by Tim Kehoe
“Proof of what?” she asked.
“You’ll see. I’ll call you soon.”
I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed to Main Street. To apartment 22B.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
* * *
Main Street was deserted when I got there. And Dirty Gert’s was closed for the night. I walked around the block and down the alley that ran behind Gert’s. The alley was a mess of rickety old stairs and catwalks. It looked more like parts of Thailand than Illinois.
The staircase shook as I climbed to the second level and stood outside 22B. What now? God, this was a bad idea. There was a curtain over the door’s window. The apartment looked dark, but the reflection from the alley light made it difficult to know for sure. I cupped my hands over my face and pressed against the glass when—
BEEP BEEP!
BEEP BEEP!
BEEP BEEP!
My heart raced. I was shaking. My pocket was shaking. It was my phone. I reached into my pocket just as a light came on inside the apartment.
Crap! Should I run? Hide?
The door swung open. “Who’s there?” A woman stepped out onto the catwalk. “Who are you?”
“Ah, I’m looking for James?” Man, what if she was with the Salvatores too?
“There’s no James here,” she said.
I tried to look over the woman’s head into the apartment. It looked just like my dad had described it in the book. Or, perhaps more actually, like my mom had described it to my dad.
“I said there’s no one by that name here.” The woman rose up on her toes in an effort to block my view.
“Do you know where he went?” I asked.
“If he’s the guy that lived here before me, I think he’s dead,” she said as she stepped back into the apartment and closed the door.
I made my way up the bluff stairs, thinking about the Sicilian. My dad had written that he was the best assassin in the world. And Anton was one of the CIA’s best killers. Now he had turned out to be a traitor and was working for the Salvatores. So Galena was full of ex-Mafia bad guys turned rats and one highly talented CIA assassin sent here to kill them all. Or, at least all the ones that the Sicilian had not already killed.
I knew I would find out soon enough who killed my mom. The whole world would find out on Thursday when my dad’s book came out. My mom’s killer would be Carson Kidd’s killer in the book. And based on the title Double Crossed, my money was on Anton.
But thanks to the popularity of my dad’s books, almost everyone on the planet would read the book. And with my dad using all real names this time, it wouldn’t take people long to realize the book was a true story. And with his name and the names of his victims in print, it wouldn’t take Anton long to go into hiding. Even though Anton’s name was in the excerpts, I doubted he was a big fan or avid reader.
I twisted the handle to Betty’s Bluff Inn and pushed the door open. The living room was dark and I hurried up to the Second House. I sat on the futon, under the giant eye, and thought about my dad’s story. I needed to find Anton before the book came out on Thursday. Before he could slip into the shadows. I wanted revenge. I wanted justice. But I would need proof. Who would believe a twelve-year-old kid? Especially a kid who, according to the media, wasn’t even alive.
I thought about the Sicilian’s apartment. And the photo album he used to record his hits. If I could get ahold of the photo albums with the names of the people killed, and those names matched up with actual dead people—that would be enough proof. Then Emma could write a story about how my dad chronicled my mom’s death and the murders of dozens and dozens of witnesses in Galena. That would do it. The world would have to pay attention.
But how could I do that? The Sicilian was dead and Anton was trained to not be found. By anyone! Certainly not a twelve-year-old kid. I had no idea what he even looked like—or did I? Maybe my messed-up photographic memory would come in handy. According to my dad’s book, my mom and Anton had trained together at the CIA’s assassin training grounds. So maybe they had worked together too. Maybe Anton had been in the same cities as my mom and me. My mind would register a faint flicker of recognition if I had ever seen Anton. Even if I don’t realize it. If he ever stood in line with us at an airport or coffee shop, pretending not to know my mom, there was still a chance I would feel something. Some deep, distant tingle in the back of my mind that would tell me this person was familiar. I made a mental note to pay attention to those faint feelings this week.
I thought about Anton again. My dad had said he was the best. That he got the important jobs. The can’t miss hits. And, according to my dad’s book, he worked fast. In fact, there were only two people left on his list when Carson Kidd killed him. My dad had written that there was a woman in her forties and a young girl. He wrote that the girl in the photo was about sixteen years old with long dark hair and green eyes. The book said she was beautiful but tough. It also said she was alive. Maybe that was still true. Everything else in my dad’s book had proven true so far. And my mom had killed the Sicilian before he could finish his job. If I couldn’t find Anton, maybe I could find one of the targets. Alive. And Emma could write the story of the girl who survived. The girl whose name will be in my dad’s book when it comes out on Thursday. Maybe that would be enough to get people interested. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.
It wasn’t all that crazy. She would be a lot easier to find than a CIA-trained killer. The book said she was sixteen. Which meant there was only one place she could be tomorrow morning: Galena High School—assuming my mom hadn’t moved her before she was killed. The school was on the way to the Pig. There was a chance that the proof I needed might be a sophomore or junior at Galena High School tomorrow. I knew she had long dark hair and green eyes. I knew it was a long shot, but it was the only shot I had. I set the alarm for 6:15 a.m. and decided to go try to find out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
* * *
I woke up before the alarm went off. It was 6:15 a.m. I had no idea what time school started, but I figured I should get there early. No one was around at Betty’s and I quietly slipped out the door and set off for Galena High.
I wasn’t worried about showing up at a school I didn’t go to. I had spent most of my academic career bouncing from one school to another. I knew it would take days, maybe even weeks, before the school would realize my paperwork and transcripts weren’t ever going to arrive. And I’d be long gone by then. There was no point in me staying in Galena after my dad’s book was released. Anton’s name and actions would be known worldwide and he’d disappear. And I wasn’t too worried about passing as a high school student. At my height, everyone always assumed I was older.
I stopped at the Pig on the way to school and bought a Mountain Dew, a few cupcakes, a five-subject notebook, and a pen. The total was $12.67.
I sat down on a small hill next to the school, ate my breakfast, and watched the parking lot start to fill up. A woman in a pink suit was standing in front giving an interview to a reporter. I assumed she was the principal.
As I walked past her, I heard her say something about Schneider and the cheerleaders. She had a dead teacher to deal with. It was going to be a long week for her. She was going to have a lot more to worry about than who I was and why my paperwork was missing.
Galena High was nice. Much nicer than most of the cinder block military base schools I had attended. It actually looked a lot like my New Canaan school, except the Galena students weren’t showing up in Ferraris and Porsches.
I wandered around for a few minutes before finding the office in the basement. There was a large group of teachers standing behind the counter. They stopped laughing as I walked in. I guess I wasn’t going to be privy to the teacher jokes.
“Can I help you?” an older woman asked, stepping away from the group and approaching the counter.
“Yes, I’m—” Oh, geez. I hadn’t thought about a name. I couldn’t use Furious. Furious was supposed to be dead. Should I just u
se Finbar? I hated it more than Furious, but I wasn’t coming up with any other good F names in the moment.
“I’m Finbar. Finbar Jennings.”
“Yes?” She looked puzzled.
“I’m a new student. It’s my first day,” I said.
“A new student?” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned toward the group of teachers. They were laughing again.
“Carol, do you know anything about a new student? I didn’t see anything on the report.”
Another woman stepped to the counter.
“What new student?” Carol asked.
“He says it’s his first day.”
Carol looked at me. “Are your parents with you?”
“My mom is still overseas. I’m staying with my aunt. I’m transferring from an international school in Italy. I bet they’re just slow on sending paperwork.”
“Italy? Wow. A world traveler,” Carol said.
The door slammed behind me. I turned around to see the woman in the pink suit. She didn’t look happy. The group dispersed quickly.
“Ah.” Carol looked at the woman in pink and then back at me. “We’ll get this straightened out. What grade are you in, hon?”
“Tenth,” I lied.
She was now filling in some sort of form on the computer. “Can you spell your name for me, please?”
I spelled Finbar’s name and gave her the name and address of a school I had attended in Italy.
“And you said you’re staying with your aunt here in Galena?”
“Yes.”
“And who is your aunt?”
Galena was a very small town. I was sure Carol knew everyone. She would know if I was lying. I decided to go with the only person I knew in Galena.
“Betty O’Malley,” I said.
“Betty O’Malley? From Betty’s Bluff Inn?” Carol asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I didn’t know Betty had a nephew. Did you know that, Marge?” Carol asked the other woman.
“No. But I don’t know Betty very well,” Marge said.
“No, me neither,” Carol quickly followed.
Considering how friendly Betty was and how small this town was, this surprised me. Maybe I lucked out. Maybe Betty’s good-luck amulet was working.
“Well, I’ll give Betty a call later and we’ll straighten all this out,” Carol said.
So much for luck.
“We’ll put you in basic geometry,” Carol said, “until we can test you.”
“Great,” I said quickly.
“Okay. And you would normally get to choose an elective, but most of them fill up so quickly that I can only offer you two choices,” Carol said. “Computer Animation or Medieval Russian History?”
That was it? Computer Animation or Medieval Russian History. That’s like asking a guy if he wants a punch to the face or a swift kick to the stomach. How about neither. I hated the thought of an animation class and, while I had been to Russia several times with my mom, I didn’t care about their—or anyone else’s—medieval history.
“Animation,” I said meekly. “I guess.”
“Oh, cheer up.” Carol laughed. “You’re going to love it.
“So, Finbar,” Carol continued as she tapped on the keyboard, “we utilize the buddy system here in Galena.”
“The buddy system?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to pair you up with someone. They will take care of you while you make your transition. They will have all the same classes. Answer questions. Introduce you to people. That kind of stuff,” she said, clacking away on the computer.
“Okay,” I said, praying to God that she paired me with one particular sixteen-year-old girl with long dark hair and green eyes.
Carol finally stopped clicking and picked up the telephone. “Will Mike Marius please report to the office. Mike Marius,” she repeated. “Please report to the office.”
I could hear her words bouncing off the hall walls outside the office.
“I’m going to pair you with Mike. He’s a good kid and fairly new himself,” she said. “He’ll show you around and keep you safe.” Then she winked.
Safe? What was Mike going to keep me safe from?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
* * *
Mike came down to the office and actually seemed like a pretty good guy.
“So, where are you from?” Mike asked.
“All over,” I said. “Mostly the East Coast, I guess.”
“Cool. I’ve never been out of the Midwest. I’d love to see New York someday.”
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
Mike gave me a tour of the school.
“So the office said you just moved to Galena too,” I said, as we walked down a hallway toward the gym.
“Yeah, my mom, sister, and I moved up here from Chicago,” Mike said.
Mike opened a door and we walked into the weight room. It was huge. It had rows of weights and equipment and heavy bags and huge dudes.
“Man, this is nicer than most health clubs,” I said.
“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “This school is serious about their football. It’s kind of annoying, actually. Two of the coaches are former Bears. They’ve got Super Bowl rings and everything.”
“Great.”
“Come on, we better get to first period. You don’t want to be late for Nonnemacher.”
“What class is Nonnemacher?” I asked, as we ran down the hall.
“Spanish.”
“Great. I’ve only studied French and Italian.”
“Sucks to be you,” Mike said as we entered the classroom.
“Hola, Señor Nonnemacher,” Mike said as we walked in the room.
“Hola, Miguel. ¿Quién es tu amigo?” Mr. Nonnemacher asked.
“Ah, what?” Mike asked as he walked toward the back of the room.
“I think he wants to know who I am,” I said.
“Ah . . . ¿Habla usted español?” Mr. Nonnemacher asked.
“No,” I said, “but I do speak a little Italian and French.”
“Oh, si parla italiano!” Nonnemacher said.
“Sí.”
I handed Nonnemacher the piece of paper the office had given me. I looked around the room. There were six or seven girls. Four of them were blond and three of them had darkish hair. One of the three had long hair and light eyes. Maybe she was the witness.
Nonnemacher handed me back the paper and said, “Seguir adelante y tomar asiento en cualquier lugar.”
“Sorry, I didn’t get any of that.”
“Have a seat anywhere you like, Mr. Jennings.”
I took a seat in the last row next to Mike. I opened my notebook and tried to look like I was actually paying attention.
Nonnemacher started rambling in Spanish. I couldn’t understand a word he said. Every few minutes, the entire class would all say a word out loud. And it went on like that for nearly twenty minutes. No one spoke a word of English the entire time, until class was just about over.
That’s when my phone started ringing. That’s when Nonnemacher brought out the English.
“Who is that?” he demanded. “Who is disturbing my class?”
The entire class was now looking at me as I tried to fish my phone out of my pocket. It was Emma calling.
“Bring me that phone, Mr. Jennings.”
I pushed cancel and handed him my phone.
“Sorry about that,” I said. Everyone was still looking at me.
“I don’t know what kind of ill-mannered behavior your last school tolerated, but we do not allow cell phones here.”
“Sorry, sir,” I said again.
Nonnemacher put my phone in one of his desk drawers and started rambling in Spanish again until the bell rang.
I waited for the room to clear out, and then I approached him wearing the most apologetic look I could manage.
“I’m sorry about the phone thing,” I said.
“I do not tolerate distractions in my clas
s, Mr. Jennings.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again,” I said.
“Good.”
I stood still for several moments. Nonnemacher ignored me.
“Can I please have it back, sir?” I asked as politely as I could.
“At the end of the year.”
“At the end of the year?” I asked. “You’re kidding, right?”
Nonnemacher stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. He wasn’t kidding.
“I don’t kid,” he said.
“My parents are still overseas. That phone is their only way of communicating with me,” I lied.
“You should have thought of that before you brought it into my classroom.”
I stood and stared at him. He just stared back. I could tell he wasn’t going to budge. Should I just take the phone back? What could he do, kick me out of a school I didn’t actually attend? But I decided it was best not to push it too far. I needed to find the girl in the witness protection program, and getting kicked out would make that much harder.
I walked out into the hall. Mike was waiting for me.
“You’re off to a good start. Can’t wait to see who you’ll piss off next.” He laughed. “Man, I thought Nonnemacher was going to lose it when your phone went off. Did you see the look on his face?”
“He’s a jerk,” I said.
“Hanging with you is gonna be fun, Finbar.” Mike punched me on the arm.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
* * *
The rest of the morning was better. Not great, but better. Mike had a nutrition class, a business class, and geometry. I kept my mouth shut and stared down at my notebook during geometry.
We sat with a couple of Mike’s friends at lunch. Some kid named Ben Hoyt, who seemed pretty cool. And a guy named Scott Cummings, who wouldn’t stop talking about NASCAR. I ate a cheeseburger with fries and pudding. It was a little over six bucks. I was down to way under two hundred dollars now.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten a hot meal in days, but the cheeseburger tasted incredible.