This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Will McIntosh
Cover art by Leo Nickolls
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McIntosh, Will.
Burning midnight / by Will McIntosh. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Teens Sully, Hunter, Dom, and Mandy team up in a race against unscrupulous billionaire CEO Alex Holliday to locate a collectible sphere, which may have a very steep price.
ISBN 978-0-553-53410-8 (hc) — ISBN 978-0-553-53412-2 (glb) — ISBN 978-0-553-53411-5 (ebook) [1. Science fiction. 2. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 3. Conduct of life—Fiction. 4. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.1.M425Bur 2016
[Fic]—dc23
2014048062
eBook ISBN 9780553534115
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v4.1
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To the Fredericks family:
Donna, George, Sarah, and Tim
CHAPTER 1
Sully pulled the thin wad of bills from his pocket and counted. Thirteen bucks. He’d hauled his butt out of bed at six a.m. on a Saturday to make thirteen bucks in seven hours. He couldn’t work out how much that was per hour, but he knew Dom made more stacking yogurt and cream cheese at Price Chopper.
The flea market was depressingly empty. Most of the other vendors were parked on lawn chairs, their feet propped on tables. Sully spent enough time sitting in school, so he was standing, arms folded.
The timing of this epically bad payday couldn’t be worse. It would have given his mom a lift, for Sully to hand her a hundred bucks to put toward the rent or groceries.
He still couldn’t believe Exile Music had closed. Nine and a half years, Mom had worked there. By the end she’d been their manager, their accountant, their everything. But she had no accounting degree; she didn’t even have a high school diploma. Where was she going to find another job that paid half of what she’d been making?
Sully took a deep, sighing breath and stared down the long aisle.
A girl around Sully’s age turned the corner and headed in his direction. He watched her walk, head down, beat-up backpack slung over one shoulder. There was a swagger to her walk, a little attitude. Or maybe the combat boots, the black gloves with the fingertips cut off, the mass of dark braids bouncing off her back like coils of rope provided the attitude.
As she drew closer, Sully looked at his phone instead of staring. It was hard not to stare.
To Sully’s surprise, she slowed when she reached his stall. She eyed the orbs he kept locked under glass, running her tongue over her teeth. She was wearing loose-fitting cargo pants and zero makeup. Her brown angular face was striking, her take-no-shit scowl a little intimidating. Not your usual flea market customer.
He cleared his throat. “Anything I can help you with?”
She studied him, squinted, as if he was slightly out of focus. She unslung the bag on her shoulder and knelt out of sight in front of his table.
When she reappeared she was clutching a sphere—a Forest Green. Enhanced sense of smell. Sully didn’t have to consult the book to know it scored a three out of ten on the rarity chart. Retail, he could easily get six hundred for it.
“How much?” she asked, holding it up.
His heart was hammering. This one deal could make his whole weekend. “Wow. You find that in the wild?” She didn’t strike him as a collector or an investor.
She nodded. “It was caked in mud. I thought it was an Army Green.” Which was a big fat one on the rarity chart. Resistance to the common cold. Sixty bucks.
“Man, you must have died when you cleaned it off.”
“How much?” she repeated, with the slightest of nods to acknowledge his comment.
Sully tried to remember how much cash he had on him. Two fifty? Maybe two seventy. Usually that was more than enough, because who brought a Forest Green to a flea market?
His gaze flicked between the Forest Green and the girl’s face. “Two fifty?” His voice rose at the last minute, making it sound more like a question.
The girl chuckled, bent to pick up her pack. “I can get three twenty-five from Holliday’s.”
Sully flinched when she said “Holliday’s,” but to her credit, she said it like it hurt her mouth.
“Hang on. I can go to three fifty, but I can’t get you the last hundred till tomorrow.” He’d have to borrow it from Dom.
The girl put a hand on her hip. “I’m sorry. Did I give you the impression I thought three twenty-five was a fair price? Let me rephrase: even the bastards over at Holliday’s would give me three twenty-five.”
Sully laughed in spite of himself. They were bastards. The brand-new store they’d opened in Yonkers was a big part of why Sully’s earnings had taken a nosedive. And Alex Holliday himself was more than a bastard. Sully squelched any thought of Holliday before that particular train of thought could start running down the track.
He did some quick calculations. This girl could list the Forest Green on eBay and get at least four fifty. Minus eBay’s cut, that would leave her with about four hundred.
“Okay. Four twenty-five.” Two hundred dollars profit. He could definitely dance to that tune.
The girl scowled, opened her mouth to counter. Sully raised his hand. “Don’t even try to tell me that’s not a fair offer.” He looked her in the eye. “We both know it is.”
She held her scowl a second longer, then broke into a smile. It was a terrific smile, complete with dimples. “You got me. Four twenty-five.”
He pulled the cash from his pocket, started counting it out. “Like I said, I can give you two fifty now, the rest next Saturday.”
The girl’s eyebrows came together. “I hope you’re not thinking I’m going to give you this marble now. If you’ll have the cash next week, I’ll come back with the marble then.”
Sully licked his lips, which were dry as hell. If she left, there was alwa
ys a chance she wouldn’t come back. It had happened before; it was never a good idea to give people time to find a better offer.
“Look, I’ll give you a receipt. I’m good for it; I’m here every weekend.” Sully spotted Neal across the aisle, unpacking used DVDs from a cardboard box. “Neal!”
Neal lifted his head. He was wearing Ron Jon sunglasses despite being indoors, in a cavernous room that was not particularly well lit.
“Can she trust me?” Sully asked, holding his palms out.
Neal stabbed a finger in Sully’s direction. “You can trust that man with your life.”
From the next booth over, Samantha shouted, “And that’s the truth!” and crossed herself. Samantha was Neal’s wife, so her testimonial was somewhat redundant, but the girl with the Forest Green didn’t need to know that.
Sully turned back to the girl. She folded her arms. “I wouldn’t trust my grandma with that kind of money.”
“Hey, Sully?” Sully hadn’t noticed the kid hovering at the corner of his booth. He was twelve or thirteen, Indian, holding a replica sphere—a Cherry Red. “Would you sign this?”
“Sure.” Sully reached for the replica and a Sharpie the kid offered, feeling a flush of pleasure that the girl was there to witness this.
“You sure you can trust me with this?” Sully asked as he signed.
The kid laughed.
Sully blew the ink dry, tossed the kid the Cherry Red, said, “Thanks, man. Thanks for asking.”
“What was that about?” the girl asked, motioning toward the kid, who was disappearing around a corner.
Sully held out his hand. “David Sullivan.” When the girl only looked at his hand, he added, “I’m the guy who found the Cherry Red.”
“I know who David Sullivan is.” She sounded annoyed. “A millionaire for ten minutes, until Alex Holliday’s lawyers stopped payment on the check. Tiny Tim ripped off by New York’s favorite billionaire.”
The words stung like hot sauce on a wound, but Sully couldn’t deny she was just stating the facts without any sugarcoating.
She held the Forest Green by her ear like a shot-putter. “Moving on. We got a deal? I’ll see you Saturday?”
“Tell you what.” Still trying to shake off her words, Sully took out his key ring, unlocked the display case, and pulled out his two most valuable spheres—a Lemon Yellow (grow an inch) and a Slate Gray (singing ability). Both were rarity level two; together they were worth about two sixty. “Take these as collateral. They’re worth way more than one seventy-five. I’ll trust you.”
She considered, looking down at the spheres, then back up at Sully. She scooped the spheres out of his hand and stashed them in her pack. After exchanging numbers in case one of them couldn’t make it next week, Sully counted the cash out on the table. She stuffed it in her back pocket and, finally, pressed the cool Forest Green sphere into his slightly sweaty palm.
“See you next Saturday,” she said, and turned away.
Sully watched her go, her wrists flicking as she walked.
“Hey,” he called after her.
She turned.
“What’s your name?”
She smiled. “Hunter.”
“As in, marble hunter?”
She pointed at him. “You got it.”
“Maybe we’ll do more business in the future, then?”
Hunter nodded. “Works for me if your offers are straight.”
Sully nodded. “See you Saturday.”
When Hunter was out of sight, he held the Forest Green up, rotated it, admiring.
“She’s a beauty,” Neal called over. His buzz cut always seemed wrong to Sully; his bright, open face just cried out for long, surfer-dude hair.
“I nearly choked when she pulled it out. I’ve never had a Forest Green before.”
“I wasn’t talking about the marble,” Neal said, laughing.
Sully grinned but said nothing. She was fine, no doubt about it, but not his type. Too serious. Sully liked to laugh.
“I met my first wife at a flea market.” Neal put his hand on top of his head. “She was…dazzling. Long auburn hair, freckles dusted across her cheeks.”
“You do know I can hear you, right?” Samantha called from behind her table, which was covered in tarot cards, crystals, incense.
Neal acted like he’d been jolted out of a trance. “Sorry.” He grinned at Sully. “Did I say dazzling? I meant frumpy. Face like a Mack truck. Anyway, back then I was selling Grateful Dead memorabilia—”
“And pirated concert tapes,” Samantha interjected.
Sully laughed. “The Grateful who?”
Neal didn’t take the bait. He knew Sully knew who the Grateful Dead were, because he’d lent Sully one of their CDs. He also knew they put Sully to sleep.
Samantha crossed the aisle and, without a word, set a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil on Sully’s table. She always made an extra for him.
“Thanks, Samantha.” She patted Sully’s shoulder as she passed.
Sully munched on a homemade meat loaf hero as Neal went on with his story. Sully wouldn’t want to trade places with Neal, but he had to admit, the guy had led an interesting life. Well into his sixties, he’d never had a real job with a steady paycheck. He and Samantha lived in a little camper that Sully knew well from the many times they’d invited him to hang out after the flea market closed.
After ten years of sharing an apartment with his mom, Sully’d had more than enough of living in cramped spaces. As of last Tuesday, they were in danger of losing even that. If something didn’t give, by summer they’d be living in the basement of his weird uncle Ian’s house in Pittsburgh. That couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Sully’s friends were in Yonkers; his life was in Yonkers.
He tossed the Forest Green in the air and caught it, relishing the hard, perfect smoothness as the sphere slapped his palm. It was a start. Later, he’d call a few of his regular customers and see if anyone was interested in it. If not, he’d put it in the display case. It wouldn’t be hard to sell. The values on the rarer spheres just kept rising, and Sully kept his prices ten or fifteen percent below the big retailers’.
They’d get through this; they’d keep the apartment. In two years he’d graduate from Yonkers High with Dom by his side.
CHAPTER 2
Sully slid one of the huge, flaccid, greasy fries off Dom’s plate and bit it in half. Normally he wouldn’t go near the ode to grease and swine parts that was the school cafeteria’s hot dog platter, but he was starving. He’d forgotten his lunch, and couldn’t bring himself to blow half of yesterday’s paltry earnings on a chicken sandwich and a Coke. He turned in his seat, eyed the wrapped sandwiches and steaming steel serving bins. He was sorely tempted to get something. He couldn’t afford to buy school lunch, though. He and his mom might not be able to afford anything if Dom didn’t loan him money for the Forest Green, unless he sold it before Saturday. Sully hated selling in a panic; it would mean knocking fifty, even a hundred off the price.
Dom was talking to Rob Dalton, his sleeves rolled up to show off his impressive biceps. Sully tapped him on the shoulder. In profile you could mistake Dom for a tough guy, with his thick eyebrows, meaty lips, and boxer’s nose, the big jawline. But once he turned those open, friendly eyes your way, the illusion was shattered.
“I want to show you something.” Sully unzipped his pack, which was on the floor between his knees, and pulled the Forest Green halfway out so Dom could see it.
Dom leaned closer, tilted his head, trying to see the color. “Is that a Forest Green?”
“Yup.”
“Holy crap.” Dom grinned at him, squinting. “A Forest Green? Where did you get that?”
“Someone brought it to my table at the flea market.”
Dom set his hot dog down, wiped his hands on his pants. “Can I see it?”
Sully handed it to him under the table. “Keep it low—I don’t want to get jacked on the way home.”
Dom rotated the sphere under the table
. “How much does one of these go for?”
“Six hundred. Maybe six fifty.” Sully felt slimy about asking for the loan. It was a hell of a lot of money. Dom’s parents were pretty well off, but they didn’t give Dom crap. Sully took a big breath. “The thing is, I still owe the girl I bought it from a hundred and seventy-five. I’m supposed to pay her Saturday.”
Dom shrugged. “I’ll spot you.” He handed back the Forest Green, pulled out his phone.
“Really?” Sully was relieved he hadn’t had to come right out and ask.
“Sure, no problem.” Dom tapped keys on his phone, looked up. “Give me your account number.”
“I can pay you back as soon as I sell it. I’ll cut you in on some of the profit.”
Dom gave him a look. “You’re not paying me interest. You’re like my brother.” He squinted, shook his head. “Come to think of it, my brother’s an asshole. I wouldn’t loan him my used gum.” He laughed, clapped Sully on the shoulder.
“I feel bad asking.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Sully felt a warm glow of affection for this guy he’d known since second grade. He could still picture Dom down in his basement, making explosion sounds as their Hulk and Spider-Man action figures stormed a fortress they’d made out of Legos. It would kill Sully if he had to move away.
He didn’t like thinking about what life would be like if they moved in with Uncle Ian and his family. It gave him an awful sinking, panicked feeling. He’d have to share a room with his mother, with no privacy except in the bathroom or outside the house. He’d have to go to a new school where he didn’t know anyone.
The fire alarm sounded.
Sully was halfway out of his seat before he realized it was one of the kids at the spoiled brats’ table, showing off his Tangerine-driven ability to mimic sounds. Again. A couple of weeks back, the lunch attendant had evacuated the whole cafeteria before figuring out that it was some kid, not the fire alarm.
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