by M. M. Cox
I glance back through the grate at Gino, disbelieving my desire to protect him. “No. No, I don’t.”
Reggie pauses, as if wanting to argue with me, but then he turns and hurries toward the door.
I wait several seconds after Reggie leaves; I want to ensure that he gets safely to his car. I want Reggie to escape, but I also need him to distract these men if I’m going to be able to hide safely. When I feel I can wait no longer, I grab a half empty metal paint can and throw it as hard as I can against the door leading to the diner.
I know I have only a few seconds to get into the bathroom and behind the door before a dozen or so mobsters are headed into the storage room, ready to beat—or maybe even kill—
anyone who has been spying on their activities. If I timed things correctly, Reggie will be rolling out of the parking lot momentarily, making the men think that whoever made the commotion is getting away. Reggie is in as much danger as I am, but separating was the only way we could stop the beating and have the best chance of escape. I slam the back door to the diner for effect and then speed into the bathroom, but I forget about the crate that I moved. As I trip over it again, I feel the hard wooden edge slice across my shin. I let out a silent howl, feeling sure that the splintered wood has drawn blood this time, and clamber behind the flimsy wooden door. I’m desperately hoping that somehow, my foolish scheme will work.
I flatten myself against the wall as the door leading into the diner bursts open, big, angry men streaming through it, their faces alarmed. One stops to pick up the paint can sitting on the floor, but the rest race toward the back door. I’m sure someone will see me—my heavy breathing thunders in my ears as sweat trickles down my legs, which are shaking from the pain and adrenalin coursing through my body.
Reggie’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Just as the men begin stumbling through the back door, I hear the unmistakable rumble from the beetle’s old muffler as Reggie speeds over the gravel out of the parking lot. The men are frantic in their haste to get outside, knowing their spy might be escaping. I hear car doors slamming and motors revving as the men take off after Reggie, and I hope that for just this once, the beetle won’t break down. Suddenly, I wonder whether Reggie’s job is more dangerous than mine. I know I must get out of the diner as quickly as possible, but I can’t be sure that everyone has left. I’m glad for my hesitation when three more men walk through the interior door into the back room: Frank, Gino, and Ray.
“What was that?” Ray asks, cursing under his breath.
Gino shrugs and shakes his head, his face worried.
“How could this person get in?” Ray snaps, infuriated. “This door locks from the inside!”
“I don’t know,” Gino answers unhelpfully. “But a lot of guys go out to grab a cigarette or take a pee, since the toilet doesn’t work.”
I freeze as Gino mentions the bathroom, knowing that any of the three might glance involuntarily at the room.
“Well, they had better catch him,” Ray replies, his tone threatening. “I’m not coming down here anymore if my identity can’t be protected. In fact, I shouldn’t be seen with half the people who were in that room!”
Gino nods. “I know. I feel the same way.” He motions to the door leading into the diner.
“I’m going to take Chen home. You coming, Frank?”
Frank is staring at the back door. “In a minute. I’ll meet you outside.”
Gino and Ray retreat into the diner, Ray mumbling about the danger they are all in. I watch Frank through the small slit between the door and the wall that I’m pressed up against, wondering why the younger man doesn’t follow the others back into the diner. I need Frank to leave so I can escape.
As soon as the door closes, Frank turns toward the bathroom, his eyes on the crate that I tripped over in my hurry to get behind the door. I look at the crate, which is to my left, and my heart almost stops at the sight of it. In the spot where I hit my shin, blood is streaked across the wood. Will Frank realize that it’s blood? I stand motionless, too afraid to breathe. Frank moves toward the bathroom, switches on the light, and crouches down to examine the crate. He is only a foot away from me now, and he would only need to turn slightly to his left to see me. After a moment, Frank stands up, his eyes leaving the crate and shifting to the dirt from Reggie’s shoe that litters the toilet lid. Then he turns to his left and swings back the squeaking door behind which I’m hiding. And in that moment, I am face to face with one of Ray Gallo’s mobsters, staring into the eyes of a man who is sure to beat the living daylights out of me, if he doesn’t kill me first.
Chapter 10
I finally know what it feels like to have seconds seem like days. I am flattened against the bathroom door, my escape now blocked by the imposing body of Frank Moretti, whose expression is hard as he stares down at me. I don’t know what to do, although I’m sure Frank will probably rat me out immediately. Will Gino keep me from being harmed, or will he let these mobsters do with me whatever they like? Should I try to push past Frank and make a run for it? Frank took Iggy down with several punches, so I know my chances of escaping this man are slim to none.
The door leading into the main room opens again, and as it does, Frank immediately switches off the light so I can’t be seen. Gino’s head pokes through the door, “What’s taking so long? You coming or what?”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Frank answers, shoving the bathroom door against me as though no one were behind it. I also notice that Frank’s leg is blocking the bloody streak on the crate.
“Just looking around a bit.”
Gino seems curious. “Find anything useful?”
“No, not a thing,” Frank answers quickly, leaving the bathroom. “Nothing at all.” He follows Gino back into the diner, switching off the light in the storage room. Stunned, I want to sink to the floor in relief, but I’m too scared to move. I wait and hear car doors slam and engines rev, then I stand on the toilet lid and see that the diner is empty and dark. I stumble toward the back door, open it a crack, and search the parking lot. Everyone is gone—not a single man remains. I check around the front of the building, but find that it is deserted as well. And so I leave, limping to the pay phone to call a taxi and go home, more confused than ever and wondering why Frank, a mobster who I saw beat a man bloody, would protect a spying teenager who saw incriminating evidence. I ask the taxi to stop at a gas station three blocks away from the Vigliotti home. The gas station has a pay phone, and I quickly insert coins and wait uneasily for Reggie to pick up the phone.
“Hello?” It’s Reggie’s mom.
“Oh, hi, Missus Allen. I was trying to get in touch with Reggie.”
“At this hour of the night?” she asks suspiciously.
“I was up late doing homework,” I lie. “And I need help with something.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Danny. But Reggie just went to bed. He’s in big trouble for staying out way, way past his curfew. I don’t know what’s gotten into him!”
Relief rushes through me. Reggie made it home safely. “That’s okay, I’ll figure it out. Thanks!”
“Okay, but don’t study so hard, Danny. You need to get some sleep,” Mrs. Allen admonishes.
Sleep? I think. How am I ever going to sleep? I hang up the phone and limp home, hoping to do just that.
* * * *
I actually have no difficulty sleeping—the waking up in the morning part is the problem. My alarm faithfully beeps at six-thirty, and after one unsatisfying round with the snooze button, I wake up wondering whether I should have called the police. Is Chen okay? Had Ray and Gino returned him to his house like they said they would? Am I a terrible person for condemning and protecting Gino at the same time? Would Frank beat me up like he had beaten Iggy?
I drag myself out from under the sheets and take a stab at trying to look as though I had not been up until one a.m., had not seen a helpless man beaten into a bloody mess, and had not been caught in the act by a brutal mobster. My bloodshot eyes give me
away; beneath each of them, the flesh is purple and puffy, a telltale sign of a late, rough night. But the condition of my face would be manageable if my leg was not throbbing so sharply. I wonder how I will ever get around school without limping and enduring the questions that are sure to follow.
Even if Gino doesn’t guess that I was the spy last night, I know my godfather will be curious about the injury, and I’m not certain I will be able to lie to Gino convincingly. But maybe I won’t be able to cover up where I was last night anyway—Frank works for Gino, right? And he met me the other night at dinner, so he may have already alerted Gino to the fact that I was the one spying. Or maybe worse, Frank is planning to blackmail me, which would be stupid because I don’t have a penny of my own.
I leave my room warily, wondering what danger lies in store for me. The kitchen is quiet. Breakfast dishes have already been stacked in the sink, and I realize that I’m moving much slower than usual, trying to account for my hurt leg. I hear the roar of the minivan’s engine from the garage and rush toward the noise, afraid that Vince and Julia will take off for school without me. But just as I reach for the handle of the door leading into the garage, Julia catches my arm.
“What’s up?” I ask, attempting to keep the guilt and exhaustion out of my voice. At the same time, I’m relieved to know she isn’t in the car yet either. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, placing her hands on her hips and staring me directly in the eyes. I’m extremely uncomfortable, but I hold her gaze.
“Where were you last night?” she asks, her tone already accusing.
“What are you talking about?” I snap, trying to sound as though she’s being unfair.
“I came down to check on Baxter. You weren’t in bed,” she replies, her face triumphant. I inwardly groaned. What’s the deal? Julia could barely stand to look at me when I first arrived at the Vigliotti house. Now she can’t seem to stay away. I’m tired of her games, but I must come up with something she will find believable. “I went to Ridley to see some of my friends, okay?” I say. “It’s hard, you know, starting over.”
“What were you doing with them?” she asks, as though she expects that anyone from Ridley would obviously be up to no good.
“Geez, you’re nosy. We were just hanging out. Shooting basketball, playing video games—that kind of thing.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Who has parents who would let them stay up that late on a school night?”
“Kids from Ridley,” I shoot back. “Just lay off, okay?”
“Okay, ” she agrees, rolling her eyes. “You’re so rude, sometimes.”
“I’m rude? Why don’t you stop breaking into my bedroom at night?”
She scowls at me. “I’m not breaking in! This is my house, not yours! If anyone’s an intruder, it’s—” Julia stops. “Whatever,” she says quickly, turning toward the garage. She opens the door to the blaring of the horn. Vince is not a patient person, and he glares at us coldly as we climb into the van.
Vince guns the vehicle out of the garage and almost hits a small car coming down the road behind us. Julia screams at him, and he bellows back at her, while I lay my aching head in my hands and close my eyes. I desperately want to call Reggie and discuss what happened the night before. I want to tell him that I might disappear forever. But first, I must endure an entire day of school with an aching head and an injured leg. This is going to be an extremely long day.
* * * *
“Danny, you look so tired!” Portia puts her hand on my neck and gives a few quick squeezes. Her touch feels amazing, and for a moment, I forget about everything but her hands touching my neck.
“He looks like crap,” Tony offers, eyeing me with his usual suspicion.
“Oh, come on, Tony! Can’t you be nice for once?” Portia snaps. Tony scowls at me with no intention of being nice, but to Portia he merely mumbles,
“Fine.”
“Good!” She starts down the hallway toward our first period class, which still won’t begin for another ten minutes. Before entering the room, she sets her backpack on the floor and pulls out a videocassette. “Tony, I need you to do me a favor.” He nods eagerly, shooting me a superior look. “This is my mom’s favorite video in the world—it’s of my first Christmas,” Portia continues, showing him the weathered box. “But it’s getting worn out!
Doesn’t your dad’s company transfer video to DVD? Do you think I might be able to get this copied for her birthday? I’ll pay him for it.”
“His company does all kinds of electronic media management for businesses,” Tony brags, “but they do have video transfer equipment. I’ll get it done—no cost to you.”
“Thank you so much,” she exclaims. She gives him a quick hug, as she is often inclined to do, and I feel jealousy course through me once again. Does she have any idea what she is doing to us? Tony beams at her sudden show of affection, but I am watching her face. No, Portia appears completely innocent of the torture and competition she is inflicting on her friends. “Tell your dad ‘thank you’ for me,” she adds.
Tony nods. “I will—if I ever see him again!”
Portia and I both look at him questioningly. He shrugs. “I’m just kidding, really, but my mom’s pretty mad. He went out to dinner with some colleagues last night, and he probably had too much to drink and stayed over. But Mom is furious!”
Portia turns to me. “Missus Chen is pretty strict,” she explains. I can’t reply. I just stand there, staring back at her, trying to keep my features from showing my panic. Tony’s last name seems to float before my eyes, and I have a sudden, horrible suspicion that I have already seen Mr. Chen and that Tony’s father is suffering from something far worse than a hangover. I have a terrible realization that if Mr. Chen has not come home yet, he may not have made it through the night.
My abrupt change is quickly noticed. “What’s wrong, Danny?” Portia asks, concern filling her voice. “Are you all right?”
“So, your dad does a lot of computer stuff?” I ask Tony awkwardly, my tongue feeling too large for my mouth.
Tony studies me, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, I’d say so. He taught me everything I know—except that now I do all of his network security.” Tony is obviously proud of his dad’s trust. “My dad is always saying that if kids can break into a system, then it will take a kid to keep them out! I get paid and everything.” He shoots Portia a confident smile.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I reply, not untruthfully, as I stagger toward the men’s bathroom. Tony steps back from me, but Portia leans up against me, supporting me and helping me to the door, her face almost as white as mine.
“Come on, Tony!” she says, drawing the curious stares of other students lingering in the hall.
Tony grudgingly offers his shoulder to me, but I shake my head and reluctantly struggle away from Portia’s grasp. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I reassure them. “I’ll just walk down to the nurse’s office and see if she can give me some Pepto. Let Ms Lowe know where I’ve gone.”
Portia is worried, but she nods and lets me go. I start down the hall as she and Tony enter the classroom, but as soon as I’m sure that they can no longer see me, I switch directions and head for the library. By this time, my leg is starting to throb painfully again, so I walk a little slower than I would have liked. My guilt deepens as I think about everything I should have done the night before. I had seen something terrible take place, but I didn’t call the police; I didn’t tell anyone that a helpless man had been beaten, perhaps to death. Maybe I’m an accessory to murder, just by keeping my mouth closed.
The librarian is not around, so I’m able to silently make my way to a computer and quickly get online. I immediately pull up a local news website, searching for any report of a dead or badly injured man. No news referencing Tony’s dad is to be found, but I know that this doesn’t mean Mr. Chen is safe.
I am just about to check out the local police report when I’m discovered by my English teacher, Mr. Capriotti. “Hey, Danny, you
need to be in class,” he says earnestly, and I’m momentarily impressed with the teacher’s ability to recall my name after just one class.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, getting up and heading for the door. “Sorry!”
I hurry out of the library and almost plow into Mr. Doonesby as I rush out the door. We’re both startled, but Mr. Doonesby recovers more quickly than I and puts his hand once more on my arm. “Danny! Are you okay?”
I lean out of Mr. Doonesby’s grasp, trying to keep my chaotic emotions in check. “Yes, I’m just late for class.” I start to make my way past my old principal and head down the hall.
“Danny, I wanted to talk to you about that article by Julia Vigliotti.”
I stop immediately. I have no idea what Julia wrote, with the exception of my being from Boston. But Mr. Doonesby’s remark makes me think I may regret having let her use me as a subject for her article. “Yeah? What about it?” I ask, attempting to sound casual. Mr. Doonesby holds up a slim newspaper that I recognize as the school’s weekly publication. He points to an article that spans the column on the far right side of the front page. “This is quite a story.”
I can’t see much from where I’m standing—all the black print blurs into unreadable text. But I can make out the headline, which reads, “New kid on Newcastle block has hobnobbed with stars.” I groan. Julia’s creativity may have gotten a little out of control, and I never realized her article would actually be published.
“You have a very exciting past,” Mr. Doonesby comments dryly.
I glare at my old principal. “Well, I haven’t read it. But I guarantee I’ll prefer that story to the real one. And really, you should too. You wouldn’t want people here to know our little
‘connection,’ right?” I don’t like the way my voice sounds, but I’m still too angry to be polite to Mr. Doonesby.