"Bingo." Jodi thought they were finally getting somewhere.
"Here you go, honey," the waitress said, placing a tall strawberry shake with whipped cream and a cherry on top in front of Jodi. "You let me know if you need anything else," she said, withdrawing a straw from the black apron around her waist.
"Thanks," Jodi said and then plucked the cherry off the top and placed it on her napkin. "Those will kill you."
"I'll take my chances," he said with a laugh. He reached over and picked up the cherry by the stem. "Wait a minute," he said. His hand froze midair. "Do you still have your syringe?"
"Nope," Jodi said with a half frown. "I think your boss must have, Hke, stolen it from my purse when I was drugged. Come to think of it, I bet he took the claim check then, too. How about you? Still have yours?"
"Syringe? No. I gave it to Dr. Blackstone for analysis ... I mean, how was I to know?" Bruce ate the cherry.
"You didn't." Jodi stuck the straw into her shake. "So we're left with no evidence, right?"
"We.^"
"Hey, you're not gonna just walk away—not now, are you?"
Bruce bit his bottom lip. "Um, remind me, why we can't, like, let it go? I mean, this is all just a guess on our part . . . I've got, um, a good job that pays decent cash. What if we're wrong?"
Jodi took a long slurp from her shake. "What if we're right?"
"Hey I don't stand a chance here," Bruce said, raising his hands as if surrendering. "You're only the debate champ for, what, the whole state? So, like, I'm not trying to win an argument. Really I'm just curious why this is such an issue for you."
1 DB -^l^ LaHaye and DeMoss
"I can sum it up in two words: It stinks."
"Sure does—"
"You can say that again," Jodi said. "What if that dead boy was your brother? I mean, he has a real name. He's got somebody somewhere wondering where he is—probably at this very moment, you know? They may never find out the truth unless we, like, piece things together."
"Unless we?" Bruce said, raising an eyebrow "Since when did you and I become Batman and Robin?"
"Bruce, we're talking about a lack of justice here," Jodi said. "Anyway, I've done a little Bible study of my own ... on justice. There's a verse in Psalms. You know what it says? 'Blessed are they who maintain justice, who constantly do what is right.'"
"So this is what you meant last night when you said it was a 'God thing.'" Bruce pushed his dish to the side.
"Yeah, sort of," Jodi said with a nod. "Sorry if I sounded preachy—"
"No, that's all good."
"Well, for me," Jodi said, bringing a hand to her chest, "I happen to believe in stuff like justice . . . and in right and wrong, because those things are real important to God, you know? Let's just say that's why I won't give up."
"But aren't you just a little scared?" Bruce asked.
Jodi ran her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, like, only out of my mind!"
Chapter 21 ^ Saturday, 1:D2 p.m
Reverend Bud sat in the Ryder truck. The rear bumper rested against the loading dock of the Pet Vet Wellness Center. His eyes were closed and his head leaned back. His left arm rested on the door. The workers had finished unloading the back of the truck. How he wished he could unload what was on his mind.
An oriole perched in a nearby pine sang a soothing melody that drifted into the cab while the smoke from a ft-eshly lit joint floated out. A bead of sweat formed a line across Reverend Bud's creased forehead. He knew today he'd have to face the music.
Dr. Blackstone appeared at his window. "This is no time for a nap."
Reverend Bud blew a steady stream of gray smoke out of his nose. 'A good afternoon to you, too. Dr. B." His eyes remained closed.
"Listen to me," said Dr. Blackstone. "Better yet, look at me when Tm talking to you. I've got just a minute. Illya and Zhenya will be back in a couple of hours and I've got to prepare their shipment. Thanks to your work last night, it will be sizable."
Reverend Bud's head swiveled to the left. His eyes rolled halfway open. A drop of sweat fell from his brow and landed in the thicket of his beard.
Dr. Blackstone brought a cigar to his mouth. He withdrew a gold lighter from the pocket of his black khakis and, with a metallic click, flicked open the top. A flame danced in place. "I'm thinking it's time to plan another Mystery Rave—next month when the schools let out for the summer." He waved the lighter around as he spoke. "Kids will be bored and ready to party. We've done the beach and
1 1 D ^ LaHaye and DeMdss
the mountains. This time how about the quarry? There's an abandoned quarry—"
"Not that. Definitely not that."
"The possibilities are endless," Dr. Blackstone said, lighting the premium cigar. He puffed several times. "Even for an idealist like you."
"Dude, IVe been thinking . . ."
"That's always dangerous," Dr. Blackstone said with a laugh. He blew a thick cloud in the direction of Reverend Bud.
"For real. See, I keep telling myself this isn't the way things are supposed to be ... I mean, I was minding my own business, doing raves, spreading the good vibes. Plenty of Peace, Love, Unity, and Respect to go around. Then we meet—■"
'And look at you now," Dr. Blackstone said between puffs. "Your raves are huge successes."
"Sure, things got ramped up. More people and all. But, well, to be honest, Tm tired of playing taxi driver for the Grim Reaper, you dig?" He brushed his long hair away from his face.
"What are you saying?"
"Things are way too crazy now and I... I want out. . . I'm done with this money grab."
"You know what your problem is?" Dr. Blackstone shook his head, disgusted. He pointed with the end of his cigar at Reverend Bud. "You're afraid of money."
"You're way wrong, man." Reverend Bud took another drag from his joint. He held his breath for a moment before exhaling.
"Enlighten me." Dr. Blackstone raised an eyebrow.
"Dude, don't you fear God? Doesn't what we're doing bother you in the least?"
Dr. Blackstone savored a long draw from the cigar, leaving it in his mouth as he spoke. "What are you driving at?"
Reverend Bud shut his eyes, deep in thought. A picture of his father behind the pulpit surfaced through the fog in his mind.
"'What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?'"
"Excuse me?"
"That's from the Bible, Dr. B." His eyes shot open as if he had witnessed a ghost. "I've seen the light and we've sold our souls, man. For what? The Almighty Dollar? A nice house? Plenty of chicks? Well, I say, forget that, you know? Chuck it all," he said with a wave of his hand. "Keep my share from last night. I don't really care 'cause I'm, like, outta here."
Dr. Blackstone, his cigar pinched between his thumb and forefinger, spit on the ground. "Save your platitudes for someone who cares. You're not going anywhere."
"Watch me."
Their eyes locked.
"If I were you," Dr. Blackstone said slowly, "I'd be very careful not to rock the boat, and especially not with the Russians."
Reverend Bud looked straight ahead and shouted with the flair of a prophet, "The Lord says, "Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.'""
"Oh, shut up!" Dr. Blackstone glared. "Nobody knows what we're doing. Nobody needs to know. Now, if you're done with this religious mumbo jumbo—"
Reverend Bud ignored him. "The Good Book says. Tor God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.'"
"Stop it . . . stop it, I say!" Dr. Blackstone pounded his hand against the side of the truck.
Reverend Bud was on a roll. Somehow the release felt good. "'But I tell you that it will be more bearable for Sodom on the day of judgment than for you.'"
Dr. Blackstone bared his teeth like a dog with rabies. Smoke from his cigar curled up around his nose. 'All I can
say is, you're a fool."
■•■?P^»--^H?W!«^^""^iP"
112 ^ LaHaye and DeMdss
Reverend Bud laughed. "'But God said to him, "You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you.'""
Dr. Blackstone's face reddened. He grabbed Reverend Bud's arm and squeezed it like a vise. "I don't know what's come over you. Maybe you're tired. You're definitely high. But you'll be a dead man if you walk."
Reverend Bud swallowed. "Dude, like, why are you so afraid of a little soul-searching? Huh?"
Dr. Blackstone, flushed with anger, looked up at the sky and then toward the clinic. "You're making a giant mistake."
"I don't think so, man. Now if it's all the same to you"— Reverend Bud turned the key in the ignition—"I'm gonna skedaddle,
dig?"
"Sure. Go right ahead. It's your funeral."
Dr. Blackstone rammed the cigar back between his teeth.
Chapter 22 ^ Saturday, 1:15 p.m
Jodi collapsed behind the wheel of her car, discouraged. Bruce had given her such a hard time over lunch. If he, of all people, had his doubts, who else would believe her? To make matters worse, her film was stolen and the needle had been swiped.
She was confident Dr. Blackstone had something to do with the missing syringe, but there was no point in making an accusation. It would come down to her word against his. Besides, the only way she'd ever set foot in that clinic again would be if three men armed with stun guns and a straitjacket dragged her there.
She took a deep breath and then started the car. "Jesus," she said softly, her hand on the gearshift, "if you don't want me to drop this, I'm going to need a minor breakthrough here. Please give me at least something to go on. Amen."
She looked over her shoulder and then backed up the car. She shifted into DRIVE and pulled out of the parking lot onto Philmont Avenue. Jodi was headed back to Abington Hospital. At least she could see if Kat's condition had stabilized. And maybe, if Kat was more alert, Jodi could find out what the boy's name was, or at least where he went to school. If Kat knew at least that much, Jodi thought, she could find his picture in an old yearbook and confirm his identity. And then what? Jodi wondered.
Traffic was light, especially for a holiday weekend. She'd make the hospital in ten or fifteen minutes. She switched on the radio to pass the time, and the car instantly filled with sound. She could tell without looking at the digital readout that the dial was set to 1060
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AM, home of KYW News Radio. It was her dad's favorite station. Jodi's finger was about to hit the scan button when something
the announcer said caught her ear midsentence:
. . . has learned the popular club drug ecstasy, a so-called feelgood drug, mixed with ketamine, an animal tranquilizer, may have played a part in the disappearance of Todd Rice, a seventeen-year-old, Abington High School junior. Sources say Todd Rice attended an illegally sponsored rave in an abandoned warehouse on Christopher Columbus Boulevard last night. Jodi's fingers raced to turn up the volume. Her eyes were on the
road, but scenes from the rave filled her mind.
Todd's parents, Keith and Allison Rice, were first alerted to his disappearance by several friends who had carpooled with him to the rave. His friend Holly, who didn't want her last name used, told KYW: "Everybody was all, like, partying. I was doing some E and stuff when Todd said he wanted to try a little Special K, just for fun. That's the last time I saw him." Jodi slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. She
didn't want to miss a single word. The announcer continued with
his report.
Susie Shenkel, another friend of the missing teenager, told KYW: "Yeah, we were all freaking out. We were standing around for an hour trying to find him. I mean, Todd was our ride and we were supposed to leave at seven. When we couldn't frnd him, we didn't know what to do. So we, like, called his home and he wasn't there, either."
Todd's mother, Allison, called authorities at ten o'clock when he failed to come home: "Todd's always been a good kid . . . He's never . . . done drugs ... at least none that we knew about. We thought, well, we assumed Todd went dancing, you know, at a local club. We were so shocked when . . . when his friends called this morning. We had no idea he'd been involved in . . . anyway, now he's missing and we're so worried . . ."
ALL THE RAVE ^ 115
The tears in Allison's voice poured out of the radio. Jodi felt a tightness in her chest, knowing that if Todd was the same kid she and Bruce saw last night, then he wasn t just missing, he was dead. Jodi rested her head against the window as she listened, although she probably knew more than the reporter—^like her contact with Reverend Bud, Dr. Blackstone, the brain-dead police—and that, coupled with this news, was far more than she could digest at the moment.
Special K is the street name for ketamine. When mixed with ecstasy, users call that cocktailing. In humans, while ketamine can have a hallucinogenic effect, it can also lead to death. Both substances are illegal for sale or use by the public. No wonder Dr. Blackstone wanted us stopped, ]odi thought. A memory of the spider's hairy legs crawling all over her face crept into her mind. She swatted at the mental picture.
His parents say Todd left the house last night wearing jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt with the Disney character Tweety Bird. Any person with information should call our KYW Tip-line. This has been a Special KYW News Bulletin. Updates as they happen, when they happen. For a look at traffic . . . Jodi switched off the radio. Her heart was in hyperspace; thoughts whirled inside her head. Since going to the police was out of the question, now what? Should she call KYW? Should she contact Todd's parents? They were probably listed in the phone book. But what would she tell them?
Somehow none of the options felt right. How would anyone believe her without concrete proof? She needed those photos, and there was only one way to get them back.
Jodi reached across the front seat for her purse, her fingers moist with sweat. She picked up the purse and then flipped open the clasp. Like a detective rummaging around for a key piece of evidence, she dug through the contents.
A moment later Jodi said, "Yes!" She held up the business card Reverend Bud had handed her last night. Sure enough, just as she
116 ^ LaHaye and DeMdss
remembered, it listed his address and phone number. She reread the inscription: Peace, Love, Unity, Respect, and that bizarre offer for a free tablet of ecstasy.
If what was printed was to be believed, he lived or had an office on Rawle Street in northeast Philly. She knew the general area. A collection of modest but older row homes about twenty minutes away. She decided to try what always worked in her debate situations: confront the opponent head-on.
She snatched up her phone as her pulse quickened. Just as she was about to dial his number, her cell phone rang. She jumped at the sound, sending her purse, which had been balanced on her lap, to the floor. The contents spilled in every direction. She composed herself and took a close look at the number provided by her caller I.D., but didn't recognize it. Probably a telemarketer.
"HeUo?"
Silence. She waited a second. "Hello?"
"Um, is this Jodi?"
"Yes." She pressed the phone against her ear. The voice sounded hollow and distant.
"Cool. Um, we need to meet."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Her tone was tentative.
"Oh, right. It's Reverend Bud. We met last night—"
Her skin jumped like a cat on a hot tin roof "How did you get this number?"
"Chill, babe. Like . . . oh . . . yeah, remember your photo order? The envelope had your info on the wrapper."
The sudden feeling of being violated darted through her veins. So it was Reverend Bud at the InstyFoto Mart, she thought. "What gave you the right to steal my pictures?"
"See, I ... I did you a favor—"
"Really? How so? This ought to be good."
"I don't have much time left, and, um, wow, we need to hook up
. Like now. You dig?"
ALL THE RAVE ^ 117
"You didn't answer my question. How was swiping my stuff doing me a favor?" Jodi fixed her eyes on a tube of lipstick that had rolled beneath the brake pedal.
"Okay, okay. Til"—he coughed—"tell you all that jive when we connect. You still got, um, my card?"
His business card in her hand suddenly felt like a time bomb. "Yes. I . . . gee, I don't know about meeting." It was one thing for her to take the lead, but this felt like an ambush.
"Look," Reverend Bud said, "what I'm trying to say . . . see, the same people who are ..." He stopped midsentence.
Jodi examined the phone to make sure they weren't cut off. She brought it back to her ear. "You still there? The same people who are what?"
". . . watching you are after me. See, I know about the body and, um, way more than that, you dig?"
That caught her off guard. I'm being watched?" she thought. "How can I know you're telling the truth? I mean, we've only met once." Jodi switched the phone to her left ear. He sounded sincere enough, but one never knew about these things.
"I don't know ... you'll just have to trust me, babe. But hurry, there isn't much time before I'm . . . gone." The connection went dead.
Jodi's heart hammered away. Was he weaving his own web of lies, trying to draw her in? For what? To scare her like Dr. Blackstone? Yet she was fairly certain she had detected some emotion in his voice. What was it? Fear? Sadness? A heavy heart? Although she couldn't put her finger on it, she sensed Reverend Bud wanted to come clean. She had to go. What other option did she have?
Jodi had to remember to breathe. She rested the phone on the dash and then picked up the spilled contents of her purse from the floor. She checked her rearview mirror and then dialed a number before pulling back into traffic.
"Yo."
"Hey, Bruce, you busy? It's Jodi."
"Not really, rm at a pet store. Thought I'd start collecting a few spiders ..."
"Very funny. Listen. KYW just did a story on the missing boy."
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