Hush Money (Talent Chronicles)

by Susan Bischoff

  “Cool.” He glanced over at the knife case. See, it was the knives. Did I want him to ask to see one, or was the risk of using it to put myself out of my misery too great at this point? “I wanted to—”

  The security buzz blasted from the door again, and we both jumped away from each other. I didn’t know what his deal was.

  “Hi, Mr. Jensen. I thought you’d be at the range tonight.”

  “No such luck, Jocelyn; couldn’t get there tonight. But I was in the neighborhood on my way home and thought I’d check to see if my order came in. It was—”

  “The speed-loader pouches. Yeah, they came in the mail little while ago. They’re still back in the office. I’ll go get ’em.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.”

  And maybe, I thought, Dylan will wander off while I’m back there and find someone else to pick on. I mean, clearly I had a thing for him, but I marked that down to typical teen female hormonal bad judgment and tried to ignore it as best I could. I’d never really seen him treat anyone the way Marco did, but I felt there was a reasonable guilt-by-association factor involved.

  “Jilly, what are you doing?!” She had pulled a chair from the office into the bathroom and there was a tin of grease paint involved.

  She jumped down from the chair and ran at me with a war cry. I just stood there, glaring.

  “Rawr! I’m a warrior princess! Fear me!”

  “Trust me, I do. How many times—”

  “I’m going to go scare the customers!”

  “I’d rather you—” But I was talking to a swinging door. Screw it.

  It took me a few minutes to get Mr. Jensen’s order because it wasn’t even unpacked, the invoices had to be checked against the order, I had to get the special order book and sign off on that form, etc. There’s a lot of papers involved, and Dad can be really anal about it.

  When I finally got back out on the floor, Mr. Jensen was looking at the belts on the other side of the store and Dylan and Jilly had their heads together over something on the counter. No good can come of this, I thought. The speed-loaders were paid, so I thanked my customer and wished him a good night. But he hesitated.

  “Are you sure you’re ok alone?”

  “Sure. I manage the store by myself all time.”

  “I know, it’s just…”

  I realized he was looking at Dylan. Which made me look at Dylan. And yeah, the boots, leather jacket, that long, somewhat shaggy hair, the shoulders out to here…and there was something about Dylan’s quiet, I-could-give-a-shit attitude. While to me these traits added up to a hopeless and ridiculous crush for as long as I could remember, I could kind of see how someone like Mr. Jensen might be concerned. I thought it was sweet. But while we were watching, Jill brought Dylan one of Dad’s cleaning rags from under the counter and he used it to wipe the worst of the greasepaint off her hands. Awwwww. If a talking gorilla was the next customer through the door, I wouldn’t have been surprised at that point.

  But anyway, the gesture seemed to reassure Mr. Jensen, so we exchanged pleasantries and he went on his way.

  Back at the checkout, Dylan had Jill’s pencil and was leaning over her math homework. They were both gonna get it now.

  “So look, what I’m saying is, you don’t have to have the whole times tables memorized right now to do this stuff. Because you can count really fast, right?”

  “1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12—”

  “Ok, ok. So look here, you’ve got six times four equals…”

  “I don’t knooooowwww,” she whined.

  “You don’t have to know. You make some dots—six dots, four times. Like six dice.” He did it really fast of the margin of the paper. “Then you count them up. Here, you count. Really fast.”

  Jill took the pencil and bounced it over the dots. “Twenty-three!”

  “Are you sure? Better check.”

  “Oh, twenty-four.”

  “That’s right! Six times four is twenty-four. So write that down and erase the dots.”

  She did, and they went on to the next one, which Jill did.

  “I don’t think she’s supposed to do that. I think they’re supposed to memorize them.”

  They both looked at me like I was some kind of narc.

  “She will. Eventually. Meanwhile, whatever gets you through math class, right Warrior Princess?”

  “Right! I’m gonna get this done ’causethen I can play with my Barbies. You wanna stay and play Barbies when I get done?”

  “Um…I’ll stay for a while, but I’ll probably have to go before Barbie time. Sorry.”

  “Man, that’s tough,” I said. “Maybe some other time.”

  Dylan narrowed his eyes at me, but he was smiling. Then it faded. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the cafeteria today.”

  I felt myself go stiff. Dylan’s nice to my sister and finally proves he’s a human. Great. But he was the last person with whom I wanted to discuss my latest school-related trauma. So I went into defense mode. “You want to know if it’s true? Why, you got a sister?”

  “Look, Marco’s an ass. No one disputes this; I’ve just been around him so long that I’m used to it. I mean, he’s also been a dick forever, so I guess I never expect him to grow up and behave like a person.”

  “If you came in here to apologize for Marco—”

  “I came to apologize for me. I should have said something.”

  Well, that was unexpected. “Like what?”

  “Like, I don’t know. ‘Shut the hell up, asshole,’ probably.” Then he grimaced. “Eyes on your homework, kid, and keep your ears shut.” To me he said, “Sorry,” in a stage whisper.

  “I’m sure she’s heard worse. And if it’s that easy, don’t worry about it. I’ll say it myself next time.” Nothing’s ever that easy, but I did not want Dylan to pity me because Marco picked on me. That was not the kind of attention I wanted.

  No attention was what I wanted, I had to remind myself.

  “I just wanted you to know—”

  The security buzzer went off again, and we all looked over to see Marco striding in. Next customer, talking gorilla. How about that? His eyes scanned the store and when he finally found Dylan, standing with us at the check out, he seemed surprised and kinda pissed off.

  “Hey, I thought we were meeting up at the record store. What’re you doin’ in here?”

  “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  “Come over now. That hot chick from the college is workin’ tonight.”

  “I’ll be over in a few. Go ahead.”

  “Why, you buyin’ something?”

  “No, I’m talking to Joss.”

  “Why?” he asked, like he’d rather shovel horse dung than talk to me, a feeling which was entirely mutual. “Look, Joss, you can come too. But I don’t think she’s quite your type. Or, wait, you’d be the butch, right?”

  “Shut the hell up, asshole,” was about all I could think to say.

  “You should come. Maybe she’d be into you. I think I’d like to see that.”

  “All right, that’s it. We’re leaving.” Dylan came around the counter and grabbed Marco by the back of the neck. It wasn’t a power play. Dylan’s a big guy and he’s taller, but Marco’s big too, stocky. I was pretty sure he could have broken Dylan’s hold easily, if he’d wanted to. Instead he’d gotten his way and let Dylan guide him to the door. “Goodnight, Joss,” Dylan called over his shoulder. “Bye, kid.” The door security gave out a long buzz and the door swung shut again.

  It was hard to see them past the glass because it was dark outside and so bright inside, but I saw Marco knock Dylan’s arm away.

  “Do you think he likes me?” Jill asked.

  “I think he’s too old for you.”

  There was some intense conversation between them for a few moments, and I saw Dylan give Marco a shove. Not hard enough to throw him off balance, more like just to make a point. I wondered what his point was.

  “Do you think Dylan likes you?” />
  “No.”

  Marco said something else, got the last word in, and turned to walk across the bricks to Vinyl Salvation.

  As always, Dylan followed.

  * * *

  Dylan

  “What was that about?” Marco asked, breaking my hold on his neck with an irritated shrug.

  “None of your business.” At least, I hoped Marco was going to see it that way. I’d let Marco run his mouth about Joss for too long now, hoping he’d just get over it. So she’d turned him down, so what? I was done keeping quiet while Marco worked out his embarrassment or whatever it was. And as long as I was going that far, I might as well be done keeping quiet about my own interest in Joss. Maybe.

  One thing at a time. I had other problems with Marco and I didn’t really want to bring the whole Joss thing into the middle of it. Then Marco’s eyes narrowed on me, and I knew it was too late.

  “You’ve got a thing for that fag-hag, don’t you?”

  “Cut that shit out, man.” Without thinking about it, I spun on Marco and gave him a shove that pushed him back a step.

  I hadn’t meant to get physical. When we were little kids we had gotten into a fight over some dumb thing and I’d wound up in the hospital. It really scared both of us, and we promised we were never going to fight again. And we hadn’t. An apology was halfway out of my mouth before I bit it back. “I’m getting really tired all the dyke bullshit, ok? It’s getting old.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Somethin’s not right about that chick.”

  Marco turned and headed for the music store. I followed, thinking now was exactly the wrong time to bring up the other thing, but I’d made up my mind to get it out tonight and didn’t want to put it off any longer. Besides, when walking into a store with Marco, who knew what he had in mind, or what would come into his head as soon as he saw something he wanted?

  “Marco, wait a minute. There’s something we gotta talk about.”

  “So talk.”

  “Let’s hang out here for a minute.”

  Marco rested his hand on the metal pull of Vinyl Salvation’s plexiglass entry door. “What, you need a mocha latté and a muffin? Spit it out.”

  “I want out.”

  That got Marco’s attention. He walked away to the corner of the building, settled his back against the bricks, and dug a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket.

  “So talk,” he snapped when I leaned against the wall beside him.

  “That’s pretty much it. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  Marco lit his cigarette, blew out smoke. “Huh.”

  “It was fun, seeing what we could do, what we could get away with. But we’re not kids anymore. Swiping nickel and dime shit was one thing, but—”

  “We’re not kids anymore. It’s time for the big stuff—the good stuff. Come on, what’s the big deal? You worried about getting tried as an adult? How’re they going to catch us?”

  How’d they get Krista? “Look, I just don’t want to do it anymore, ok? I don’t get my rocks off being a criminal. What you do is your business. Just leave me out of any more of your big plans.”

  Marco was quiet, staring at the smoke curling from the end of his cigarette. I’d expected him to be angry, maybe to shout at me about how much the group needed me, about how I was letting the guys down because I was chicken-shit scared. Whatever he was going to say to try to force me to continue, just to show that I wasn’t dickless. But this quiet meant that Marco was thinking, not just reacting.

  I was afraid of my best friend. The knowledge sat in my gut like lead. It was more than how I felt a little sick every time he got pissed off about something, more than the start it gave me every time he would give me a shake or a smack. That was just how guys are around each other. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it was. I had been on the receiving end of that temper once, and I had seen it doled out on someone else. Even knowing that the someone else deserved it, the power of Marco’s rage had stuck with me so hard that it had been coloring my actions ever since.

  How long had I known what kind of person Marco was becoming and just ignored it? He’d been my best friend practically my whole life. We’d been so close for so long now, that it was like having a brother you couldn’t stand, but you’d beat the shit out of anybody who messed with him. If I went with my conscience and stood my ground, would Marco continue to protect me, or throw me to the wolves?

  He clapped me on the shoulder, almost making me jump, and flicked the cigarette butt out onto the bricks. I wondered if he knew the effect that had on me. “Like you said earlier, it’s best if we lay low for a while. You’re right, and we will. But when the time comes, I need you on this. You know I do. I need you to have my back, same way I’ve always got yours. Anything for a friend, right? Anyway, we can talk about this later. Now come on. College girl’s been waiting for me.”

  Chapter 4

  Joss

  “…and then Sarah’s milk finally came in—”

  “Mo-om…”

  “What?”

  “TMI. Geez. Let’s just leave out any details regarding feeding and digestion, because I swear, if you start describing its poops, I am so out of here.”

  “Joss, don’t you want to hear about your baby cousin’s poops?”

  “I’m getting my jacket.”

  “Fine,” Mom said airily, gathering up the baby photos she had spread out on the counter. “No more baby talk.”

  I felt kind of guilty for cutting her off. But I’d already gotten out of bed early on a Saturday to help out at the store and, on top of that, listened to way more details about childbirth and babies than I cared to. There was a limit to daughterly devotion. “You should try Jill. She likes to talk about poop.”

  “Good plan. So,” Mom glanced at me, “anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

  “I’m sure Dad told you.”

  “He did. You okay, sweetie?”

  “Sure. Krista was in some of my classes, but I didn’t really know her. I was surprised. I didn’t know she could do anything. Guess we’ll probably never find out what her Talent was. There doesn’t seem to be much gossip going around.”

  “Your dad doesn’t know anything either. He doesn’t know how they knew about Krista, and that’s what’s got him most upset.”

  “How upset is he?” This was code for: How close is he to completely freaking out?

  Mom’s expression tightened, but she kept a smile on and her voice easy. “I think he’s okay. It definitely bothers him that no one seems to know about any incident where Krista might have exposed her secret. He thinks that means someone she knew turned her in, probably someone she trusted.”

  There was code here too. This is why your dad doesn’t want you to get too close to people. This is why we have to be so careful. I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but it’s only because we love you.

  The front door buzzed, so I took the opportunity to wander away and straighten up. Business started to pick up, and I was busy for the next few hours, cleaning, restocking, and helping customers.

  Just before noon I rang up a purchase, handed over the bag, and thanked the customer. When the man walked away he revealed that Kat had been standing behind him.

  “Well hi!” She looked out of place in the Army Navy store with her trendy, colorful outfit and bouncy hair.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Do you get a lunch break? I was thinking we could hang out.”

  “You…were?” Was the store ground zero for random acts of social this week, or was it just more of me as a plaything for the Random Amusements of the Universe?

  “Is this your mom? Hi, I’m Kat Dawson.” She turned to Mom and stuck out her hand over the counter.

  “Joan Marshall. It’s nice to meet you, Kat. I guess you know Joss from school?”

  “She hasn’t mentioned me. She doesn’t talk much, does she?”

  Mom smiled. “No, I guess she doesn’t.”

  �
��Well, I talk a lot. And as I’m in need of someone to talk at today, I came to take Joss out to lunch.”

  “Oh! Well. That sounds nice.” Mom tried unsuccessfully to cover her surprise. “Go ahead, honey, get your jacket.”

  “Um…shouldn’t I stay here with you? It’s been kind of busy.”

  “Um…no,” Mom actually mocked me, “you should go out with your friend and have a nice time. Your father and I can handle any midday rush. He should be here any minute.” This last was said with a gentle emphasis that meant: So go while you can and before your dad starts asking questions about your friend.

  As much as I was not interested in Kat’s lunch plans, I really didn’t want to have Dad give either of us the third degree.

  We ended up at the Pizza Pit. No big surprise there. It was close to the shop, and that’s where kids—and other people sometimes—go to eat. We got slices because they get those out fast.

  “Relax,” Kat told me, popping the top on her soda can. “I’m not going to ask you about you—yet. Tell me about Krista.”

  My soda almost came out my nose. Direct much? “Um, I didn’t really know Krista.”

  “That’s not a huge surprise. You’re not exactly ambassador material. But you do pay attention. You’re not right in it, but you’re watching. All the time. You think a lot.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. It freaked me out to know that someone was noticing me. Analyzing me.

  “Look, everyone’s really worked up about Krista. You can feel it, you know? But no one’s talking about it. I asked a few questions and people got really weird about it. So I get that we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

  “So why are you trying to talk to me about it?”

  She leaned back, sipped from her can, and said in a careless, joking tone, “Because even if you think I’m out of line, or suspicious, or whatever it is people think around here for wanting to talk about it, who’re you gonna tell?”

  “Oh! Niiiice.” I couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. It was the kind of jab I’d make at myself. It was kind of ok to have her make it instead.

  “So come on. I know Krista must have had a Talent. She wasn’t the first kid to ever be taken to a State School, but she is the first one I ever met.”