by Tara Lain
When they got to Wen’s, Peter stepped into the shadow of the big tree, and Samu ran up to the door. He set down one of the bags and pulled on the handle, but no go. Damn. He walked back to Peter. “Now we wait.” Peter leaned against the tree trunk, and Samu crouched on the ground. He flashed a look up at Peter. “You sure you don’t want to tell me? I might be more use if I know something.”
“I don’t want you to have to lie for me.”
“Hell, man, I’d do most anything for you. Lying’s easy.”
Peter stared down at that big body and sweet face. “Why is that exactly, Samu?”
He shrugged, like moving mountains. “You’re my hero, I guess.”
“Jesus, why me?” Peter pressed a hand against his chest. “Aside from my brilliance, charm, and wit, of course.” He laughed, and that felt good.
“All of those.” Samu smiled. “But you’re just so damned talented, and, like, all on your own. No training, no teachers. I can’t even imagine what you’d be like if you got to go to school.”
“Me either.”
“So is it your family that’s after you?”
“Probably. I ran away two years ago.”
“Yeah, I know what that’s like. But you’re over eighteen, man. Nothing they can do.”
“Huh! Tell them that.”
“You can’t live your life running. It’s crap. I know. I was really young when I ran away, and they could’ve forced me back. I jumped every time a truck went past. Bad way to survive.”
“Yeah. I don’t really want to leave. I’d miss you and Tink and the Boys.”
“And Wen.”
Peter made a little sound in his throat and tried to swallow it. “Uh, why do you say that?”
“Hell, man, I’m not gay, but I know attraction when I see it. Plus he just speaks to something in you that none of the rest of us do. You’d never have done that painting for somebody else.”
He didn’t want to ask, but man, he wanted to know. To understand. “What do you think it is he speaks to, like you said?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you relate to that super-responsible thing he’s got going. Like he’d never let you down.”
Peter sighed. “But he did.”
An older lady started up the walkway toward the apartment. Samu stood and picked up the bags, making them look really heavy; then he skirted the tree and hurried up the walk behind her.
She mounted the stairs and inserted her key.
Samu said, “Sorry, ma’am, would you mind holding that for me?”
“Oh. Oh dear.” She held the door, and Samu sailed through. Definitely sneaky.
The door closed behind her. Peter crept out and got closer to the building, staying in the shadows as much as he could. After a few minutes, the door opened and Samu waved him in. No bags.
When Peter scurried inside, Samu pointed toward a door in the back wall of a small hall. “Go.”
Peter ran to the door and slipped through onto the landing of a staircase leading down. He practically tripped over his bags, which occupied the first and second step. The place didn’t win any prizes for fragrance, but at least it was musty rather than disgusting. He grabbed his paint bag and walked down the stairs.
The basement was big, with cardboard boxes stacked against the walls, a couple of bare light bulbs shining valorously in the ceiling, and paint cans gathered under one of the wooden shelves. That explained the tarps they’d found. There were several pieces of old furniture, maybe from one or more of the residents. He flipped back a cloth cover and smiled.
Samu came down the stairs with the backpack, and Peter pointed toward an ornate chaise pushed against one wall. “Convenient. All I need is my sleeping bag.”
“Told you this place was great. I’ll go to the store and get you a couple bottles of water and buy some of those tacos to hold you over.”
“I only have to stay here until maybe Monday or Tuesday. Then I can get some money from Wen and skip town.” He sighed. “I hear the South is cheap.”
“Oh yeah. You’ll go over great in South Carolina.” Samu snorted.
Peter flopped onto the edge of the chaise. “Gotta go somewhere.”
“What did you mean, Wen let you down?”
“Long story, but remember when they did the photo shoot and you carried me?”
“Yeah.”
“When Wen wasn’t there, somebody edited the ad so my face showed. That’s how all this crap happened. Probably, anyway.”
“But he didn’t do it.”
“No, but he knew it was important to me and—well, it happened.”
“I’m sorry, Peter. I thought maybe you two had something good going.”
Peter shrugged, but the weight felt heavier than just his shoulders. “Hey, man. Not my style. When you hook up, you have to think about somebody else, and Wen’s got more baggage than a Paris supermodel. I’ll be better off by myself.”
“If you say so, but it seems like you already think about other people. Might as well be somebody you really care for. Just sayin’.” He walked toward the stairs. “Make yourself at home and I’ll go get some food. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get back in. Be careful nobody sees you.”
Peter nodded, but his brain still sizzled from the words somebody you really care for.
Tink cowered against the bar as Hooker loomed over her, gripping her arm like a python. “Where’s Peter, dammit? You’re going to tell me.”
“Idon’tknow. Honest. Don’tknow.” Tink yanked on her arm, but he didn’t let go. He’d called her and told her to get there quick at stupid 7:00 a.m. Of course, she’d barely slept, worried about Peter. Samu wouldn’t tell her shit! Now she had to take the heat from fucking Hooker. Damned Samu.
Hooker shook her arm until the fingermarks from his hand showed white against her bare skin.
Wingman strode up and pulled her elbow the opposite way so she felt ripped in two. “She doesn’t know, Hooker. None of us know. We got back last night and Peter was gone. He’d packed up his stuff and left.”
“He wouldn’t just leave. He had no reason.” Hooker really looked mad.
Wingman shrugged. “He always said we’d wake up one morning and he’d be gone. Just like it happened. He’s a free spirit, man. Nobody holds Peter down.”
Hooker shoved Tink against Wingman, but at least he released her. She rubbed her arm as he snarled, “If anyone hears from him and doesn’t tell me, you’re going to pay. Got it? You can’t even imagine how much it will cost you.” He turned and stomped toward Smee’s office.
Wingman whirled on her. “Do you know where Peter is?”
“No. Honest.”
“Who does?”
Should she tell him? Wingman loved Peter, but he loved money too.
He narrowed his eyes. “You know, don’t you? You need to tell me, Tink.”
She stepped back. Nobody told Tink what to do. “Idon’tknow.” She walked toward the front of the club, pushed open the swinging door, and stepped into the lobby.
Suddenly the front door to the club burst open and the kid, John, ran in. He saw her and rushed straight to her. What’s he doing running around this early? He shook her arm—the one Hooker had just let go of—and she winced. “Tink, Tink, I need to talk to Peter.”
She bent down to look him in the face. She liked this kid, but—“He’snothere.”
“Where is he? I really need to see him. To tell him.” He looked like he might cry.
“Don’tknow. Heleft.”
“Left?” His eyes got huge. “No. No. He can’t leave. Wen didn’t mean to do it. We want Peter to stay. Really.” Now tears ran down his face.
Damn. This kid would be just the kind to get Peter in more trouble. “Can’thelp. Don’tknow.”
John fell to the floor and cried.
Oh no. Tink literally rocked back and forth on her feet. Stay or go? He got here on his own. He can find his way back. Not safe for Peter. She walked hurriedly through the door back into the club, leaving Joh
n on the floor. But once inside, she turned and pushed the door open a crack.
John just lay there for a minute, breathing and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Better. He’d get over Peter and that would be that.
Suddenly John looked up, and his eyes widened. Tink gasped as she strained her neck to get a better view. The only other door into the lobby came from the manager’s office, and it stood open. Walking toward John with a shark’s smile and narrowed eyes was Hooker. “Hello, there. I remember you. You’re a friend of Peter’s.”
As he extended a hand to John and helped the boy to his feet, Hooker looked up, and his eyes met Tink’s.
Stop stalling. Wen finished brushing his hair—a losing battle against his ringlets—and took a deep breath. John’s bed stood blatantly empty, not just unmade but torn up, like he’d waged some battle between the sheets. Poor kid. He loved Peter so much. It was kind of like Peter brought back John’s mother, a fact that made Wen a little ill. But no matter how Wen tried, John missed his mom.
Time to face them. At least I can spend most of the day with them for a change. Funny, most times John would have been sitting on Wen’s legs on the couch by then. Must still be so angry.
He opened the door and walked into the living room. Michaela sat on the couch reading a book, but the room smelled like bacon and coffee, so she must have been busy already. She looked up. “Hey, you took your time getting ready.”
“I know. Sorry.” He walked to the elixir of life in the coffee pot and poured, then added a splash of half-and-half like usual.
“You deserve a little time to yourself for once. Want some breakfast?”
He smiled. “How about you sit there and let me get breakfast for both of us.”
She set her book aside—a romance. “I already ate, but go wake John so he doesn’t sleep all day and you can eat together.”
Wen’s pulse skipped. “John’s not in the bedroom.”
“What?” Her face went from smiling to panic in two point five seconds.
“When I went in, John’s bed was empty. He’s not there.” His voice rose and he sucked air, trying to calm down. “Where would he go?”
“I lay in bed and read for a while since you were so quiet. Maybe he went to a friend’s since he thought we were both sleeping.”
“Maybe. Do you have numbers?”
She was already halfway to the kitchen. She pulled a sheet of paper from the junk drawer and started dialing their landline. She stared at Wen as she said, “Hello, Mrs. Goldberg. This is Michaela.” She paused. “Okay, thanks. I’m looking for John and thought he might be with Aaron.” Her face screwed up. “Oh, I see. Hebrew school. Got it. Thanks. If you see him, tell him to call home, please. Yes, thank you.” She hung up. “He’s not there.”
Over fifteen minutes, she must have called six or seven families. Hell, who knew John had so many friends in the neighborhood? No one had seen him. She gazed up from the list of numbers. “I’m out of options. Oh God, Wen, where could he have gone?”
Wen wiped a hand over his face. “Let’s not freak. Let’s think. Where does he like to play?”
“Sometimes he does soccer in the park, but usually with one of the kids I called. They’re all accounted for.”
“Damn. Where else?” He looked at her. “Wait!”
Her face lit up at the same time his did and they said together, “The basement!”
Chapter Twenty
Wen raced to the door of the apartment with Michaela after him. They bounded down the stairs making such a racket that a couple of apartment doors opened. They just kept running. In the narrow lobby, Wen ran around the corner to the basement door and stopped. “Let’s not scare him to death.” He opened the door slowly and started down the basement stairs. The place had a funny smell, not altogether unpleasant—a little musty, but also a bit like paint with an overtone of tangerine. His nostrils twitched.
No noise came from below.
He looked at Michaela, and she frowned. “Doesn’t sound like he’s there.”
A few more steps and he hit the basement floor. No lights were on, so the big space was only illuminated by the sun filtering through the high windows. Still, it was obvious there weren’t any kids playing there. Damn.
Michaela murmured. “Oh no. I felt so sure.”
He put an arm around her shoulders, and they turned.
A snuffling sound stopped them, and Wen looked over his shoulder. A pile of fabric lay on an old settee against the back wall—and it moved. Wen put a hand on Michaela’s arm. “He must have come down here early to sleep since he was so upset with me.”
“Poor kid.”
They walked slowly to the settee. The pile of fabric turned out to be a sleeping bag covered with what looked like a tablecloth. Funny. John didn’t have a sleeping bag of his own, but maybe he took Wen’s.
Wen spoke softly. “John. John, time to get up.”
The lump in the sleeping bag shifted, then stilled.
Wen reached out and shook what must be a shoulder. “John?”
In one move, the cloth and bag flew back and a half-dressed body leaped to sitting with wide eyes and clenched fists.
Not John. Peter.
Wen stepped back. “What the hell are you doing here?” He looked around like some magical creature must have opened a door in the solid wall. “How did you get in here?”
Peter stared at them, breathing hard and frowning like a startled cat. A very pretty startled cat. “Damn, you scared the shit out of me.” He glanced at Michaela. “Sorry.”
She stared at Peter. “Where’s John?”
“What? No idea. I haven’t seen him.”
Wen held up a hand. “Hold on. First explain why you’re here—briefly. We’re in a serious hurry.”
“I guess I could say none of your business—”
“Except it very obviously is my business since this is my building and you don’t live here.”
“Exactly.” He sighed and grabbed a T-shirt that was tucked under one end of the sleeping bag. Sadly, he pulled it over his head, covering his lean, lightly muscled chest. “When you showed my face in the ad—”
“I didn’t!” Shit!
“When your effing company showed my face in your ad, it let some people I don’t want to see know where I am. They’re after me, and I needed somewhere to hide. Samu thought of here.”
“Why is someone after you?”
“That really is none of your business.”
Wen took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you just check into a motel or something? For God’s sake, this can’t be comfortable.”
Peter frowned really deeply. “Because I texted you for money and never heard back.”
“Oh. I’ve been sleeping. I never checked my text messages this morning. John’s missing and—”
“What do you mean, missing?”
Michaela said, “When we got up, he was gone.”
“Maybe he went somewhere with Mr. Pennymaker?”
“The little guy?” Wen looked at Michaela, who shook her head.
“Yes. Remember, John really liked him.”
“How would John know where to find him?”
“No idea, unless he gave John a phone number. Or he might have gone to the club. That’s where they met before.”
“Before seven in the morning?”
Peter shook his head. “You’ve tried all his friends?”
Wen nodded, but his stomach felt like a lead weight. “He was really upset last night when he went to bed.”
“Why?”
Wen glanced at Michaela.
She crossed her arms. “Wen told us you and he had a fight and you left. John freaked.”
Peter glanced at Wen. “I’m sorry. I should have just stayed away, like, from the beginning.”
Why did that hurt so badly?
Michaela glared at both of them. “But now John’s gone because you two choose to act like children, and somebody better fucking find him.”
Wen didn’t
even dare comment on her language.
Peter slumped on the chaise. “I’ve got my own problems, and I can’t leave here. I’d say go to the club. Somebody may have seen him.”
Like some omen of fucking darkness, Peter’s phone started to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and narrowed his lips. “Hooker’s looking for me.”
Michaela asked, “Who’s Hooker?”
“You don’t want to know.” The ring persisted, and they all stared at the phone like a snake until it finally went silent. Peter turned off the phone. “I don’t want him tracking me.”
Michaela took Wen’s arm. “Let’s go.”
They turned, and Wen almost fell when his phone started to ring. “Maybe someone found him.” He grabbed the phone and answered. “Hello.”
“Is this Wendell Darling?”
“Yes, yes. Are you calling about John?”
A dark voice chuckled. “What a coincidence. That’s exactly who I’m calling about.”
“Is he okay? Where is he?”
“Well now, he’s okay for the moment, and where he is you could say is for me to know and you to find out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hmmm. A business arrangement. You give me what I want and I give you John.”
“This is a kidnapping?” He fell against the wall and sank to the floor. Michaela knelt over him, and Peter stood and walked forward a few paces. “Good God, I don’t have enough money for a ransom. Where the hell did you get the idea that I do?”
“Oh dear boy, not that kind of ransom. What I want is Peter Panachek, aka Alan Wellington, and when you produce him, I’ll return John in one piece.”
“If you fucking hurt him, I’ll kill you, do you understand?” Wen screamed, but Michaela grasped his hand and squeezed.
“Now, now, let’s not get violent when I still have what you want. Not wise.”
Wen gritted his teeth and stared at Peter. “I don’t know where Peter is.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
“That’s too bad, isn’t it? I’d suggest you find out, or I won’t be responsible for your brother’s fate.” He laughed. “I’ve always wanted to say something that melodramatic.” His voice tensed. “Seriously, though, find Peter and tell him to come and surrender himself to me. I’ll send John back when that occurs.”