directly at the bushes where Eric’s hiding.
She steps out of the line, and starts walking toward Eric.
329.
Paige is in the bushes before Eric can react.
(She’s tearing her Badgley Mischka, but she doesn’t seem to care.)
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the cops,” she says. “I’m sick of this bullshit, Eric. I’m done.”
“I know,” Eric says. “I’m sorry. You were right, about everything. But you can’t be here right now, Paige. It’s too dangerous.”
“Yeah, I know. Haley said you and Jordan went crazy. She said you’re going to destroy Anonymous-9 before he can tell them about us tonight.”
There’s so much to unpack in that statement that Eric short-circuits for a moment. “Wait . . . Haley?”
“She texted me just after Anonymous dropped his last message. Told me to meet her at the gala.” Paige glares at him. “We’re ending this, Eric. This Pack bullshit is like a million miles out of bounds already, and—”
“Haley’s dead,” Eric says.
Paige blinks. “What?”
“Haley didn’t text you this morning. I saw Jordan kill her last night. She’s dead, and she doesn’t know anything about the gala, Paige. That was Jordan texting you from her phone.”
“But—” Paige’s face goes slack. “How do you know?”
“Jordan has three more bombs,” Eric tells her. “He wants as many people here as possible before he sets them off. So he invented Anonymous-9 to make sure they all came.”
Paige’s mouth moves. She doesn’t make any sounds, though. She looks down at the ground and plays Eric’s words back.
“Haley’s dead,” she says.
“Yeah,” Eric says. “I’m so sorry, Paige. I totally fucked this all up.”
Paige looks ready to reply. She doesn’t get the chance. Because just as she starts to speak, the first bomb explodes.
330.
The explosion doesn’t come from the gala. It sounds like it came from far away, the other end of downtown probably, by the mall. It’s muffled, but it’s for sure a bomb blast. It sounds just like the bomb that destroyed the Côte d’Azur, the first bomb—
(Jordan’s bomb)
(E’s bomb).
“What the hell?” Liam says. “I thought you said Jordan’s target was the gala.”
Eric’s mind is racing. He’s trying to figure this out. Outside the bushes, the Capilano PD is mobilizing. Cops are running to their cruisers. They’re hollering into radios. They’re slamming doors and whooping sirens, peeling rubber toward downtown.
“What’s over there?” Paige says. “What would Jordan want to target?”
“The St. Regis. The marina. Tory Burch.” Liam thinks. “Anthropologie? Nordstrom Rack? Starbucks?”
The last of the police cars screams out of the parking lot. Its siren fades into the distance. A stillness descends. Dead quiet.
(And then Eric gets it.)
“It’s just a diversion,” he tells Liam and Paige. “He’s getting the police out of the way.”
Liam peers out of the bushes at the line of confused rich people and handful of rent-a-cops who are lingering in the wake of the PD’s mass exodus.
“Looks like it worked,” he says.
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/27/16 – 06:08 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: If you’re not at the gala, kiddies, you’re missing one epic party. Who’s ready to know THE TRUTH???
331.
Across the parking lot, outside the tent, everyone under the age of nineteen checks their phone at the same time.
(Eric can literally see the moment when Jordan’s message hits.)
Kids start texting. Typing. They look up and chatter to the person next to them. Everyone’s excited. Everyone’s trying to get back in the tent.
The cops are forgotten.
The Pack’s more important.
Eric has one focus—find Jordan.
332.
“I’m going to stop him,” Eric says. “Liam, come with me. Paige, you stay here.”
“Wait, what?” Paige frowns at Liam. “I don’t even know this guy. How come he gets to go and I don’t?”
“It’s too dangerous,” Eric says. “Stay back here where it’s safe.”
Paige shakes her head. “Screw you and your gender-normative bullshit. This is my fault, too. I’m going.”
From the look in her eyes, Eric knows he’s not changing her mind. So he turns to Liam instead.
“Find Jordan’s car,” he says. “It’s a Tesla, probably hidden somewhere nearby. Disable it, if you can. And if he tries to escape—”
“He’s not going
anywhere,” Liam tells Eric. “I’ll make sure of it.”
333.
“Two bombs,” Eric tells Paige, as they scan the tent—
(There’s a stage for the speeches, close to where they’re standing. A dance floor and that goddamn string quartet. Banquet seating, and a—
crowded
—bar table.)
“Probably situated in a way to cause the most damage.”
“I’ll take the far side. You take the near side,” Paige says. “What do we do when we find the bombs?”
“I’ll get them out of here,” Eric tells her. “Get them into the forest, as far away from civilization as possible.”
Paige looks skeptical. “Those are live explosives. What if Jordan blows you up?”
Eric forces a smile. “I kind of deserve it. Better me than those old people, right? Even if they are godless hypocrites.”
Paige doesn’t smile back.
Paige doesn’t think it’s funny.
“Hey,” Eric says, just before they disperse. “I’m sorry I flaked out so hard junior year. I know that was rotten of me. I should have, like, told you what was going on in my life.”
Paige stares at him like she doesn’t understand. Then she kind of laughs. “You’re doing this now? All the freaking time you had to apologize, and you choose this moment, Eric?”
“I mean,” Eric says. “It just felt like an appropriate time.”
“You watch too many movies. Apologize when this is over. Then maybe I’ll listen.”
“Fine,” Eric says. “But I’m sorry anyway.”
Now Paige smiles. Just a little, but it’s there.
It’s a bonding moment.
It lightens the mood.
Paige and Eric enjoy it for a minute.
Then they make their move for the bombs.
334.
Eric hurries through the rows of tables toward the stage, where the string quartet is just finishing up. He’s bumping people as he passes them. They’re complaining. He’s causing a scene.
Eric doesn’t have time to care right now.
(His phone buzzes.)
A text message from Liam.
Found J’s car. This in the center console.
There’s an image attached. A picture of a piece of paper. Blank, except for three lines, written in Jordan’s neat, steady hand.
Three lines.
Three phone numbers, all nearly sequential.
(Eric gets it.)
These are the numbers to Jordan’s burner phones.
These are the phone numbers that will set off Jordan’s bombs.
(Eric enters them into his contacts.)
335.
Eric’s phone buzzes again.
He checks the screen, thinking it’s Liam.
It’s not.
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/27/16 – 06:15 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: Confession time: One member of the SUICIDE PACK couldn’t be here tonight. She had a tragic boating accident, and now she’s dead.
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/27/16 – 06:16 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: [A picture of HALEY KEEFER on Jordan’s boat. She’s smoking a cigarette and shooting the camera the finger.]
336.
Around the tent, hundreds of smartphones light up.
(Audible gasps from the audience.)
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/27/16 – 06:17 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: Two other PACK members should be here shortly. You’ll recognize them. He’s Cap High’s nerdy but lovable STUDENT OF THE YEAR and she was in ITALIAN VOGUE.
337.
A murmur from the crowd. Around Eric, heads start to turn. Eric can feel people looking at him.
There’s no time for this game.
He scans the room, looking for a logical place to plant a bomb. Looking for Jordan’s duffel bag.
Then he spots it.
The bag is sitting under a table by the cocktail bar. It’s mostly hidden by an ornate tablecloth. Above it, the table is piled high with an elaborate pyramid of crystal champagne flutes.
Eric can see immediately why Jordan chose this spot.
(Shrapnel.)
(Plus the bar is swarming with people.)
His phone’s buzzing again. Eric doesn’t bother to check it. He sticks to the edge of the tent. Tries to stay inconspicuous. Hurries as fast as he dares toward the champagne table, his eyes scanning the crowd, expecting any second to see Jordan.
Expecting any second to,
well,
(you know)
kablamo.
338.
People close to Eric are openly staring at him by now. They’re pointing and nudging each other and whispering his name.
(And Eric’s pretty sure it’s not because he showed up in a hoodie.)
Eric ignores them. Reaches the back of the champagne table and ducks underneath. Stretches for the duffel bag, hooks the strap with his fingers. Drags it toward him—
(gently, gently)
—then picks it up and walks, like, fast for the nearest exit.
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/27/16 – 06:20 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: Haley Keefer. Paige Hammond. Eric Connelly. Three of the four members of the SUICIDE PACK, though in truth none of them have the balls to LEAD the Pack. So who’s calling the shots, you ask?
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/27/16 – 06:21 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: Well, me.
339.
More gasps behind Eric as he bursts out of the tent. Hundreds of people talking at once, scanning the crowd, looking for the ringleader. Some of them are smiling. They still think this is a joke.
(They don’t know how wrong they are.)
Eric’s beyond all that now. He has the bag. He needs to get the bag out of here. He’s hoping all to hell that the bag has both bombs.
And if it doesn’t?
He’s running back inside to help Paige find the other.
340.
Eric shoves an old dude aside as he runs for the exit. The red carpet lineup. The parking lot.
He’s almost outside when someone blocks his way. A Cap student. Someone big.
It’s Callum Fulchrest.
“You asshole,” Callum tells Eric. “You and your fucking friends ruined me.”
He has his hands raised, fists clenched, like he’s ready for a fight. But Eric isn’t in the mood.
“You ruined yourself,” he says as he dodges past Callum—
(feeling the contents of the duffel bag jostle within).
“Next time lay off with the fucking roofies.”
Callum reaches for Eric. Misses.
Eric keeps running.
“That Basquiat was a fake, anyway,” he calls back.
Then he’s in the parking lot, and Callum’s far behind him.
341.
Eric’s thinking about how he could be on a Greyhound bus right now. He could be far away from this fiasco.
He could be anywhere.
Instead he’s still in Capilano, probably a wanted fugitive already, carrying a homemade IED through a parking lot full of luxury cars.
(Live in the moment.)
(Just don’t die.)
342.
Eric carries the duffel bag through the parking lot. Scans the darkness for any sign of Jordan. Can’t see him.
(Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t out there.)
Callum’s still standing at the entrance to the tent. He’s calling for security. Eric ignores this. Sooner or later, though, the rent-a-cops are going to intervene. Eric wants to have these bombs defused before that happens.
(Then he can start worrying about escaping.)
He ducks down a row of cars, kneels between a Range Rover and a Porsche Cayenne. Sets the bag to th
e ground and unzips it and peers in at the contents.
It’s a bomb, all right. It looks just like the first one, Jordan’s failed attempt. The bomb Eric resuscitated in his basement bedroom. This is both good and bad. It’s good, because Jordan hasn’t graduated to advanced bomb-making yet. The bomb should be easy to disable.
Where it starts to go bad, though, is the fact that there’s only one bomb. And that means there’s another one out there.
Eric pulls the lid off the pressure cooker. Looks in at the phone and the blasting cap and the tangle of wires, the gunpowder. Is about to reach in and dismantle the apparatus when he hears—
(no, feels)
—someone behind him.
He looks back.
It’s Jordan,
dressed in freaking Armani,
smiling that mischievous smile.
Before Eric can react, Jordan PUNCHES him, hard,
sends him sprawling into the side of the Range Rover.
Jordan picks up the bag. Zips it closed again.
“Tsk, tsk,” he tells Eric. “I had this whole Fix planned out, and you freaking ruined it.”
Eric just stares up at him. Eric thinks:
Damn.
343.
“I’m not going to lie, E, I’m a little disappointed,” Jordan says. “What happened to together to the end, huh?”
Eric pulls himself to his knees. Rubs his cheek where Jordan punched him. It hurts.
“But then again, I’m kind of impressed, too,” Jordan says. “Who knew you had all this hero stuff in you, am I right? I’m telling you, the Eric Connelly I met at the start of the summer didn’t have half your backbone.” He smiles. “You might be my favorite Fix of all, E. Excluding the grand finale, of course.”
Eric stares at him.
(Tries to figure out a way to divest Jordan of that bomb.)
“You’re not doing this to fix anything,” he says. “It was never about that. This is just one big ego boost for you, isn’t it?”
The Fixes Page 23