The Spy Who Totally Had a Crush on Me

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “What does it mean, Mr. Kim?” I asked. And, more importantly, what does it have to do with me? Sometimes the guy just will not get to the point.

  “I believe our Mr. Rinteau may be a runaway. If I had to guess, I would say he would appear to be a ‘street person.’ When I asked him at the station if I could drop him off somewhere, he insisted on returning to the mall. His record shows no known address or family. According to what he told you, at one time, apparently, he associated with a group of misdirected youth who call themselves the Fourth Street Bully’s—apostrophe-S, as grammatically incorrect as that may be. Yet in the midst of a crime, he stepped forward to intervene on your behalf. That puzzles me.”

  Leave it to Mr. Kim to refer to a gang of most likely incredibly violent criminals as “misdirected youth.” He always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure, in his quiet moments, Mr. Kim thinks Blankenship is just misunderstood.

  “Why does it concern you? Maybe he’s reformed and just wanted to help,” I said.

  Maybe he saw me and realized we had an instant connection. I was the girl of his dreams and in order to win me over he would need to turn his back on his life of crime, beat up the bad guys, and sweep me off me feet. And in all seriousness, Rinteau had said he used to be a Fourth Street Bully and that Booker guy had said, “you ain’t a Bully no more.” I have keen powers of observation and I notice these things. I pointed out these facts to Mr. Kim.

  “Perhaps you are correct. Nevertheless, I feel I owe Mr. Rinteau a debt. He left us somewhat abruptly and I am puzzled that there is so little information about him to be found in official channels.”

  “Okay. So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Help me find him,” Mr. Kim said.

  “All right, I’ll start a computer search after class this evening and see if his name has popped up anywhere else. I could hack … I mean, check—”

  Mr. Kim interrupted me. “Rachel, I do not think your dubious yet, no doubt, occasionally useful computer skills will be required here—and besides, that wasn’t what I was thinking. You and I will return to the mall and search for him. It seems the most likely place to find him.”

  Great! Another trip to the mall!

  “Well sure! That’s an awesome idea—I mean, uh, certainly, Mr. Kim. I’m happy to help if you think it’s important. Do you want me to meet you after classes?”

  “That won’t be necessary; we’re leaving now,” he said.

  We are?

  “We are?” I repeated, this time out loud.

  “Yes. I’ve notified your teachers that you’ll be absent from classes today. Return to your room for your coat. I’ll make copies of the photos of Rinteau while you are gone, and meet you in the atrium. We can’t leave through the op center. We don’t want Mrs. Marquardt to get suspicious.”

  I wanted to tell Mr. Kim that Mrs. Marquardt was always suspicious, but he was the boss. I left the office, waved at Mrs. Marquardt as she frowned at me from her office door, and a few minutes later, after returning with my coat, Mr. Kim and I were off to the Philadelphia Galleria in search of Michael Rinteau.

  “Mr. Kim, I have to ask you something,” I said as we drove.

  “Ask away.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I said.

  “Driving?”

  “No, not that. I mean, going to look for Rinteau? Shouldn’t we be devoting our energy to finding Mithras? Looking for one of the missing artifacts? Trying to stop him? Instead, we’re off on a hunt for some kid. And why are you bringing me? You’ve probably figured out that trouble kind of follows me around, even though most of the time it’s totally not my fault—”

  Mr. Kim held up his hand to stop me mid-speech, but was quiet for a few moments. I tried not to be antsy.

  “I appreciate your concern. But there is something you must understand. We are always on the watch for Mithras. Much happens behind the scenes that you are not aware of. Mr. Quinn is constantly working with a team of cryptographers and other scientists at the FBI to unravel the secrets of the book. There is a worldwide network of operatives in place constantly monitoring Mithrian activity. We study, think, and plan, and we will find Mithras and be prepared to stop him when we do. And while Blackthorn Academy is always looking to find students with special abilities who can aid in our cause, it is still first and foremost a school. And it is there to help students, regardless of whether they can aid us in the struggle to end this threat. Therefore, it is my duty to offer my help to Michael Rinteau, if I can. As to why I brought you … well, I suspect he might be more inclined to listen to one of his peers.”

  “I see,” I said. “But why this kid? I mean, I know he helped us out and all, but why are you so concerned about him?”

  “I sense something about him. He needs help. When I asked about his home and parents at the jail, there was a brief glint of sadness in his eyes. His nervousness and desire to return to the mall made me believe he spends most of his time there. The lack of any real background information in his file confirms my suspicion. If I had to guess, Mr. Rinteau is a runaway or perhaps an orphan. He probably lives on the street.”

  Wow. Someone like him, living alone on the street. What a shame. He should at least be in a school somewhere so that girls my age could ogle him properly.

  “So you’re going to help him?”

  “If I can,” he said.

  I didn’t have much else to say. Mr. Kim was a hard one to figure out sometimes, but I was starting to learn there was a purpose to almost everything he did. If he saw something in the Rinteau kid, that was good enough for me. Besides, if he could find and convince him to come to Blackthorn Academy, Alex would freak. And how much fun would that be to watch?

  We finally made it to the mall, where Mr. Kim and I split up. I started at the food court and worked my way around the upper level. Mr. Kim took the lower level. We had a copy of his photograph from the police file. I asked around in each store. Some clerks told me they recognized the photograph, and that they had seen him around the mall a lot, but no one had seen him recently.

  I found him lounging in the bookstore. I was about halfway through my side of the mall, not moving all that fast, mainly because while searching it was really difficult to avoid all the incredible bargains. I snagged a really beautiful sweater at Sweaters Galore and a boss bracelet at one of those little cart kiosks. It was there that I spotted Rinteau sitting in a chair reading a copy of Guitar Player magazine. He didn’t appear to recognize me at first. It took every ounce of self-control not to rush up to him and holler, “Hi, remember me? Your soul mate?” But such a display could be potentially embarrassing. I told myself it was just a “context” thing. He wasn’t expecting to see me, which accounted for the brief lack of recognition. After all, I’m very memorable.

  “Back again?” he smiled. The guy could smile. If there were black belts in smiling, he would be one. Or have one. Or whatever. Great smile.

  I held up my shopping bag. “Thirty percent off. I couldn’t resist.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t you?” I shot back.

  “What brings you back to the Galleria?” he asked. Smooth subject change. I motioned him over to the café in the bookstore and we sat down at a table. Not knowing what else to do, I quietly laid it all out for him. I didn’t say anything about him living on the street or maybe being an orphan, not wanting to approach anything too sensitive. But I told him Mr. Kim was obligated by the rules of the Hwa Rang Do to offer assistance, and he felt a duty to find out more about him. So we came looking for him. I told him Mr. Kim just really wanted to talk to him, mostly.

  “Wow,” he said when I finished. And his tone wasn’t “Wow, it’s pretty cool that these total strangers have taken an interest in me.” It was “Wow, this kind of ticks me off.” I needed to change tactics.

  “Will you at least talk to him?” I asked, trying to put just the right amount of pleading in my voice.

  “I
don’t think so.”

  “But why not?”

  He shrugged. “I’m fine. Really. I appreciate he’s all interested in my welfare and stuff, but I’m just fine.”

  “But where do you live? I mean, your police file didn’t even have a permanent address,” I said.

  “How did you get my police file?” He looked angry all of a sudden. Oy. He even looked good angry. I decided to just change the subject.

  “Well, excuse me for asking, but what about your parents? Your family?”

  “Don’t have one. Car accident. I’m the only child of two only children.”

  “But how do you live? I mean, where? How do you get …” I let my words trail off. I was from Beverly Hills. What did I know about being homeless? I was just making myself look like a big giant doofus. This wasn’t working.

  “I live around. Look, I’d really rather not talk about this stuff, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay. But listen, I’m supposed to meet Mr. Kim by Nordstrom. Could you at least come with me to talk to him? Please?”

  “For the love of … I don’t know what good that will do. I appreciate you coming here. You all seem like nice people. Except for maybe that Axel kid …”

  “Alex,” I corrected him.

  “Whatever. But I’m fine. Tell Mr. Kim thanks, but he needn’t concern himself with me.”

  “Will you please just come and talk to him?” I said. “Please, please, please, please!” I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I resorted to whining. After all, Mr. Kim had assigned me to find him and I had done it. Now I had to make sure Mr. Kim got a chance to speak to him before he took off again.

  My voice was getting louder and people in the café were staring at us. Rinteau glanced around at all the onlookers and looked uncomfortable.

  “All right, all right, quiet down. I’ll walk you to Nordstrom. Just stop whining.”

  I almost clapped my hands, but instead I jumped up and grabbed my bag and headed for the exit before he could change his mind. I was sure that once Mr. Kim got his hooks into Rinteau, he’d be enrolled at Blackthorn Academy in no time.

  And my plan totally would have worked. But we never made it that far, because we ran into our friend Booker again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  These Gang Colors Totally Clash with My Complexion

  IT WAS DONE QUIETLY and almost professionally. As we came out of the bookstore walking side by side and strolled down the promenade, some guy slithered up beside me. In an instant, two guys appeared behind Rinteau. And then there was Booker, leaning on the guardrail overlooking the lower level. I knew it was him because he was wearing a jacket with an empty arm, and his recently dislocated elbow was all wrapped up in a sling poking through the folds of his coat. Something sharp was placed at the small of my back. I hoped it wasn’t a knife, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a number two pencil.

  “Well, well, well,” Booker said quietly. “Lookee here.”

  To those passing by, particularly during the holiday season, we probably looked like a bunch of teenagers just having a chat. No big thing. It wasn’t like they were visibly holding guns on us or anything.

  Rinteau took a step toward Booker and the sharp thing in my back got sharper all of a sudden. I yelped. Definitely a knife. Rinteau stopped and looked at me, his face twisted in frustration.

  “That’s right, Rinteau. She’s got a blade ready to slice her kidney. So keep comin’. You ever had a cut kidney before? Man, it messes you up. Never stops bleedin’. Need all kind of surgeons and operations.”

  “Let her go, Booker,” Rinteau said. “This is between us.”

  “Rrrriiight. Sure I’ll let her go. … Not.” He started laughing, like he was hilarious. Great. I was being kidnapped by a comedically challenged gangbanger. I glanced around, desperate to make eye contact with someone. People were walking by us, entirely focused on their shopping, carrying packages, drinking Starbucks, and paying no attention. I wanted to scream or shout but figured I’d be short a spleen before I could get the sound out. Where were the security guards in this mall?

  “You better let us go. We’re expected by someone.” I paused as I spoke and held up my watch, quickly pushing the button that would send Mr. Kim’s watch an emergency beacon. I hoped he would get here in time.

  Booker paid me no attention.

  “Shut up. Just walk to the exit and don’t try anything or it’s going to get all bloody.” There was one of those Mall Employees Only exits about fifteen yards down the promenade from where we stood.

  “No tricks. Not a sound,” Booker said. “Or you’re going to need a kidney transplant, girlfriend.”

  We walked slowly toward the door and I tried desperately to think of a way out of this. But I couldn’t come up with anything. Rinteau was rigid beside me, his face a mask of anger.

  Booker opened the door.

  “You should probably use another door,” I said. “This one is marked ‘Mall Employees Only’ and we’re clearly not mall employees. An observant mall patron or security guard could report you and your entire plan could collapse.”

  “Tell your girlfriend to shut her piehole,” Booker said. Girlfriend! Rinteau grimaced and I gave Booker my best stinkeye, although part of me was happy someone saw us as a potential couple. That someone was probably a psychotic killer, but still.

  His crew hustled us through the door and we entered a small hallway that provided rear-door access to the mall stores. There was a concrete floor and the passage was too narrow to do anything tricky. Plus, I still had the knife stuck in my back. Well, not actually in my back, but you get the idea.

  We walked down the corridor and I kept hoping someone would come out of the back doors of one of the stores or something, but we kept going and we saw no one. I tried to think of something to do, but I was stumped. I dropped my shopping bag on the floor and stopped to pick it up. I thought stalling might give Mr. Kim a chance to catch up to us.

  “Leave it!” Booker shouted at me.

  “No way, I got a great deal on this sweater, I’m not leaving it behind,” I said, scooping it up.

  Again with the sharp knife in the back thing. “Owww,” I said. Rinteau looked at me and quickly shook his head, telling me not to push it.

  “Keep walking,” said Booker.

  We reached the hallway’s end and Booker pushed through a door that said: OPEN ONLY IN EMERGENCY. ALARM WILL SOUND. Nothing happened. No alarm sounded. Stupid non-emergency-alarm-sounding alarm door! We were now in a deserted part of the parking garage hidden from everything by a bunch of dumpsters and trashcans. There was an old, rusted-out van parked a few feet away from the door. The back door of the van opened and two more guys got out.

  This is it, I thought. Mr. Kim and Mr. Torres teach us self-defense scenarios in Tae Kwon Do class all the time. There are a few rules they are always drilling into us. Things like look for anything you can use as a weapon: a rock, a branch from a tree, a suitcase, or a grocery bag. And don’t ever get in a car or van if you can help it. Make noise. Fight. Kick. Scream or bite but do not get into the vehicle without a struggle. Push back.

  “HELP!” I shouted. “9-1-1! 9-1-1!” The guy behind me poked me with the knife again and his other hand grabbed me around the throat. I couldn’t breathe. Rinteau shouted and lunged toward me, trying to come to my aid, but the two guys behind him grabbed his arms and shoved him to the ground, dragging him toward the van. I tried to kick backward at the guy holding me, but I couldn’t find his feet or legs and my kicks flailed uselessly in the air.

  All of a sudden, the guy made a whooshing sound and let go of my throat. I no longer felt the knife sticking in my back; I was suddenly free. I spun around and the knife guy was lying on the ground. It looked like he was sleeping. There was a blur in the side of my vision and I faced the van again. The two guys holding Rinteau had him half in and half out of the van. He was kicking and squirming and Booker was inside leaning out, yelling at them to hurry up and get him in.

&
nbsp; The other two guys who had gotten out of the van when we exited the mall were doing some kind of weird dance with each other. I couldn’t figure it out for a minute, but then realized Mr. Kim was between them, and they weren’t dancing—they were being pummeled. Mr. Kim! He must have followed my watch signal! One of the guys screamed as his arm bent backward in a totally unnatural angle, and I heard what might be the sound of a bone breaking. The second guy was clawing at Mr. Kim’s other hand, which held a handful of his hair. Mr. Kim shook the gang member like a rag doll and then pulled downward and the kid followed the momentum of his body until he was flat on the floor. Mr. Kim gave him a punch to the myung chi, the solar plexus. He went still with a whoosh as all of the air rushed out of his lungs.

  This all took probably less than three seconds. Mr. Kim stepped toward the van in fighting pose and was a few feet away before it roared to life. There were two guys still holding Rinteau. Booker was screaming at them to get in the van and leave him. Mr. Kim reached the closest one and pulled his thumb backward, so he released his grip on Rinteau, and put him down with a front kick to his head. Ouch. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

  The next seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Rinteau’s body was prone between Mr. Kim and the other guy holding him. Mr. Kim was trying to reach across to free him as the kid pulled a knife out of his pocket. It was a switchblade. He raised it high in the air and I could swear I heard it whistling down toward Rinteau. I tried to shout, but no sound would come out of my throat. Mr. Kim grabbed for the kid’s arm, but he couldn’t reach it easily from across Rinteau’s body. Rinteau saw the knife coming and tried to block it with his free hand, but the blade sliced across his palm and plunged into his side.

  Rinteau didn’t scream or anything—just slumped to the ground. The kid with the knife jumped into the van, wielding it to keep Mr. Kim away. The engine revved and the van took off, doors banging shut. I don’t remember much after that, except Rinteau lying there, bleeding on the ground, and Mr. Kim hollering into his cell phone. I looked down and realized I still had my shopping bag clutched in my hand.