“Hold on a sec.” Missy got the stuff, and we handled our business fast. Today it was e and some Oxies again, which fit fine in a vitamin bottle inside my jacket. I figured with the payoff from this load, I’d be ready to call the Craigslist people and make an offer on the car. I put everything away and told Missy thanks.
“No worries.” She gave me a hard look. “Be nice to her.”
I rolled my eyes—all girls were batting for the same team—and headed outside. The car was empty.
Every blood vessel in my body squeezed, and my breath dropped. Fucking hoods, somebody snatched her! I stood frozen for a second; then I ran down the driveway and into the street and yelled her name.
Nothing. Just a dog barking, and cars slicing by on Roxbury.
“Irina!” I yelled again. I fumbled in my pocket for my cell. I hadn’t left her for more than five minutes. Should I call 9-1-1? I pictured some pimp thug dragging her by her hair into one of those nasty beat-downs, and … “Irina!” I yelled again. I ran a few steps one direction, then turned around and ran like an idiot the other way. “Irina!”
She came walking out of somebody’s yard. “What?”
I stared at her. My heart was slamming.
“I was looking around,” she said coolly.
“You were looking around,” I repeated.
“Yeah. Next time don’t leave me.” She gave me her saltiest look and folded her arms across her chest. She had been trying to teach me a lesson.
“What the hell, Irina! You scared me!”
“Good,” she said.
I was so mad, it wasn’t safe to talk. I just stared at her and tried to force myself back to normal temperature. I’d been ready to bust into these sheds for her, take a bullet, whatever.
Irina got in the car. After a second, I followed her. “That was completely messed up,” I said after slamming the door shut.
“I don’t think it’s very nice of you to leave me outside in a strange neighborhood while you do an errand,” she said. “Is there a girl in there?”
“What? No! Or yeah, there’s a girl, but it’s not like that. She’s just a friend.” The idea of anything going on with Missy was so crazy, I couldn’t even take it seriously. “I told you I had to drop some–thing off. If I knew it was such a big deal, I would have had you come in.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
I threw open the car door. She was high maintenance. Girls that good-looking were always high maintenance. “Come on.”
It was a bluff; most girls would have said, No, baby, it’s okay, I believe you, but Irina got out and followed me, looking satisfied. I knocked on Missy’s door again. It opened right away; I bet she’d been watching from behind the curtains.
I said, “Missy, my girl wants to meet you and make sure I’m not running some game.”
Missy’s eyes did the girl thing: zip, zap, up and down over Irina. She gave me a mischievous look. “Well, Gabe is a slut,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I guess you probably know that.”
Irina cocked her head. “No, I didn’t know that. Tell me more.”
“You should talk to my cousin Brit and my friend Sabrina.”
“Missy!” I glared at her. “Quit messing with her. She’s going to believe you.” I turned to Irina. “She’s just playing head games.”
“Yeah, I’m just kidding,” Missy said. “Gabe is not at all a player. You can totally trust him.” And she fell apart, giggling.
“Is that right?” said Irina.
I grabbed her arm. “Let’s go. Missy’s completely screwing with you right now. We’ve been friends since fifth grade, and she loves to mess with me.”
Missy nodded. “That’s right. Don’t believe anything I say.” She widened her eyes. “I’m such a liar.”
I practically hauled Irina down the steps, then turned to give Missy the evil eye. She called, “Just trying to warn her!”
Irina got back in the car and gave me a curious look. “Well, that was very informative.”
I peeled out hard. “Don’t let her get in your head. Missy loves to joke around.”
“Hmm,” said Irina. “Gabe, how many girls have you slept with?”
“What kind of question is that? Come on, Irina.”
“An honest question, so give me an honest answer.”
I stared straight ahead and drove faster. Bringing her here was the stupidest idea I’d ever had. “None. I’m a virgin.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
How many girls had I slept with? I wasn’t sure. There had been lots of hookups at parties, starting in eighth grade. That was five whole years ago.
There was a long silence. Irina said, “Take me home. If you can’t even be honest with me about that, we’re not friends at all.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t know how many people you’ve slept with?”
“No.” I looked over at her. “Why are you here, anyway? You’re obviously too good for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You, Miss Perfect Straight-Edge Violin-Playing Russian Model. Why are you even wasting your time?” I sounded bitter; I didn’t care.
Irina got a funny expression. “Well, because I like you, for one. I feel like there’s somebody under there.”
“Under where?”
“Under your cool veneer. Everybody lets their real self out sooner or later. Usually it takes about two months.”
“Oh, you’ve got this worked out.”
“I’ve dated a few jerks. Two months is how long it’s always taken me to realize it. But I don’t think you’re a jerk. Just a player.”
“Then why are you getting involved with me?”
“Because I can handle you.” She gave me a cool look. “Now, are we going to get my ID or not?”
I chuckled, couldn’t help it. Cocky Russian. I turned down a side street and started heading back. “Maybe I’ll be the one handling you,” I informed her.
She smiled. “We’ll see about that.”
Damon’s mom, Jennifer, lived in Mickey’s Bar from when her shift at the DMV ended to whenever she: a) passed out; b) went home with somebody; c) got a fit of conscience and went hunting for Damon.
Mickey’s was famous for being the biggest dive in Washington, and the regulars took pride in it. A few years ago, our old neighbor, Joey, had T-shirts made that said “Mickey’s Ain’t for Mice” over a picture of a steaming vat labeled “Skunk Juice.” Fran, the bartender, was famous for it. She kept a soup pot behind the bar where she dumped all the dregs from empties, and sometimes she threw in a little something top-shelf for flavor. It got people drunk fast and easy in a short time, which was a high priority at Mickey’s. And it was only a dollar a shot.
I parked along the street outside the bar. You could see Irina was thinking twice as she got out. The sidewalk around Mickey’s had big gaps in the concrete and a blanket of butts on the ground. The dirty white building was stuck between a video store and a taquería, and you wouldn’t know it was a bar except for a sad little electric “Coors” sign hanging over the door.
“She lives here?” Irina said as I headed to the door.
“Well, she goes home to sleep. This is her bar. She always drinks here after work, and she’s way more likely to hook up an ID for cheap if we catch her after a few beers.”
“Are they going to let us in?”
“Yeah, they know me. My mom used to come here sometimes.” I pushed open the door and held it for Irina.
Mickey’s was a long rectangle with the bar against one wall, a pool table shoved into a corner, and an old-school jukebox loaded with Sammy Hagar, Zeppelin, and Whitesnake. Fran kept it dark in there, but there was no hiding the layers of dirt and the nappy carpet worn down to the threads. There were cardboard signs with “Skunk Juice, $1 a Shot” written in Sharpie, and some brown plastic stools lined up against the bar.
Def Leppard was playing on the jukebox, and Jennifer w
as leaning on the bar with a can of Bud Light, chatting with Fran. Fran was as yoked as a man, with curly red hair and blue eye shadow that looked like glitter pen. She was a big favorite with the biker dudes who sometimes stopped through. When we walked in, she and Jennifer stopped talking and stared at us.
Jennifer broke into a smile. “Gabe, good to see you. Where’s your mom at?” Her eyes ran over Irina.
Fran didn’t look as thrilled to see us. She folded her arms across her chest. “You know I can’t have you in here.”
“I just have to talk to Jennifer for a second.”
Irina was looking nervous. I wished I could tell her to chill; this was just the dance we had to go through. Fran made a snorting noise and wandered down the bar, wiping it down with a rag that looked like its job was to make things dirty.
Jennifer gave me a knowing look and knocked back a swig of beer. “Don’t even say it. I know what you’re here for.”
“Please?”
She chuckled. “Oh boy. You got them eyes.”
“Come on, Jennifer, you know the laws in this country are messed up. We saved two hundred bucks.”
She let the air out of her nose. “You know it’s five bills, you little schemer.” She looked at Irina. “How old are you, honey?”
“Seventeen,” Irina said.
“And you know you can’t trust this heartbreaker, right?”
Man! Thrown under the bus again! “Don’t tell her that, Jennifer,” I said. “That’s messed up.”
She sucked her teeth. “Oh, I ain’t telling her. I’m warning her.” She took another sip of beer and gave us a sparkling grin. “Don’t fret. I’m just playing. I’ll take care of you kids. When you wanna do it?”
This was the tricky part, because once Jennifer was parked at Mickey’s, she didn’t like to leave. “How about now? We’ll drive you home, take the picture, and drop you back here in like twenty minutes.” I pulled the cash from my pocket and held it out.
She took it and flicked through the bills. “You was so sure I’d say yes, weren’t you? All right, honey, let’s go.” She heaved off her chair and waved at Fran. “Back in twenty. If Joe comes in, don’t let him take my seat.”
Fran tossed her dirty towel on the chair. “Reserved.” Both women hooted with laughter.
It didn’t take long to get the picture taken. Jennifer promised to mail it soon, and we dropped her back off at Mickey’s. Then Irina and I got on the I-5 heading toward her house. She had her window cracked even though it was freezing; she’d turned up Timati, and she had this amped-up, dangerous look in her eyes.
“You have to call me the second it comes,” she said. “I cannot wait to go out.”
I glanced at her and thought maybe it wasn’t such a genius move, hooking up this model-hot girl with an ID. “As long as you take me for a bodyguard,” I said, only half kidding. She giggled and tapped her fingers on my thigh, keeping the beat.
When we got to Irina’s neighborhood, I pulled into Angel Point, a little grassy lookout three blocks from her house. Lake Sammamish glittered below us like metal, and you could see Mount Rainier cutting through the clouds. I turned to kiss her, but she put a hand on my chest and pushed me back.
“Gabe.” Her brown eyes were serious. “I don’t share my man.”
I felt a jump of excitement. “You’re worried about what Missy said?”
“I’m not worried. I’m just saying.”
“You’re saying I’m your man.” I couldn’t help the big grin that was coming out.
“Don’t be cocky.” She folded her arms across her chest and said coolly, “I’m saying … you’re not not my man. But you certainly won’t be if you go sleeping around while we’re seeing each other.”
“I would never.”
She looked into my eyes. “Can I believe you?”
At that moment I decided, what the hell, I was going to be good. The woman of my dreams was giving me a chance. I’d had enough random sex that I could be done with it—for a while, at least, until I convinced her to quit with the waiting thing.
I took her hands in mine. She was so little and delicate, but I knew what kind of iron was under there now. I held her gaze. “I’m into you. There’s nobody else. You’re exactly what I want, and I’m not going to mess that up. Okay?”
She ducked her head. “You’d better not.”
I thought what a jerk I’d been—all the times I’d said some bullshit like this. But this time it wasn’t bullshit. I actually meant it.
“Irina, I won’t.” I kissed her as gently as I could, trying to show her I was for real.
It took her a minute, but she kissed me back, and left a chain of hungry kisses on my jaw. Then she climbed into my lap, pressing her forehead against mine and letting her hair fall in a tent around our faces. “Call me later,” she said, then kissed me one more time, a long sexy one, and climbed out of the car.
I watched her walk away, the hair that had just been touching my face swinging back and forth. Then I looked up into the flat gray Seattle sky, and I felt like it reached up forever, and the whole world was exploding with goodness. I was capable of big things. I was the kind of guy a girl like her could fall for.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I got Irina’s ID in the mail, in an official DMV envelope. I’d just gotten home from school, and Mom wasn’t around. I slit open the envelope with a knife and pulled out the card. Irina Petrova, age twenty-two. And a damn good picture, too. Thank you, Jennifer, and all other pissed-off government employees.
I texted Irina: Got a present. I couldn’t wait to take her someplace fancy in Seattle, get real champagne, and go dancing at Deep Down or Re-bar.
I stared at my phone, waiting for her message back. We’d been texting constantly since the White Center trip. Irina didn’t text like a normal person; she threw out these deep questions: Have you ever been in love? Is there anything you’d die for? I mean heavy stuff, on text!
I wondered if it was a Russian thing. Maybe that freezing-cold weather made them sit inside all day and just think. Actually, I liked it. I tried to give her real answers, although sometimes I got fresh with her—like i want u when she was trying to be deep.
I texted her again: Pick u up at 8? She still hadn’t texted back, which was weird, but I thought maybe she was practicing and didn’t see her phone. I started making a sandwich—Mom had been buying deli meat for Phil lately, and I was trying to eat it as fast as she could buy it—when my phone vibrated.
Please do not text, call, or otherwise have contact with Irina. Mr. Petrova.
For a second I stood there, my cheeks going hot, my breath stuck.
Her parents had been spying. Of course they had. They were exactly the kind who would do that. Every private text I’d sent Irina flashed into my mind: talking about her face, her lips, her body, talking about how bad I wanted her.
No doubt they had her on complete lockdown now.
I threw my phone. I pictured her dad’s beefy face and hard eyes and the way he’d looked at me, like Hell no, not a chance. He had it all dialed in: big job, beautiful wife, perfect daughter. I was just a low-life cockroach trying to bust into his palace, and now he was stepping on me.
I started pacing the kitchen. What the—? Should I go there now? No, there was nothing I could do. It was his property; he could call the cops. I’d have to wait for Irina to get hold of me. She’d figure that out, wouldn’t she? Get online somehow and let me know what was up? But being homeschooled, she couldn’t just borrow a friend’s phone.
I could go crazy, picturing her locked up with no tech. They probably chained her to her violin. I took a step toward the door, then made myself stop. Going there would do nothing, maybe even make it worse. I had to wait. I slammed the counter with my hand and walked into the living room, leaving Phil’s lunch meat on the counter.
My phone buzzed, and I jumped for it. It was only Tim giving me an update on a shipment of stuff he had coming in. Dude was getting on my nerves. I wasn’t suppos
ed to be deep in the game, just making connections for a few people, but Tim had some other guy involved now, a supplier he wanted me to meet. It was a big deal to him, so I figured I’d go along with it this once. I texted him back to set up a time, and then checked my messages in case something had come in the last half second.
It hadn’t. I decided if I didn’t hear from Irina by the weekend, I’d do something. I didn’t know what, but something. That made me feel better, at least enough to get through the rest of the day.
Next day, after school, which I’d spent mostly checking my phone for a text that didn’t come, I headed to Forrest’s with the guys. Forrest had the whole downstairs to himself: a bathroom, a living room, and a bedroom tricked out with leather furniture, a flat screen, and a dope gaming console. It was super clean in there (his family had a maid).
Kyle turned over some cash he owed me from his friend’s party. Then we ate through half of Forrest’s mini-fridge and settled down to our screens. Forrest started playing around in some virtual world, Kyle worked on college apps, Matt looked at college websites, and I surfed the net for a good English paper.
I was having a hard time concentrating because I couldn’t stop thinking about Irina. Her house was about two miles from Forrest’s, and I was going crazy knowing she was so close but I couldn’t get to her. Couldn’t she sneak out? Or just leave? I mean, she was almost eighteen. What were her parents going to do, physically stop her?
My phone buzzed and I ripped it out of my pocket before it was done moving.
Tim again, wanting to know if I could move some extra product. Man, he needed to chill. I decided I’d better answer him so he’d quit messing with my head, making me think it was Irina. It sounded like more product than I wanted to be handling, but it also sounded like official cash. And if Kyle could get rid of it as fast as he had the last batch …
I looked at Kyle and said, “My friend’s got some stuff coming in next week.”
Forrest turned around. “What kind?” His voice was way too eager.
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