by J. J. Howard
The van had come to a stop. Now he lay on his back on the floor, as Mask and three of his also-masked friends crowded around him, holding him down. Mask still had his gun, which was now pointed at Cam.
Cam struggled to get free, but it soon became clear that struggling was pointless.
Confusion was racing through him, but it was hard to think straight with a gun in his face.
“Hey,” he protested, trying to move away from the gun.
“Shut up!” Mask barked.
“Don’t,” Cam heard himself say.
One of the others pulled the pack from his back, almost yanking his right arm from its socket in the process. Cam ground his teeth, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of yelping in pain. Mask ripped open the bag, pulling out the box. “Who do you work for?” he demanded, digging his weapon into the side of Cam’s neck.
“No one.”
“Who?” Mask demanded again, moving the gun upward so that it pressed into Cam’s temple.
“Get off me!”
“What’s in the box?”
“Nothing,” Cam spit out. “I don’t know what’s in it.”
The gun pressed harder into his temple. It was starting to seriously hurt. It was weird, but the man in the mask seemed almost to be smiling. He lowered his voice and asked again, this time in a menacing hiss, “Who do you work for?”
Cam stared back at him in stony silence.
He’d thought, for a few brief, shining moments, that he was safe. Later, he’d have time to wallow in self-pity. At the moment, he was just plain pissed off.
“You tell me what’s in the box or I’m gonna blow your brains out. How about that?”
Cam glared mutinously. “I. Just. Carried. The. Box.” Bastard. He didn’t say that last part out loud, since he didn’t actually have a death wish.
For a few seconds, the dark eyes of the man in the mask stared into his. Cam closed his eyes. This was probably it for him. Sort of a fitting end, really. At least he’d gotten to pull that great trick with the WET FLOOR sign before he checked out.
I’m sorry, Mom. Those seemed like fitting last words, even if he could only say them inside his head.
Then he felt the metal of the gun lift away from his face. Someone patted him on the shoulder.
“Good work, Cam.”
The man pulled off his mask: it was Miller.
The other masks came off to reveal Dylan, Tate, and Jax, all laughing.
Cam had lost sight of the gun, which was probably a good thing because his mood had just turned murderous.
“Hey, it’s all right, buddy.” Miller smiled at him. “We just had to make sure you had our backs. You’re family now.” He offered Cam a hand, since he was still lying on the floor of the van. “What do you think?”
Cam sat up on his own. “I think you’re a bunch of jerks.”
More laughs. Cam let out the breath he’d been holding, stared at them for a few seconds, and then for some reason he started laughing too.
He was maybe just feeling relief, but it did feel good to laugh. And also: not being dead felt good too.
• • •
The jerks, all except Miller, took him out for pancakes. Initiation with a gun to your head, followed by a hearty breakfast. Cam suggested that they should make that the group’s
slogan—maybe get T-shirts made.
Jax agreed: “Yeah, good way to recruit.”
Dylan threw a napkin at Jax’s head. “Just how many folks you think Miller’s looking to recruit?” he asked.
“Well, maybe we should get another girl. You know, for Niks,” Jax answered.
“For me, huh? Thanks, Jaxy. You’re a real gentleman.”
Cam’s head shot up and his eyes met Nikki’s. He started to get up to make room for her, but he was too slow; her brother had already hopped out and grabbed himself a chair. Dylan pulled it up to the end of the booth and Nikki slid in across from Cam.
“So you passed,” she observed, without really meeting Cam’s eyes.
“Guess so,” he said, looking down at the remains of his breakfast. She’d left him in the rain. Or he’d left her first before she could. Whatever. He wasn’t sure how happy he was to see her.
“Yeah, pay up,” Dylan demanded.
Cam glared at Nikki. “You bet against me?” His voice came out a little too high-pitched. He was sure how he felt about the possibility that Nikki hadn’t thought he’d pass his test. In a word: pissed.
Nikki’s eyes widened. “No!” Cam watched the blush spread over her cheeks.
Tate put a wad of bills in Dylan’s outstretched hand and gave Cam a shrug. “Nothing personal, brother. I thought you’d probably crack. The gun and all . . .”
“I probably would’ve taken that bet,” Cam said, letting him off the hook. “I am sort of fond of my head,” he added.
“Me too.”
Cam’s head swiveled toward Nikki. He didn’t quite believe his ears. She’d said it so quietly, he couldn’t even be sure he’d heard it. Dylan must not have—he was busy calling the waitress back over to take his sister’s order.
“What do you want?” Dylan asked her.
She looked up and smiled, but her eyes were on Cam as she said, “Not sure yet.”
• • •
Cam pretended he was still eating and stayed behind when Dylan, Tate, and Jax rose to go. The waitress had just refilled Nikki’s coffee, and she sat back down after letting Tate out of her side of the booth.
“You coming?” Dylan asked her.
Nikki stirred her coffee slowly. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said, without looking up. Her voice sounded casual. Or like she was trying to make it sound casual. Dylan shot his sister a look, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“You did good,” he told Cam. “Later.”
“Thanks, man.”
Why am I still sitting here? Cam wondered. As far as he could tell, he was sitting there trying to figure out the motivation behind Nikki’s choice to stay. The rational part of his brain knew he should have gotten up from the booth and followed Dylan out of the diner.
He was an addict. That had to be it. He’d resisted alcohol, never fallen into the drug habit, but here he was, waiting to see what she would say next. Waiting for his next hit.
Nikki was still stirring her coffee instead of drinking it. She didn’t look up as she observed, “So it’s true. You never look inside the package?” She raised her eyes to meet his. Morning sunlight was streaming in through the dirty windows of the diner. Cam noticed how long her lashes were as she blinked, then scooted a little farther into the booth, out of the blinding rays.
“Nope,” he told her. “Never. Guess it’s a good thing too, or I’d be dead now instead of having pancakes with a pretty girl.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in surprise at that one. “Come on,” he told her. “You know you’re pretty. Don’t act surprised.”
She opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything right away, and closed it again. She started stirring again, though there couldn’t possibly be any sugar crystals left undissolved in that mug. “I looked inside. Once.” So she was skipping right over his calling her pretty.
He leaned forward across the table. “Oh yeah? Hopefully not on your initiation day? Or maybe you did, but Miller just thought you were too cute to shoot.”
Nikki frowned at his words, but then quickly shook her head. “No—I never had an initiation,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. Her voice sounded a little breathless.
“Too cute for that requirement?” he pressed.
“What is this obsession you have with my level of cuteness?”
Cam grinned at her. Addict.
“I wouldn’t say obsession,” he began. “Maybe more of an . . . interest.”
; Nikki was shaking her head. She took a sip of her now-cold coffee, and Cam thought her hands seemed unsteady as they held the mug—though he might have been imagining things. “Don’t you want to know what I saw in the package?” she asked.
He didn’t, actually, but he was starting to get used to Nikki’s method of misdirection. He decided to play along. “Sure. What was in the package?”
“It was a solo job—Miller sent me alone to this guy’s place.”
Cam felt his jaw tighten.
Nikki noticed his reaction. “It’s not what it sounds like—the guy was having a party. Anyway, it was this loft, in the Flatiron District. The guy had these paintings all over his walls. Really . . . they were just . . . beautiful. I’ve never seen anybody’s actual home that looked like that. The thing I was supposed to grab, it was in this little cardboard tube, about this long.” Nikki held her hands about two feet apart. “I figured that what was inside had to be another painting. And I’m leaving his place, and suddenly I just have this overwhelming urge to see it. So once I was clear of the place, I did—I opened the tube, unrolled what was inside.”
“What was it?” Cam asked, when she didn’t say anything more.
Nikki closed her eyes. “It was the ocean—just after a storm. All dark blues and yellows and purples. You know how the sky turns almost purple right after a storm? It looked like that.” She opened her eyes. “I checked online, after I dropped it off with Miller. There was a missing Van Gogh that looked just like it . . .”
“No,” Cam breathed. “Even I know who that is, and I’m not exactly an art guy. You’re saying Miller actually stole a Van Gogh?”
She shrugged. “Well, first this art guy stole it. Or maybe I’m wrong. It’s just a cool story now. One you can’t ever tell Miller. Actually, don’t tell anyone.”
“You didn’t tell your brother?”
“I’ve never told anybody.”
“Thanks for picking me.” he said.
Nikki nodded, her eyes on the table once more. “It’s good you passed their test and all, but you’re so set on just following orders, keeping your head down. You might be missing something—if you never look.”
“I’m looking,” he told her, and this time her gaze rose to meet his.
She understood, Cam could tell. Nikki didn’t come up with one of her conversational detours right away, like she usually did—she just returned his stare. He felt a heat that had nothing to do with the morning sun filling their booth.
Nikki’s voice was a little hoarse when she finally spoke: “On second thought, don’t listen to me, Cam. You should keep your head down. You should stay safe.”
She was out of the booth and gone from the diner before he could react. Cam stared at her empty coffee mug for a long time before heaving himself out of the booth and back onto the street.
TEN
THE VAN screeched to a halt a few feet from where Cam was sitting on the curb the next morning. He stood up and opened the door. Nikki was at the wheel, but she wasn’t looking at him.
“Hey,” he said.
He got a fairly frosty “hey” in return, but she still didn’t turn his way, just put the van back in gear and started driving.
It definitely felt like the temperature had dropped overnight. Well, the weather was about the same as yesterday: it was Nikki who was suddenly a lot colder.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“Busy.”
One-word answers weren’t very encouraging, but Cam kept pushing. “Well, you wanna grab a coffee or something?”
“This isn’t a date.”
“I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t mean it like a date.”
And then he disgusted himself by stuttering.
“Let’s just get this done,” Nikki said, slamming her foot down on the accelerator, and steering the van toward the Queensboro Bridge.
“Where are we going?” Cam asked.
As they stopped at the first red light in Manhattan, she finally turned to face him. “Does it matter?”
Okay, he was definitely not imagining the ice. What the hell had happened since yesterday, when she’d told him about the painting?
“Do you mean, like, existentially?”
The light had turned green, but she glanced back over at him without accelerating. “‘Existentially’? Thought you dropped out of high school.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah. But my brain still works.” He leaned toward her across the seat and thumped his chest a few times. “Cam. Can. Read,” he added in his best Tarzan voice.
The ghost of a smile almost cracked through her frozen exterior, but she mastered it fast. “We’re here,” she said, steering the van through the open door of a warehouse.
A compact, wiry man with a maze of scars crisscrossing his face stepped out of the shadows and nodded toward them. Nikki jumped down, went around to the back of the van, and opened the doors. The man began to silently unload the boxes they’d brought. Nikki walked a few paces away and made no move to help the guy, so Cam shrugged and went to stand beside her.
He decided to test the icy waters. “So did you grow up in the city?” he asked.
“No.”
Back to monosyllables. Not that she’d believe he knew what that word meant, Cam reflected. He decided to keep pushing. “So you and Dylan both decided to move here?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, huh? Wow, that’s very enlightening. So you moved to the city with your brother, but you guys don’t live together. You’ve got that roommate, right? The one who’s allergic to dogs . . .”
Nikki whirled to face him. “Enough questions, okay?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
She cut him off. “You wanted to be in. Guess what? You’re in.” She sounded almost angry now. She started pacing away from him. “There’s nothing left to discuss.”
Cam didn’t take time to think about his next words; they just burst out of him: “What’s your deal?”
“My deal?” She spun on her heel and faced him. There was no mistaking the anger now. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrow, her voice shook just a little.
Cam took a step closer to her; he was beginning to feel pretty angry himself. “Yeah.”
“There’s no deal.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like a freaking ice queen!”
“Ice queen?” Nikki repeated. Her voice was definitely shaking now. For a few seconds, she glared at him, her nostrils flaring, her chest heaving. Finally she took a deep breath, let it out, and resumed her pacing. Without warning, she strode up to him. They stood just a few feet apart. “I’m not the one who has a deal,” she nearly snarled at him.
Cam decided to try a different tack. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t know, I just thought we . . .”
Nikki cut him off. “I didn’t ask you to come find me.”
Cam took another step closer to her. He wanted to make her look at him. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice still low. She met his eyes, but quickly looked away again.
He put a hand on her arm. “You gave me that bike,” he pressed.
Her eyes met his again, and at that moment he saw a flash of pain. She looked as confused as she was making him feel. But then she stepped back away from him. Cam let his hand drop.
“I’ll tell Miller you can work on your own next time,” she said, her voice wooden. “You don’t need a babysitter.”
He stared after her as she stomped back toward the van. The guy had finished unloading, and she slammed the back doors with more force than was necessary. Nikki climbed back into the driver’s seat. Cam heard the van start back up, and wondered briefly if she’d leave him behind if he didn’t run to catch up.
It felt like he was always running to c
atch up to her.
He took his seat and reached for the door, but the unloading guy closed it for him and tapped on the door. “This the new guy?” he asked Nikki.
“Yeah,” she told him. At least Nikki offered equal-opportunity monosyllabic communication. But it didn’t exactly make Cam feel any better.
The scarred man leaned his head through the open window and grinned at him. “Good luck, new guy.”
For some reason, the words sounded like a warning.
As they drove back over the bridge, a silence filled the van, threatening to choke Cam. When they stopped near his place, he reached for the door and started to push it open, but then thought better of it. He pulled the door toward him again, closing it with a loud thud.
That got Nikki’s attention. For just one second, he saw fear flare in her eyes. Was she scared of him?
That thought made him angrier than any of the rest of it. He kept his eyes down on his hands, which were balled into fists in his lap. He spoke slowly, trying to control his anger. “I don’t know what happened to you . . . why you’re . . . shut down. And you’re right, I did come to find you. I can’t change that. But I need this . . . my messenger job wasn’t going to save . . . it wasn’t cutting it, moneywise. So I guess you’re stuck with me now. I’m sorry that’s pissing you off.” He looked over at her. She was staring at him with a miserable expression on her face, but she still didn’t speak. “On second thought: forget that last part. I’m not sorry,” he said, pushing open the door and jumping down to the street. “By the way, I got you this.” He put the little canvas bag that held the birdcage necklace on the passenger seat. He’d kept it with him. Some part of him had been waiting until the right moment to give it to her. But it was starting to become clear that the moment was never going to be right.
He didn’t look back as the van pulled away from the curb and down the street.
• • •
Cam made it all the way upstairs before he realized his brain was missing.
Today was payday, the day he’d been waiting for, and he’d just let his ride down to the docks drive away.
Dramatic exit: 1. Free ride: 0.
Trying to figure out Nikki’s sudden frost had distracted him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. There was the small matter of his massive debt. His repoed car. And now he needed to refill his MetroCard just so he could go get paid.