The Classy Crooks Club

by Alison Cherry

  “Perfect,” Betty says. “Exactly where I want you.”

  Before she starts the car, she reaches into her cavernous purse, pulls out a pair of white cotton gloves, and puts them on. “What are those for?” I ask. “We’re not going inside this time. You don’t have to worry about leaving fingerprints.”

  “This is an occasion, dear,” Betty says. “It seems right to get a little dressed up, don’t you think?”

  I look down at my outfit: a shirt with two T. rexes trying to high-five each other and fraying jeans that haven’t been washed in weeks. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up,” I say.

  “No, no. You’re perfect the way you are.” Betty laughs, and it sounds a little high and strained, like she’s nervous. She seemed totally calm during the last two heists, and I wonder why she’s more worried about this one. Maybe she’s intimidated by the Westlakes.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “What? Yes, of course. Oh! I almost forgot. I got you something on the way here.” Betty takes a plastic 7-Eleven cup out of the cup holder and passes it back to me, along with a red straw. “I thought maybe you’d like a Coke Slurpee as a little treat.”

  I do love Coke Slurpees, and I haven’t had one since my parents left; there’s no 7-Eleven near Grandma Jo’s house, and even if there was, she’d never let me go on my own. “Wow, thank you so much,” I say. “I love these.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Betty says. “It’s my pleasure.”

  I take a long sip of the Slurpee. It’s kind of melted from sitting in the car, but it’s mostly fine once I stir it around. I hold the cup out to her. “Do you want some?”

  “Oh, no thank you, dear. I can’t have that much sugar anymore; it upsets my tummy.”

  “Okay. Sorry.” I take another sip and let the fizzy, sweet slush melt on my tongue. It really is delicious.

  Betty starts the car and pulls away from the curb, and the radio comes on automatically, playing soft classical piano music. It sounds like something Grandma Jo might put on during a dinner party, but I find it kind of soothing. “I’m so glad I finally get some time alone with my favorite girl,” Betty says. “It’s been cruel of your grandmother to keep us apart this week. She knows I love you like you’re my own granddaughter.”

  It’s kind of surprising that Betty feels so strongly about me—she’s known me only a few weeks—but I like it anyway. Grandma Jo has definitely never said she loves me. I don’t even think she’s said it to Ben.

  “I’ve really missed hanging out with you guys,” I say.

  “Do you love me too,  AJ? Do you love me like a grandmother?”

  I wouldn’t exactly say I love Betty, but I certainly like her a lot more than I like my actual grandmother. I don’t want to hurt her feelings when she’s being so nice to me, so I say, “Sure. I love you like a grandmother.”

  Betty sighs happily. “I would’ve been a perfect grandmother for you, don’t you think,  AJ?” Her voice quavers a little, and I don’t know why she’s getting so emotional or why she’s using my name so much.

  “Definitely,” I say. “You would’ve done a great job. Way better than Grandma Jo.”

  For a second I think she’s going to tell me it’s rude to insult my grandmother, that she’s doing the best she can. But instead Betty says, “Thank you, dear. It’s so nice of you to say that.” Then she giggles, a weirdly high-pitched, hysterical sound I’ve never heard her make before. It sets me on edge, and my heart starts beating a little faster, though I’m not exactly sure why.

  “No problem,” I say.

  “I always wanted children of my own, you know,” Betty says. “It’s the great disappointment of my life that I never got to have them.”

  “Yeah, I know. You told me. I’m sorry.”

  “I thought teaching other people’s children would be enough,” she continues like she hasn’t even heard me. “But it never was, because those children didn’t belong to me. At the end of the day, they went home to other women, who got to hug them and kiss them and feed them chicken noodle soup and put them to bed. I was allowed to love them only during school hours, and love can’t be limited to school hours, AJ. Love can’t be limited at all.”

  I don’t know why she’s getting so worked up, but it’s really starting to creep me out. “I’m sorry,” I tell her again, since I have no idea what else to say.

  Betty stops at a light and turns around partway. Her eyes look weirdly bright and glassy, like Maddie’s did the time she came down with the flu in science class. “Are you drinking your Slurpee back there?” she asks.

  “Yes.” I suck on the straw loudly to prove it.

  “Finish the whole thing. It’s important to stay hydrated.”

  “I will. Don’t worry. It’s really good.”

  This seems to make her happy, and she turns back around and hits the accelerator. “If you belonged to me, I would get you Slurpees every day. I would buy you the most beautiful dresses and made you cakes and take you on trips to see the world. I would take you camping in the woods. Do you like the woods, AJ?”

  “Sure, the woods are nice,” I say.

  “They are nice, aren’t they? No other people for miles and miles around. Nobody to spy on you or gossip about you or tell you that what you’re doing isn’t allowed. That’ll be wonderful. Just wonderful. . . .” She sounds dreamy, sort of like Edna sounds most of the time, but it’s much freakier on her. This ride is getting weirder by the second. I’m starting to wonder if Betty should be driving a car while she’s like this; maybe I should ask her to pull over until she calms down.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “You’re acting a little strange.”

  “Oh yes, dear. I’ve never been better.” Betty fiddles absently with her earpiece, and I notice that the little blue light isn’t on. If the other ladies have been giving her instructions, she hasn’t been listening. Then she takes it out altogether, rolls down the window, and tosses it out.

  I sit up straighter and stare at her. “What are you doing? Don’t you need that?”

  Betty smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “No, I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore.”

  “But what if my grandmother—” I start, but then the strangest wave of dizziness sweeps over me, and I stop talking and put a hand to my forehead. The road is perfectly smooth, but it feels like the car is rocking back and forth like a boat, and even though I was wide awake a minute ago, I’m suddenly completely exhausted. I take another big gulp of my Slurpee, hoping the cold will snap me out of it, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “Whoa,” I say. “I feel really weird.”

  “What’s the matter, dear?” Betty asks.

  “I don’t know. I’m just . . . really tired all of a sudden.”

  “That’s okay,” Betty says, and her voice sounds strange, like it’s echoing around in my head. “Lie down on the seat and take a little rest. You’ve had a long, stressful week. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I try to say, but my tongue has suddenly grown ten sizes and feels much too heavy for me to lift. I slump down sideways and press my cheek to the scratchy upholstery of Betty’s backseat, and it’s a huge relief to be horizontal. Slowly, the earth starts to rotate off its axis, and when I feel myself floating away and getting lost in the stars, I don’t have the energy to fight it.

  “Good girl,” says a faraway voice. “That’s right. You just rest now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  And then someone flips off a light switch behind my eyes, and everything goes dark and quiet and still.

  19

  When I become aware of the world again, I have absolutely no idea where I am.

  I’m lying down, and I can feel a blanket covering me, so at first I think I’m in my bed at Grandma Jo’s house. Opening my eyes feels like way too much effort; all I want to do is let myself drift back into unconsciousness. I feel like I could easily sleep for e
ight more hours right now, lulled by the soft classical music playing somewhere nearby and the way the whole world seems to be vibrating beneath me. But I’m lying on my arm, which is half-asleep and tingling with pins and needles, so I roll over to get more comfortable and my cheek lands in a freezing-cold, sweet-smelling puddle. Eww. How did that get in my bed? Grandma Jo won’t even let me bring a granola bar up here; she’s going to be so mad.

  I try to reach up and wipe my face . . . and that’s when I realize my wrists are tied behind my back.

  My heart, which felt like a sluggish sea creature treading water in my chest a second ago, kicks back into gear and starts thrashing. I force my eyes open, and everything comes back to me in bits and pieces. I’m in Betty’s car. We were headed to Brianna’s house, and Betty started acting all weird and creepy and talking about how great the woods are. Then I got dizzy and tired, so I lay down for a minute. And while I was out, someone tied my hands.

  Since there’s only one other person here, I’m pretty sure who did it.

  I try to struggle into a sitting position, but my feet are stuck together too, so I kick them like a mermaid tail until the blanket falls free. There are fat strips of silver duct tape wound around and around my ankles.

  Betty hears me moving around and glances at me over her shoulder. “Goodness, are you awake already, dear?” she says. “They told me it would last much longer.”

  “Betty, what did you do? Why am I tied up? Did you drug me? Did you put something in my Slurpee?”

  “I’m sorry, darling, but it was the only way,” she says. “Just lie back and relax now. We’re going to be driving for quite some time.”

  “The only way to what?” I squirm around and try to loosen the tape on my wrists, but it holds fast.

  “Please be still, AJ,” Betty says. “I promise I’ll untie you when we get there. But until then, you’re safer this way. I can’t have you trying to escape and getting injured.”

  Now my heart feels like it’s trying to climb up my throat and out of my mouth. I crane my neck to see the clock on the dashboard so I’ll know how long I’ve been out, but it’s blocked by the seat. A dark stretch of generic highway rushes by outside the window. We could be absolutely anywhere. “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “We’re going somewhere nobody will ever find us,” Betty says, as though she’s describing the most delicious dessert in the world. “Our own little cabin in the woods. Once we’re all alone, we’ll be safe. Won’t that be wonderful? Just the two of us, like it’s supposed to be. We’ll have such a beautiful life together, AJ.”

  My mind whirls in circles like Snickers chasing his tail. The last few weeks have taught me what it’s like to steal, but this . . . this is what it’s like to be stolen. In all the countless stranger-danger lectures we’ve had at school, nobody ever taught me how to deal with something like this. Betty’s not even a stranger.

  “You have to take me back to Grandma Jo’s house,” I say. “I can’t go away with you.”

  “But why not? We love each other, AJ. You said you loved me like family. And your grandmother doesn’t appreciate you one bit. It’s like we do with the birds—snatch you from the bad owner, whisk you to a better life!”

  “But I already have a really good life with my parents. They’re going to be home in two days, and I need to go back and live with them. I’m really happy there, I promise, and I’m sure they’ll let me hang out with you whenever I want.” I obviously have no intention of ever hanging out with Betty again, but I figure she’ll be more likely to do what I want if she feels like I’m on her side.

  “That’s not enough,” Betty says, her voice suddenly scary and fierce. “Nobody loves you like I do. You’re my perfect girl, and I need you with me all the time!” She bangs both gloved hands on the steering wheel, and the car swerves a little.

  “Betty, this will never work,” I say, and even though I’m trying hard to sound confident, I’m totally freaking out now, and my voice comes out shaky and unsure. “Grandma Jo and Edna and Cookie know I’m with you. They’ll figure out you took me, and they’ll go straight to the police. Wouldn’t it be easier to take me back now, before you’ve done anything really terrible? Otherwise, you’re going to be in huge trouble. They’ll be able to track you down in a second by your license plate or your cell phone or your credit cards.” I have no idea how any of those things work, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen cops do them on the legal dramas my mom watches.

  Betty shakes her head, and for a second I think I’ve outwitted her. But then I hear her laughing quietly. “My dear, I may be old, but I’m not stupid. I don’t have a cell phone or any credit cards, and this isn’t my car.”

  A cold finger of fear creeps down my spine. “I . . . what? Whose car is it?”

  “After decades of heists, you don’t think I know how to steal a car? The people who own this one won’t be back in the country until Christmas. By then, it’ll be in a junkyard somewhere. And as for Jo and Cookie and Edna? Bless their hearts, but they’re amateurs. They’ll never find me. You think I didn’t learn anything from last time?”

  Last time? Betty has done this before?

  All the comments the other ladies have made about Betty whirl through my head: She can’t be trusted. She’s wild. She’s unpredictable. She has a faulty moral compass. They must’ve thought she’d reformed—I know they would never put me in danger on purpose. But she fooled them with her sweet, repentant old lady act, just like she fooled me. Betty’s crazy streak was lurking under the surface all this time, waiting for the right moment to show itself.

  I’m in full-on panic mode now, and it doesn’t feel like there’s nearly enough oxygen in the car. Even though the air-conditioning is on, drops of sweat bead across my forehead and crawl between my shoulder blades, and the blanket Betty put over me isn’t helping. I rack my brain for another way to convince her to let me go, but my thoughts are an incoherent whirl, landing on one useless, unrelated topic after another.

  “I’ve waited years for this,” Betty continues. She seems agitated now, and I can feel the car starting to wander back and forth between lanes. On top of everything else, I’m terrified she’s going to crash into something and kill us both. “All this time I’ve been the inside girl, helping  Jo and Cookie and Edna steal the things they wanted, and it’s been years and years since I asked for anything for myself. I skipped my turn to pick the target every time because I was saving up for something really big, something really wonderful. And now I finally get what I wanted. I get my grandchild. I deserve this.”

  Do something, the panicked voice in my head screams. You have to do something.

  And then, out of nowhere, I hear my dad’s voice. If an anaconda attacks you,  AJ, you can’t struggle or you’re dead meat. You have to let it think it’s won and bide your time. And then, when the moment is right . . . bam! That’s when you strike.

  Betty is my anaconda. Flailing and screaming isn’t going to get me anywhere. I need to let her think she’s in control until the right moment arrives to whip up my machete hand and cut her crazy plans right in half.

  I take a deep breath and try to calm down. “A cabin in the woods does actually sound kind of nice,” I say. “Tell me more about it.”

  Betty starts talking about a fireplace and a woodpile and a nearby stream, and her driving starts to even out. I don’t know if she’s describing a real place or one that exists only in her deranged mind, but it doesn’t matter as long as it’s keeping her busy and calm. The shoulder I’m lying on feels like it’s being wrenched out of its socket, so I brace my taped feet against the door and wriggle onto my back so I can relax and focus and make an escape plan. I’m lying on top of something lumpy, and I try to shift it aside with my hip, but it won’t budge no matter how I squirm. It’s almost like it’s attached to me or something.

  My lock-picking kit! For the first time, I feel the tiniest ray of hope.

  “That sounds beautiful,” I say to Betty. “Tell m
e more about the house. What does it look like inside?”

  As she slips further into her daydream, I arch my upper body as much as I can, and I’m able to worm the tip of a finger under the closure of my lock-pick pouch. I fake a bunch of sneezes to cover the noise of the Velcro pulling apart, and Betty pauses. “Are you okay, dear?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. I try not to move too much under the blanket as I struggle to pull out a pick. It turns out to be one of the blunt ones, so I drop it on the seat behind me and strain for another. “What were you saying about the bathtub?”

  The second pick I grab is one of the sharp, hooked ones, like what a hygienist uses to scrape your teeth. I turn back onto my side so I’ll have more room to maneuver and start trying to poke it through the tape. The way I have to contort makes my shoulders and wrists ache, but the pick does its job, and it takes me only a few minutes to make a small hole. Betty’s still talking, and I don’t think she’s noticed a thing. When I feel the tape start to give, hope expands in my chest like a helium balloon. I can do this. I’m going to get out of here.

  After what is probably less than ten minutes but feels like hours, Betty says, “Doesn’t that sound wonderful, dear?”

  I’ve been so focused on the tape that I haven’t been listening at all, but I say, “Yes, it really does . . . Grandma Betty.”

  The words have exactly the distracting effect I’d intended, and Betty lets out a happy sigh as the final strands of duct tape snap. “Oh, AJ,” she says, her voice choked and teary. “We’re going to be so happy together. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Me too,” I say as I pull my cramped wrists apart and rotate my hands behind my back. “You’re right about Grandma Jo. She never appreciated me the way you do.” I feel around in my shorts pockets for my phone before I remember Grandma Jo confiscated it days ago. The only thing in any of my pockets is a stiff, thick piece of paper folded into quarters: Brianna’s birthday party invitation. Great. Like that’s going to do me any good.