That’s how it had been up until now. Everything all laid out, everything decided—as easy as listening to the rhythm and keeping up with the beat—but now it felt totally different. Too many songs to choose among and everyone around her shouting out dance steps she couldn’t quite hear, and if she did, she couldn’t quite do them. Decisions to be made. Plans to outline. Goals to set—
And to reach.
Everyone else’s goals. No one bothered to find out what Winny wanted, and on the rare occasion she made her preferences known, all she got was disapproval.
Wè jodi a, men sonje demen. Live today but plan for tomorrow.
“Shut up, Mom!”
The track approached its climax, and she spun on one foot like back in ballet class, but struck something warm and solid before she completed her rotation. The earbud was ripped from her right ear, and the world outside her head returned.
“Winsome!” Throwing out her hands, her mother caught herself on the desk, knocking the stack of letters off it into the wastebasket.
“Oh my God, Mom! Don’t scare me like that.”
“Well, if you’d heard me the first dozen times I called . . .”
Panic flared when Winny realized her mom hadn’t changed. “I thought you were leaving soon.”
“It’s a long train ride. I wanted to wait for the last minute so I won’t spoil my dress.” She rested one oh-so-elegant hand—with its French manicure and flashy, but tasteful, rings—against her collarbone, wrinkling the silk of her blouse, and setting off the gems in her jewelry against a backdrop of petal pink. So posh. So proper. Here it was, after dinnertime, and her mother was still dressed for the office. She wouldn’t remove her daily uniform until it was time to put on her cocktail dress for the party. Not a hair out of place, her makeup still fresh as the morning, right down to the lipstick she reapplied each night, without fail, right after dinner.
When Winny was younger, she wanted to be just like her mom.
Now she didn’t know who she wanted to be.
Or who she was.
“We’ll be leaving in a little while. Don’t expect us home before one. You are to stay here.” She put a little more mom menace into her voice. “We will discuss the rest of your punishment tomorrow.”
“Isn’t grounding enough?”
“Not even close.”
Winny pulled her remaining earbud free and flopped back onto her bed. “Fine.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Winny scanned the room. “I don’t think so.”
Shaking her head, Winny’s mom strode to the wastebasket and plucked out the envelopes. She laid them atop the desk in a neat stack.
“Oh, right.” Although as far as Winny was concerned, those acceptances could stay in the trash. The one that mattered was on its way to its final destination, the only one of her little secrets her mother hadn’t snooped out.
“Have you responded to any of these programs?”
“I already told you, I haven’t made up my mind.” Total lie, but her mom didn’t know that. Yet.
Arms crossed, her mother leveled her narrowed eyes at Winny. “These schools have deadlines—”
“I know,” Winny huffed.
“—and you will meet them and start college in the spring. I’ll be looking up the information tomorrow. You will not pull the same stunt as you did with the fall deadlines.”
Winny plastered a sickly sweet smile on her face. “You’ve said it a million times. College is a very big and important decision. I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”
Her mother stood by in silence, expression never changing. “I’ve got to get dressed. You remember what I said. You’d better be here, in bed, when we get home.”
Then she was gone, but the ghost of her heavy perfume lingered. God, Winny couldn’t wait to get out of this place. She’d go far enough away that her mom’s philosophy wouldn’t find her. Maybe, eventually, it would fade from her head altogether. Only problem was, Winny had no idea where she’d go. Finally deciding on school was one thing, but that still left everything else, and she had no idea what to do.
Winny’s life was a played-out song list. She needed to change the track, but her options sucked, and she couldn’t decide what to put on next.
She could confess to her mom and dad, explain what her choice was and why it was the right one for her. Sure, and all she’d get from that would be another lecture on being a responsible adult. Or worse, they might decide to override her decision and choose for her, the way her dad had threatened to do three weeks ago when she’d informed him that she never actually sent in her acceptance to his alma mater. No way was she doing premed. Tears threatened, but she turned on her music again and blocked everything out except the rhythm of her feet on her bedroom carpet.
She’d focus on tonight’s party and the fun she’d have. She’d focus on the rumor Janey had texted her, about how Scott and Becky might have broken up.
Finally.
But that was a dangerous line of thought, too, especially after what had happened between her and Scott earlier that day. What if she’d caused the breakup? Another notch or two on the volume drove those worries from her head as well.
By the time the song was over, she’d almost forgotten that, at seventeen, her life was already a hot mess.
13
SCOTT
THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES AFTER CLOSING
Scott, you’re loosening the tourniquet.” Winny points a latex-covered finger at the apron tie she’d improvised to replace Oscar’s leather belt and to help stop the bleeding.
“Oh, sorry!” During her foraging mission under the counter, she’d grabbed a metal butter knife, and she tied the knot around it now.
Shifting my grip on the setup, all I have to do is twist the knife one full circle to increase the tension on the vessel leaking blood from Oscar’s leg. At least, that’s what I hope I’m doing, but it’s hard to focus, because our captors aren’t happy.
“Look,” Toto replies, not bothering to lower his voice. “It’s getting late. We need to deal with Aaron and the Chef first, then we can figure this mess out.”
I can’t figure out what I should focus on: the shouts, the trickle of red from Oscar’s bullet wound, the char of drugs wafting our way from the corner. What is it Twitch is smoking in that pipe of his? Crack? Meth? I’ve seen enough Intervention to know it’s one of the two. The fact that Winny can concentrate through this is incredible.
Oscar bites his lip but doesn’t say anything as Winny uses the scissors Sylvie keeps behind the counter to cut away the khaki material of his pants for a better look.
“Oh, God,” Sylvie whispers when she catches sight of the wound.
Winny closes her eyes. “Just breathe. Just breathe.” Her whole body tenses, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She releases the tension, then tightens her muscles again.
“You okay there, Win?” Oscar asks.
“Applied pressure technique. I sort of pass out at the sight of blood.”
“Then why the heck are you doing this?” Sylvie asks.
“Don’t worry,” Winny says. “It’s passing.” She opens her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “I’m okay. Just wait till it’s clean. It will look way better.” She grabs a water bottle and uses it to rinse the wound, her mouth set in a line of determination.
I can’t believe I almost kissed her in the girls’ bathroom. Again. Here we are, maybe about to die, and I’m thinking about hooking up. I shake my head.
“Scott,” Winny says.
“Crap!” I tighten the knot again, but my ears tune into the conversation between Toto and Ryan. I’d rather think about kissing Winny, but I need to stay focused. Something’s going down.
“Makes sense.” Nodding, Ryan takes a deep breath before turning to us. “Right. First things first. Sylvie, I need you to empty the money out of the register.”
She’s been standing slumped behind Oscar so he can lean against her as Winny works. Now she str
aightens. “What?”
“Open your ears!” He closes the distance, striding up to his sister. “Get me the money. Now.”
“Fine. I need my keys back.”
Ryan holds out his arm and snaps his fingers. “Twitch. Keys.”
“Holy crap,” I whisper when I follow Ryan’s gaze.
Twitch drops his pipe onto the table and stands in a jerky, unbalanced motion. “Yeah, Ry.” He sways at the waist and taps his fingers faster than ever.
“Fuck, man,” Toto says. “Did you do the whole thing?”
“No. Nononono. I didn’t. See.” Twitch holds out the baggie, which isn’t one hundred percent empty, but close enough.
Toto darts across the room and snatches it from him, almost knocking the guy over. “No more. You gotta keep focused.”
“Give me the keys, Twitch,” Ryan says again.
“Sure, Ry. Sure, sure. Here you go, Ry. Here you go. Here—”
Ryan snatches the keys away and drops them into Sylvie’s hand. “Now clean it out. I want all of it.”
“It’s clean,” Winny says.
For a second, I think she means the register, but then I realize she’s looking at Oscar’s leg.
“And look, the bleeding’s stopped. Good job, Scott.”
She’s right. A clean hole—angry red-purple, but free from that red, crusted mess—marks the center of Oscar’s thigh. It’s smaller than I expected. I don’t know what I expected.
“The bullet can’t have hit the main femoral artery,” she says. “Probably a larger vessel, but not the biggie. I can’t do anything about the bullet, though. It’s lodged in the femur, I think. They’ll have to remove it at the hospital when . . .”
She can’t finish, and I get it.
None of us has any idea what’s coming next.
“We’ll have to settle for sanitizing the wound.” She pulls her mouth into a wince. “This will sting.” The small can of spray sounds nearly full when she shakes it, and she gives the wound a good long spritz.
Oscar can’t hold back a grunt of pain.
Wincing, Winny bites her lip. “Sorry.”
“Please,” he says. “What kind of marine am I if I can’t handle the handiwork of a field medic? You’re doing great, Win.”
She smiles at that. I do, too.
She is doing great. She is great.
“Just a little ointment, and we’re done.” She fills the wound entirely and is laying the first gauze pad over it as the register slides shut with a clack.
Sylvie makes her way back to Ryan, the stack of bills clenched in her hand. “Here.”
Mumbling, he shuffles through the money. When he’s done counting, I expect him to look relieved, but if anything, he’s the opposite. He starts from the top again, and the expression on his face grows darker with every bill he transfers from one hand to the other. Sylvie stands before him, her stance like a little girl who knows she’s going to be punished, but doesn’t know what that punishment will be.
“Scott, can you cut some tape for me?”
Oscar takes over tourniquet duty so I can use the scissors on the medical tape.
“Okay.” Winny takes a shaky breath but smiles at Oscar. “This might sound weird, but one more step.” She wraps his entire thigh in a tight layer of plastic wrap. “Compression and protection at the same time. They keep this stuff on ambulances especially for burns, but it works here, too. Plus we can see if the bleeding starts up again.”
She packs up the supplies and lines everything up neatly on the counter, all except the scissors, which I tuck into the waistband of my khakis. The only person who notices I palmed them is Pavan. Hopefully the guys are too busy to catch on. The tips kiss my back with cold pressure, but I don’t care. We need some kind of weapon.
Oscar pulls Winny into a hug. From the way her brow wrinkles and the corners of her mouth turn down, I can tell she’s close to losing it. Now that the work is done, the fear and doubt are cracking through, but she wrangles it back under control and comes to stand by my side.
Ryan counts the wad one more time before fanning the bills and waving them in Sylvie’s face. She blinks, and I’m suddenly back in the kitchen, a video playing on my still-intact phone—a video showing my baby sister blinking the same way at a flapping dishtowel that barely misses her eyes.
“What the fuck is this?” Ryan bellows.
Sylvie winces as the paper smacks her.
“I said, I want it all. Everything.”
“That is everything, Ryan. Go check for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“What about the safe?” he asks.
“The safe’s empty.”
“Since when do you finish out the week with only five hundred and twenty-one dollars in the register?”
Sylvie’s eyes flood with tears, and she gapes, swiveling her gaze from Ryan to Oscar.
Oscar’s face crumples as realization hits him. “Shit.”
“Aunt Phyllis,” Sylvie says.
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks.
Sylvie takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, it sounds like she’s exercising every ounce of control to keep her voice level, but her fury pokes through the tension anyway. “Tomorrow is Aunt Phyllis’s birthday party, which you were invited to, may I remind you. It’s at one. We’re closing early so we can go, but we didn’t want to cut it too close so—”
“So I made the second bank run today instead of tomorrow,” Oscar finishes.
“Are you kidding me?” Sweat pours from Ryan’s brow, and a drop hangs in the little divot above his upper lip. His face has already bypassed red and is well on its way to purple.
Toto moves in, snatches the money out of Ryan’s hand, and begins to count it for himself.
“You’ve killed me, Silv.” Ryan thrusts his face into hers. “You know that? I’m dead, and it’s your fault.”
She sobs, hands over her eyes.
Finished with his accounting, Toto steps between them. “This isn’t enough.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Ryan pivots and paces a few steps before turning back. “We’re so screwed, man. So screwed.”
“Shut up,” Toto snaps at Sylvie, who’s still sobbing. “I said shut up!” Now Winny is crying, too.
“I said—” Toto raises a hand, but I step in the way. Staggering, I absorb the blow, then right myself. The pain is nothing compared to what my old man gave me this morning. For a second, I wonder who would win in a fight—Toto or Dad—and almost laugh. After a deep breath, the impulse passes. I focus on getting Sylvie and myself out of the line of fire before Toto decides to come at us for real.
My dad may pack more punch, but these guys have guns.
For a second, Toto’s expression hardens. His hands clench, and he leans into me like I’m in for a full-body tackle.
Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. This isn’t helping. We need to figure something else out.”
Twitch watches this whole exchange with a faint smile painted on his pale lips. The guy is seriously out of it.
“We are in major trouble,” I say as soon as their backs are turned.
“Oh my God. Scott!” Winny reaches up to my cheek but hesitates before her fingers can brush my skin. “Does that hurt?”
“Huh? Oh!” I touch the place Toto got me. “No, it’s fine.”
“But it’s already bruising. You need ice.”
I shake my head. “Forget it. We’ve got more important things to focus on. If we can’t come up with a way out of this mess, a little bruise will seem like nothing.”
“Don’t say that!” Sylvie says. “There’s no reason to think they’ll do anything—”
“What?” I say. “Drastic? You’ve got to face facts. We all do. You heard them. Their whole plan is messed up.”
Pavan puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s right. From what I can tell, they came for the money, and they expected only you two would be here. Perhaps Scott, too.”
�
��Right, but I’m usually out back at closing time, so maybe I would have missed the whole deal.”
“Only, to their surprise,” Pavan goes on, “there were several customers here. In my case, I was avoiding my empty apartment.”
“Oh, Pavan.” Sylvie takes his hand. She regards us, one at a time. “So instead of an empty café, we’ve got a room full of hostages, and now Maggie’s dead. And the register is empty.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Do you really think they’re just going to let us walk out of here?”
“Someone will come,” Winny says. Her eyes are wide, but her voice is firm. “Won’t they? The cops? Someone.”
“They were here, and they left,” I point out. “No reason for them to come back. Wait a minute. Could someone around here have heard the gunshots and reported them?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “We’re the only restaurant on this block. The retail shops closed hours ago.”
“What about you, Pavan?” Oscar asks. “Anyone at home waiting for you? Someone who’ll sound the alarm if you don’t show up?”
Pavan sighs. “No. I’m afraid my wife is dead.”
“I’m supposed to be at a party,” Winny says.
“Scott?” Sylvie asks.
My mom’s voice echoes in my head: Just double-checking your plans haven’t changed. Listen, Scotty. Don’t come home for a while.
“I’m supposed to be at the same party as Winny.”
“I believe we’re on our own,” Pavan says.
“My brother won’t hurt us.” Sylvie shakes her head. “He may be a drug dealer, but he’s no murderer. I know him.”
“Do you, Silv?” Oscar says. “Think, hon, the last two years, how he’s manipulated you, borrowing money left and right. Then asking for a job, which we gave him even though we didn’t need the help or have the budget for another employee. If I hadn’t caught him with his ‘client’ out back, who knows how long he would have played us.”
“He said it was only that one time,” Sylvie protests.
I laugh, but press my lips together at Oscar’s glare. Truth was, I saw Ryan running his side business too. I didn’t know what was really going on, not then. I thought he was just slacking off with his friends. But now, I can put two and two together. No point filling them in, though. Oscar knows what’s what, and it won’t make a difference with Sylvie.
Ten After Closing Page 8