“She’s been doing it on the down-low this whole time,” Digby said. “I was gonna deal with it at the end of the night, but Bill, looks like your participation in our night’s ending right now. Can I see that, please?”
“No.” Like the kid that she was, Bill put her hand behind her back. “It’s my phone.”
“What are you doing, anyway?” I said.
“My guess is she’s writing some kind of blog. Only thing worse than a tourist is a tattletale,” Digby said. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out, Bill. You could’ve been a good backup for Princeton here—”
“Hey!” I said.
Digby faked left, then reached right and plucked the phone out of Bill’s hand.
“Oh, I look good in this one. You can keep it. The rest . . . delete.” Digby erased the photos and returned the phone to Bill, who stormed off.
At the counter, the 7-Eleven cashier was opening big sealed envelopes and shaking out stacks of scratch cards. His nametag said he was ASSOCIATE TED, but he didn’t look up when Digby called out his name.
“Uh, Ted, we need to ask you some questions,” Digby said.
Ted slowly slid the pile of scratch cards into a drawer.
“Are you from New York Lottery?” Ted said.
“No,” Digby said. “Homeland Security.”
Ted raised his hands, knocking down a display of lighters when he stepped back.
“Dude. I’m kidding,” Digby said.
“He’s joking,” I said. “Really.”
“Relax . . . we’re in high school, man. We’re looking for our friend.” Digby showed him Ezekiel’s photo.
“You looking for this guy?” Ted said.
“You know him?” Digby said.
“Well . . . yeah. I know him. But if you want stuff, I mean . . . I could hook you up . . . for cheaper,” Ted said.
“Oh, yeah? What you got?” Digby said.
“We should probably focus,” I said.
“Okay, yeah . . . our friend?” Digby said.
“Sure. He was here tonight,” Ted said.
“You remember anything? Did he say anything weird? Buy anything special?” Digby said.
“I dunno. Maybe some food?” Ted said.
“Can you review transactions on that?” Digby pointed at the register.
“That isn’t copacetic,” Ted said.
“Okay.” Digby dumped some candy on the counter. “I gotta pay for these.”
Ted logged onto the register and rang up the candy.
“Can we take a look at security footage from tonight?” Digby said.
“Yeah, right,” Ted said. “Even if I wanted to show you, these cameras feed straight to the security company.”
“Even that one behind the counter? It’s different from the rest,” Digby said.
“There isn’t one behind the counter,” Ted said.
“Sure there is. By the cigarettes,” Digby said.
Ted’s face filled with dread and he turned slowly. When he spotted the hidden camera, he walked into the back room without saying another word.
“Think he’s coming back?” I said.
“I seriously doubt it. I mean, if I found out there was tape of me committing lottery theft, I’d get straight out of town.” Digby got behind the register and hit the BACK button until he saw it. “CornNuts. Two hours ago. Bottled water. Miscellaneous maps. Thirteen ninety-five.”
Digby ran to the shelf and pulled down maps to read the prices on the back.
“Too cheap . . . nope . . . too cheap . . .” Finally, he pulled down a book: Road atlas USA, Canada, Mexico. $13.95.
“Makes sense. He’s probably driving to Canada with the rest of his cult,” I said.
“Except . . .” Digby ran back to the register and looked again at Ezekiel’s transactions. “He also bought four things of Imodium. Seems excessive for a trip to Canada.” Digby tapped the cover of the atlas. “He’s going to Mexico.”
I had to ask. “We’re not going to Mexico, are we?”
“Well, the night is young . . .” Digby said.
Then I saw Sloane talking to a shifty-eyed middle-aged man in a cheap suit. “Oh, great. Look.”
The guy leaned into Sloane in a way I didn’t like. I heard Sloane say, “Do I look like I’d know a taxi driver?”
Then the guy’s hand reached for Sloane.
“Sloane!” I shouted so loudly that Sloane jumped. The guy’s hand froze inches from her boob and quickly retracted. Sloane hadn’t even seen it. “Come here. Right now!”
Sloane had the nerve to look irritated when she toddled over. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’? That guy,” I said.
“He was weird, asking me for a taxi,” Sloane said.
“He was asking if you knew Taxi Driver. The movie,” I said. Sloane’s face was blank. “Jodie Foster? Teen prostitute? Because you look kinda . . . you know. Never mind. Just stay close.”
“Whatever,” Sloane said.
“Where is everybody?” Digby said.
Felix was still reading Archie. He muttered, “I don’t understand why I don’t have this one.” Henry was beside him, sucking on his Slurpee and reading a Sports Illustrated.
“Where’s Bill?” Digby said.
She wasn’t in the aisles, outside the store, or in the parking lot.
“Where’d she go?” Digby looked at the security monitors under the register. “Oh, man. Trouble.”
Digby hunted around under the counter. I went to look. There, on the monitor showing the back alley, I saw Bill cowering from a big, bearded man looming over her.
“Digby, she’s getting attacked,” I said.
“I’m aware of that.” Digby kept searching under the counter. “It’s gotta be here somewhere.”
“What the hell are you looking for?” I said.
On the monitor, the guy grabbed Bill and shook her.
“A-ha!” Digby came up with a baseball bat.
“Whoa . . . you’re not even holding that right. Gimme,” Henry said. “Sloane, stay with Felix.”
“Great, now I’m the nanny?” Sloane said.
We ran to the alley. From behind a Dumpster, we watched Bill’s situation get worse. Bill whimpered. The guy said, “You scream and I’ll break your neck.”
“Digby, what are we waiting for?” Henry made practice swings with the bat.
Digby pulled Henry back and pointed at the attacker’s waistband. “He’s got a knife. Clothes are brand-new. Look at his jeans, his jacket. The creases—they’re straight off the shelf. The tattoo on his neck. Clock, no hands. That’s a prison tatt for doing time,” Digby said. “He’s probably riding Greyhound on his prison-issued ticket. I’ll bet he just got out.”
“Then now what?” Henry said.
“We gotta get him off her without a fight. I don’t feel like getting shivved. If this doesn’t go well, go pull the fire alarm.”
Digby took off his jacket and handed it to me. Then he took a running start. By the time he got to Bill and her attacker, he’d built up some speed and was panting convincingly.
“Hey, man, did they come this way?” Digby said.
The ex-con touched the knife in his waistband and covered Bill’s mouth. “Who?”
“Two cops chasing me. They come this way?” Digby said.
The ex-con shook his head.
“Then look out, man. If they come this way, tell them you ain’t seen me, okay?” Then Digby jumped onto a trash can and hopped the fence.
Alone with Bill again, the ex-con said, “If you tell anyone, I’ll find you when I get back out.” Then he grudgingly shoved her and ran in the other direction.
Henry and I ran to Bill as soon as he left.
“Let’s get you in the car,” Henry said.
&
nbsp; Bill was crying hard, but from what I understood, she’d been talking to the goth girls after we’d erased her photos. One of them suggested they go out back and smoke something more interesting than cigarettes. When they got there, the ex-con offered the goths twenty bucks to leave Bill. The idea of being sold for twenty bucks was so awful that I hugged Bill and let her cry all over me.
Sloane and Felix joined us in the limo.
“What’s the matter with her?” Sloane said. “And where’s Digby?”
“He’s coming,” Henry said.
“Well, I don’t wanna wait anymore. Obviously, it’s dangerous,” Sloane said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Technically, this is Felix’s limousine,” I said. “Felix, do you want to leave Digby here?”
Felix shook his head. “No. That would be a crappy thing to do.”
“You could take the bus back if you want, Sloane,” I said.
The door opened and Digby slid in, breathing hard from his run.
“We were about to leave you,” Sloane said.
“Henry, you should take them back to the dance,” Digby said.
“Finally,” Sloane said.
“Wait. What are you doing?” I said.
“I’ll find my way back.” Digby put his jacket on.
“On your own? No,” I said. “I’m staying.”
“Me too,” Felix said.
“That’s ridiculous. We’re not leaving anyone,” Henry said. “Digby, what’s going on?”
“I need to go around the corner,” Digby said. “A motel called the Tropical Hut.”
“That hole? Ew . . . why?” Sloane said.
“You know the place?” Digby said.
“Dad’s campaign manager makes disgusting jokes about dead prostitutes in that place,” Sloane said. “Why there? Can’t you two hook up behind the cafeteria like normal people?”
“Is this about . . . ?” Henry said.
Digby nodded. Henry put the car in drive.
“Is this about what?” Sloane said. No one said anything. “Fine. But I’m not going in. There aren’t enough vaccines in the world to protect me from what you can catch in there.”
The Tropical Hut was one of those theme motels. Neon palm trees and a cardboard grass hut by the front door, and a half-inflated hula girl drooping by the half-drained pool out front.
Some ground-floor doors were open and majorly wasted people randomly stumbled in and out of each other’s rooms. A woman’s scream sounded partway between crying and laughing.
“Classy place,” I said. “Hey, why aren’t you surprised she’s with Ezekiel? You already knew they were involved?”
“It might’ve been a coincidence that Marina snorted the same blue generic Adderall Floyd sold Felix, but how many fifteen-year-old girls use the words ‘real man’? Ezekiel said the exact same words when we were fighting on your lawn,” Digby said. “That, the motel, the CornNuts . . .”
“Marina? Marina Miller?” Sloane said.
“Stay out of this, Sloane,” Henry said.
“She’s in there? But we’re not calling the police?” Sloane said. “I knew it. She wasn’t kidnapped. She ran away and ended up here? What a loser. And speaking of losers, are those jazz shoes?” She pointed at my feet.
“They’re tap shoes,” Digby said.
“You sound like a horse,” Sloane said. “A loud one.”
“You’re making more noise complaining than my shoes are tapping,” I said.
“But it’s the combination of her shoes, your whining, and the two of you fighting about it that’s gonna get us killed,” Digby said.
“Why did he say ‘killed’?” Sloane said.
“Just stay in the car,” Henry said.
“Listening to this one cry?” Sloane pointed at Bill. “Pass.”
Ezekiel stepped out of a second-floor room and stood in the open-air hallway, smoking and watching two drunks fighting in the parking lot below. He was shirtless under his open coat and tattoos crisscrossed his torso.
“There he is,” Digby said. “We gotta get him out of there and get Marina out of that room.”
“Okay, great plan except for the fact that he knows all three of us,” I said.
We all looked at Sloane. Unexpectedly, instead of giving us her usual snotty attitude, Sloane actually looked game.
“Get him away from the room?” Sloane said. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Really? I thought you’d make me beg or something,” I said.
“Go ahead if you really want to,” Sloane said.
“We have no choice, so I’m gonna pretend I’m not suspicious you’re up to something,” Digby said. “But you are up to something, aren’t you?”
“Do you want me to do this or not?” Sloane said.
“I should probably just take yes for an answer,” Digby said.
Sloane got out and toddled to the stairs. Her ankle twisted halfway up her painfully slow climb and she barely caught herself on the banister.
“Those stupid shoes,” Henry said.
Whatever she said to Ezekiel when she got there worked, though. He retrieved a wire hanger from the room and was twisting it as he followed Sloane downstairs.
We ran out of the limo and climbed the stairs at the opposite end of the motel.
I had a flash of panic when we got to the room. “Wait, what if she isn’t alone in there? If someone else comes to the door?” I said.
“Then we pretend we need help buying beer. But relax. Guys don’t sit around together shirtless in November. He and Marina were alone.” Digby knocked. There was shuffling inside. Digby knocked again. The lights in the room went off.
Digby said, “Someone called for smokes?”
“Um . . . come back later. He’s not here right now.” Marina’s voice sounded shaky.
“Marina? It’s Henry. Open up.”
“Henry? Petropoulos?” The door opened and Marina stood in the dark doorway. She had on a bright blue wig and a skimpy bikini and she smoked her cigarette manically. “Why are you here?”
“We’ll talk later. Right now, we gotta go,” Henry said.
We poured into the room.
“I don’t wanna leave. E-Z’s taking me to Cabo,” Marina said. “He got us a room at the hotel Jennifer Aniston stayed at. He bought me this bikini.”
“You can’t go to Cabo, Marina. Your parents are really worried,” Henry said.
“They don’t care. They have Ursula. She’s the one they want,” Marina said.
I just didn’t want to hear it. “Oh, grow up, get your clothes on, and let’s get out of here before that psycho gets back.”
“No. I’m going to Cabo,” Marina said. “I never get to go anywhere.”
Digby pointed at Sloane and Ezekiel trying to jimmy open a minivan in the parking lot. “Guys, hurry. She picked a Dodge. I once broke into one of those with a spork.”
“Marina, let’s go.” Henry stepped toward her, hand outstretched.
Marina flicked her cigarette into my skirt’s feathers and ran to the other side of the bed.
“Smells like burning hair,” Digby said.
By the time we found the cigarette and put out my smoldering feathers, Marina had pulled a knife from the nightstand. Henry leaped across the bed and grabbed the knife. Digby grabbed her other arm. The three of them danced around for a while.
“What are you doing? Get that thing away from her,” I said.
They made a few furniture-breaking swoops but no actual progress.
Marina screeched for Ezekiel the whole time.
“Can’t do it, dude. Can’t hit a girl,” Henry said.
“Do it. I can’t reach,” Digby said.
“For God’s sake.” I smacked Marina’s face and she went limp in Digby’s arms.
; “Yeah, like I told you. She hit me just like that. But in the nads, dude,” Digby said.
“Isn’t that basically a vasectomy?” Henry wasn’t kidding.
“Do you not have Google at all?” I said.
Digby threw Marina on the bed. “Get her clothes on.”
I couldn’t get her skinny jeans past her knees. “I miss hoochie sweats.”
Digby opened a bag he found under the TV stand. “Whoa . . .”
We left Marina half-trousered on the bed and joined Digby. In the bag were rubber-banded rolls of Mexican pesos and the road atlas from the 7-Eleven. In the dimness, it took me a second to realize there were guns in the bag. Lots of guns. And other stuff that looked like bricks of yellow Play-Doh.
“Are those . . . ?” Henry said.
“Explosives,” Digby said.
Digby flipped one of the bricks. The label said: EXPLOSIVE PLASTIC SEMTEX-H.
“Bad news is . . .” Digby held up empty plastic wrappers with the same label. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s a lot,” I said. “I mean, isn’t that a lot? Do you need a lot of this stuff?”
“Dunno. I’m not a demolitions expert . . . yet . . .” Digby counted the wrappers. “Although . . . twelve of anything explosive’s probably a lot.”
“Whoa. Digby, it’s time to call the pol—” Henry said.
“Already dialing 911,” Digby said.
I glanced out the window. Sloane was in the parking lot waving at us.
“He’s coming back. What about Marina? Should we drag her out?” I said.
“Too late. Bathroom. Go,” Digby said.
We hustled into the little bathroom and looked at the drop from the window to the alley.
Henry whistled. “That’s a broken ankle at least.”
Digby looked up and down the alley. He texted someone.
“Digby, do we jump?” Henry said.
“Wait . . .” Digby said.
Ezekiel came back into the room. “Hey, babe? Why are the lights off?” Ezekiel laughed. “You pass out putting on your pants?” He turned on the TV. “Want some, babe?” When Marina stayed passed out, he said, “More for me.”
We sweated it out in the bathroom until, finally, we heard a PSSST from the alley below. Felix and Sloane were below the window.
“Hurry!” Digby said.
Trouble is a Friend of Mine Page 21