Текст книги "Shelter"

Автор книги: Harlan Coben

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 20

WITH MY FAKE DRIVER’S LICENSE in my wallet, I picked up Ema on the outskirts of Kasselton Avenue. She slid into the Ford Taurus with a sheepish look on her face.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I said.

“It was Agent’s idea,” Ema explained, talking fast.

That was where we were headed—to Tattoos While U Wait to confront Agent.

“Over the summer, I went to Agent for a back tattoo. I wanted something big and dramatic. So he drew up this elaborate artwork, with swirls and lettering and then . . .” She stopped. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She said nothing.

“Of course I’m looking at you funny,” I said, with more snap in my voice than I intended. “That tattoo was in an old photograph in Bat Lady’s house. It was on that tombstone in her backyard. And someone even drew it on a placard marking my father’s grave. Now all of a sudden it’s a tattoo on your back?”

“I know. I don’t understand it either. See, the tattoo is pretty big and the butterfly is just a small part. It wasn’t even in the original plan, but Agent said he was inspired.”

I shook my head. “So why didn’t you tell me about it as soon as you saw it on that tombstone?”

“You ran off, remember? You got arrested.”

“And what about yesterday? At Baumgart’s? Or today at school?”

Ema said nothing.

“Hello?”

“Stop yelling at me,” she said.

“I’m not yelling. It’s just . . . how could you keep that from me?”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me you were secretly meeting with Miss Hot-Bod today? Huh?” She folded her arms. “You don’t tell me everything. I don’t tell you everything.”

“Ema?”

“What?”

“That’s a load of crap and you know it. Why didn’t you tell me about the tattoo?”

Ema looked out the front windshield. We were getting closer to Agent’s place. I let it sit. There was no reason to push, not yet, but I wanted to know what was going on. I switched on the radio, but Ema reached for the knob and turned it off.

She sat back and said, “I was afraid, okay?”

“Afraid of what?”

Ema shook her head and frowned. She wore a silver ring on every finger, giving her a kind of gypsy vibe. “For a bright guy, you can be so dense.”

“Yep. So why don’t you explain it to me?”

“At first, I wasn’t even sure. Like maybe that thing on the tombstone just looked like my tattoo, but it wasn’t the same.”

“At first,” I repeated.

“Right.”

“And then?”

I took a quick glance at her. A tear ran down her cheek. “Do I look like I have a lot of friends to you?”

I said nothing.

Ema’s voice was barely a whisper. “I thought maybe you’d get angry. Or blame me. Or not believe or trust me. I thought”—she turned away now so I couldn’t see her face—“that you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

The hurt in her voice broke my heart. When we came to the next stoplight, I said, “Ema?”

“What?”

“Look at me.”

She did. Her eyes were moist.

“I trust you with my life,” I said. “And like it or not, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

There was nothing more to say after that. We drove the rest of the way to the tattoo parlor in silence.

Tattoos While U Wait was in full swing when we arrived. We hurried to Agent’s chair in the back, but no one was there. I stood at the empty chair as if I could make Agent materialize with just a stare. Nothing happened.

Ema said, “Mickey?”

I looked over at her. She was pointing at a mirror on Agent’s desk. We both moved toward it. We stood there, afraid to move. There, taped to the lower left-hand corner of the mirror, was that same butterfly emblem.

“Hey, Ema. You two like?”

I spun toward the voice. No, it wasn’t Agent. This guy was, I assumed, either another tattoo artist or a frequent client. Every sliver of visible skin had ink on it. I thought about tattoos, about the connection, about the tattoo on Ema’s back, the tattoo on Antoine’s face—and most horrifically, the Auschwitz concentration camp tattoo forced upon a young girl named Elizabeth Sobek.

“Hey, Ian,” Ema said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Do you know where Agent is?”

“He’s not here.” Ian looked at Ema. Then he looked at me.

I gave him flat eyes and said, “Uh, yeah, we can see that.”

“Do you know where he is?” Ema asked. “Or when he’ll be back?”

“He took off,” Ian said. “He won’t be back for a while.”

“What’s a while?” I asked. “Like tonight or . . .”

“Not tonight. Not this week.” Now Ian faced me full on, studying me as though I were a horse he was considering purchasing. “You must be Mickey.”

That surprised me. “Do I know you?” I said.

“Nah. Agent told me you’d come by.”

I glanced at Ema. She shrugged to show that she didn’t get it either. “He did?”

Ian nodded. “He asked me to do the work on you, but he didn’t say where. Arm, thigh, back . . . where do you want it?”

I took a step closer to him. “We didn’t make an appointment.”

“Oh, I know.”

“So when you say you expected us to come by—”

“Agent didn’t say when. He just said you would. Stop by, that is. And he said that when you do, I should take care of you. Look, he left the artwork right there for you.”

He pointed with his chin at the lower left-hand corner of the mirror—at the same image I had seen in Bat Lady’s house, by my father’s grave, and on Ema.

“Do you like it?” Ian asked.

It took me a moment or two to find my voice. “What is it?” I asked, my voice sounding oddly hushed in my own ear.

Now it was Ian who looked surprised. “You don’t know?”

I shook my head.

“Agent didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

Ian shook his head. “Man, that’s odd. Why would he think you’d want that tattoo if you don’t know what it is?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But could you tell me what it is?”

Ian mulled that over for a moment. We waited. Finally he said, “That’s a butterfly.”

I stifled my sign of impatience. “Yeah, we can see that.”

“More specifically,” he went on, “that’s the Swordgrass Brown Tisiphone Abeona.”

I felt my stomach drop at that last word. I swallowed hard, repeating his words in my own head. “What did you say?”

Something in my voice must have come out as a threat. Ian put his hands up as though warding me off. “Whoa, calm down, dude.”

I took a deep breath. “What did you call that butterfly?”

“Hey, Agent told me that. He talked about it all the time.”

“Please just”—I tried to keep my voice in check—“tell me the name of the butterfly again.”

“Swordgrass Brown Tisiphone Abeona.”

I swallowed. “Abeona.”

“Yep,” Ian said, smiling now. “Hey, you know about Abeona?”

I said nothing.

“Me and Agent, we were into ancient gods and goddesses, you know, because people want them as tats. Abeona was a Roman goddess. Did you know that?”

I stood there, stunned. I thought back to my father’s resignation letter: “I know that no one really ever leaves the Abeona Shelter. . . .”

“I’m not a big fan of this one myself,” Ian continued, “but see, Abeona was a sort of shielding goddess. She protected children when they first left the safety of their parents, guarding them during their first voyage away from home. Like that. And what’s weird about this butterfly, well, the name, right? Tisiphone was one of the Furies, you know, the Ancient Greek gods? She punished the big crimes—murder and stuff—especially when it came to children in danger. Do you know her story?”

I shook my head, afraid to speak.

“Okay, see Tisiphone’s father, Alcmaeon, accidentally left her and her brother, Amphilochus, with Creon, who was king of Thebes. Now Tisiphone, even as a young girl, was a total hottie, so Creon’s evil wife sold her into slavery. What the wife didn’t realize was that the guy who bought Tisiphone was actually working for Alcmaeon, her father. See? It was all a big plan to save his children.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“Oh man, Agent talked about it all the time. That’s why he loved this butterfly. I think it’s native to Australia or New Zealand, someplace like that, but it’s named after both Tisiphone and Abeona. That’s why he loved to put it in his work. See those eyes on the wings? Like they’re watching you. For him, the symbol is all about rescuing children. It’s all about giving them protection and shelter.”

Shelter. The Abeona Shelter. Where my father worked all those years . . .

“Ian,” Ema said, “do you know how we can reach Agent?”

Ian smiled. “He said you’d ask that. So he wanted me to be clear.”

“Well?”

“No. There is no way to reach Agent. None.” He gestured toward me. “So what do you say, Mickey? You ready to get the tattoo?”

My cell phone buzzed. I looked down and saw it was a text from Rachel: Got a clue on Ashley.

“Not now,” I said, rushing to the door.

Maybe not ever.

chapter 21

WE WERE GOING TO MEET at Myron’s house, but a quick call to his cell phone stopped that.

“Where are you?” Myron asked me.

I didn’t like the tone in his voice.

“I’m with friends,” I said.

“Driving what car?”

Uh-oh. Ema was studying my face. I mouthed the word “Trouble.”

“I know your father taught you to drive,” he said to me. “But it’s illegal. You know that.”

“I’m just at a friend’s house,” I said.

“Whose?”

“Rachel. You met her last night.”

“You couldn’t walk there?”

“Uh, I, look, she’d never go out with a kid. So, well, I told her I was older.”

Wow, could that have sounded any lamer?

“You lied?”

“No, not really. I just let her believe . . . Look, I’ll tell her the truth. Then I’ll drive the car home and not use it again.”

“Mickey,” Myron said, putting on his parental voice, “do you know what will happen to you if Chief Taylor catches you driving?”

I said nothing.

“Just leave the car there,” Myron said. “Walk home. I’ll find a way to get it back here.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you. But can I stay a little while longer?”

“Only if you promise to tell her the truth,” Myron said. “You shouldn’t lie to her.”

Oh boy.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, choking on the words. I wanted to tell him to stick it, but more than that, I did not want him looking for me. “I’m so sorry. I’ll tell her right away. Bye.”

When I hung up, Ema started laughing.

“What?” I said.

“Your uncle bought that?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “He’s new to this.”

“I guess so.”

We called Rachel back and changed the meeting spot to her house. The gate guarding the driveway opened the moment I turned into it. Rachel must have been watching. Ema sat in silence. She didn’t comment at all as we drove up to the mansion.

“I still don’t know where you live,” I said to Ema.

“We got bigger worries, don’t you think?”

She had a point. When we pulled up to the house, Rachel was already standing in the doorway. Ema stared at her with an expression on her face I would have to call resigned.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I didn’t. I pulled the door handle and stepped out. Rachel smiled when she saw me. The smile dimmed a bit when she saw Ema. We both headed up the walk toward her. Rachel watched Ema. Ema watched Rachel. I didn’t know what to do.

Rachel said, “Ashley didn’t want anyone to know about this.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Ema’s been in on this from the beginning.”

Rachel didn’t look happy about my answer. Neither did Ema. I tried to move us forward.

“You said you had a clue about Ashley?”

Rachel looked wary.

“It’s okay,” I said.

She sighed and led us into the house. We sat in the same opulent room where Rachel and I had been just a few short hours ago. “This laptop was in the pool house. Ashley used it to check her e-mail. I was able to get into her account.”

“How?” I asked.

Rachel looked uncomfortable. “My father is rarely around,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to keep an eye on me. Last year, he put this parental spy software on all the home computers so he could monitor what I was doing.”

Ema said, “Yuck.”

“I know, right?”

Ema shook her head and said, “Parents.”

I could see a softening between the two. It wasn’t much. Softening might be too strong a word. Thawing might be more accurate. But it was there.

“But the thing is, my dad is pretty bad with computers. He just bought some package online—he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. So I figured out what was going on and then I found his codes, and, well, now he sees what I want him to see, if you catch my drift. Not that I have anything to hide anyway. That’s the thing. I don’t, but—okay, never mind.” Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, the point is, even though Ashley deleted her history, I was able to see what she’d done on the computer.”

“And?” I said.

“She got this e-mail earlier today.”

Rachel handed me a printout. It was short and sweet:

Ash—

I’m in big trouble. He thinks I hid you. You know how he gets. You know what he can do. Please, Ash. Please come back and help me.

And then, on the bottom, I saw who had sent the e-mail:

Candy

“So,” Rachel said, “the question is, who is Candy?”

“I know,” I said, feeling the fear return. I didn’t see any other option. I had wanted more than anything to stay away from that awful place, and yet somehow I knew that it would end there. Even if it meant going up against Buddy Ray and his big bodyguard again. Even if it meant going up against Antoine LeMaire. Even if it meant facing the White Death.

I could see Bat Lady, who was somehow connected with my father, somehow connected with the Abeona Shelter, mouthing the words to me: Save Ashley.

My father had spent his life working for the Abeona Shelter. Now maybe I understood what his real job was. I didn’t believe in fate or destiny. I didn’t even believe in a calling or a purpose. How had Rachel put it?

“It just felt like the right thing to do.”

It was that simple and yet that deep. It was an obligation. Even if I wanted to turn away, I couldn’t.

I had to save Ashley.

chapter 22

RACHEL AND EMA had been in the same schools for nearly a decade and had never spoken. One was the beautiful cheerleader. The other was the picked-on outcast. And I, Mickey Bolitar, had finally found a way to unite them.

How?

By saying the following: “I need to do this alone.”

Rachel and Ema stood side by side, arms folded across their chests.

“Oh no,” Ema said, “you’re not leaving us behind.”

“We’re going too,” Rachel said.

“And don’t tell us it isn’t safe,” Ema added.

Rachel: “If it’s not safe for us, it’s not safe for you.”

Ema: “Right, so don’t give us your sexist nonsense.”

Rachel: “Exactly. We aren’t girls who need protecting from a big, strong man.”

There may have been more—I confess that I started tuning them out—but I had no chance anyway. Surrender, I could see, was inevitable, so why delay it?

“So what’s the plan?” Ema asked.

I checked my watch. It was nine P.M. “I don’t know. I guess we head down to the Plan B Go-Go Lounge and see if we can find Candy or Ashley.”

Rachel said, “They’ll recognize you.”

She had a point. “Okay, let’s brainstorm a little and see what we come up with.”

My cell phone rang again. I looked down and saw it was Uncle Myron. I answered with a tentative “Hello?”

“It’s getting late,” Myron said. “Did you tell Rachel the truth?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“She’s sitting right here. Do you want me to hand her the phone?”

“No need. I found her address online. My partner Esperanza is with me. We’re on our way to pick you up and get the car.”

My eyes widened. Ema and Rachel saw it and moved closer. I tilted the phone so they could hear. “Not now,” I said. “We’re doing our history project.”

“You two are in the same history class?” Myron asked.

“Yes.”

“So that would make you both sophomores,” Myron said, and I thought I heard a little something smug in his voice. “Rachel would know that. Why would she think a sophomore was old enough to drive?”

He was on to me.

“Hold on a second, Myron, I got another call coming in.” I put him on hold and started for the door.

“What gives?” Rachel said.

“Hurry, he’ll be here soon, and he’ll take away the car. We need to go now.”

We all sprinted for the Ford Taurus. I got in the driver’s seat. Rachel and Ema both hesitated, not sure where to sit, but Rachel quickly broke that deadlock. She opened the front passenger door and said, “You sit here, Ema.”

Ema did as she was told. Rachel closed the door and hopped into the back.

I pulled out of the long drive and headed to the left. By now Myron had hung up and tried to call me several more times. I didn’t pick it up. Rachel looked behind her and said, “Does your uncle drive a Ford Taurus too?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-oh, he’s pulling up to the gate.”

I stepped on the gas pedal, made a quick left, then a right, working my way through the town streets until I was sure that we weren’t being followed. Then I took the main artery down to Newark.

Twenty minutes later—after a long debate with Rachel and Ema that I clearly lost—I found a parking space across the street and down the block from the Plan B Go-Go Lounge. From here, I had a pretty good view of the front door, but that didn’t appease me.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

“It’s the only way,” Rachel said. “You know that.”

“We’ll be fine,” Ema added.

I shook my head. Rachel and Ema had hammered home the obvious: I couldn’t go into the club again. They had seen my face. I had even injured Derrick the bouncer, who, thank goodness, was not currently working the door. Rachel had come up with a simple plan: she and Ema would go in, pretending to be looking for work. That would give them a chance to get inside and look around and hopefully spot either Ashley or, based on my description, Candy.

“I could wear a disguise,” I said. “I could get in that way.”

Rachel and Ema snickered at that.

“Like what?” Rachel asked. “A fake mustache? A blond wig? And suppose they ask for ID and see your old face?”

I had no reply.

“We’ve been over this,” Ema added.

“I still don’t like it.”

“Tough,” Rachel said. “Look, Ema will have her cell phone on the whole time.” She used a much better carrier than I did—I currently had one bar, she had five. “You’ll be able to hear everything. It’s a public place—what are they going to do? We also have a code word, right?”

“Yellow,” I said.

“Exactly. We’ll say ‘yellow’ if we feel like we are in over our heads.”

“We should think about this,” I said.

“We did,” Ema said—and before I could argue anymore, Rachel and Ema were out on the street walking toward that club. My cell phone rang. I had already blocked out Myron, so I knew that it wasn’t him. I looked down and saw that it was Ema. I picked it up and said, “Hello?”

“Can you hear me okay?” Ema asked.

“Yes.”

“Put your phone on mute so they won’t hear anything from your end,” Ema said.

I did. I watched them head up to the front door. Rachel wore fitted jeans. Ema was, as always, decked out in full black armor. I knew that Rachel would have no trouble getting in. She would, I was sure, be welcomed. My bigger fear was that she’d be too welcomed. Ema had pointed out that she might have more trouble convincing the bouncers that she was applying for work as a dancer, to which Rachel frowned and said, “Nonsense, you look hot.”

With anyone else it would have sounded phony and patronizing. With Rachel, well, even Ema bought it.

I focused my eyes on the two bouncers at the front door. They were both far smaller than my friend from yesterday, the one who had tried to grab Ashley off the street, the one who had my arms pinned until I head-butted him. I wondered whether I had broken his nose, but I wasn’t about to lose too much sleep over it.

The bouncers spotted Rachel and Ema walking toward the door. I don’t think too many women came here as patrons, especially on their own. Rachel and Ema both stopped in front of the door. I could hear the conversation through my cell phone.

The bouncer on the right said, “Hello, ladies, is there something I can do for you?”

“We would like to see someone about work,” Rachel said.

“What kind of work?”

“Dancing, waitressing, whatever.”

The bouncer on the left said, “The boss will love you. But her”—he pointed at Ema—“I mean, no way.”

I wanted to punch that guy in the face.

The bouncer on the right slapped the other bouncer’s arm. “Dude, that’s just rude.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Rachel said, “that’s rude.”

“I think she’s pretty,” Right Bouncer said, smiling at Ema. “You got a sweet face, sugar.”

“Thank you,” Ema said.

“And I bet you know how to shake it on the dance floor, am I right?”

“As rain,” Ema said as they both started to enter the club. “When I get my booty shaking, worlds collide.”

Back in the car, I was just smiling, thinking, God, I love that girl, when the driver’s side window shattered. Shards of glass rained down on me. I barely had time to react when two hands reached in, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me through the window headfirst. Remnants of the window scraped my sides, ripping my clothes and digging into my skin.

It was Derrick the bouncer. He had white tape across his nose. He looked very angry. “Well, well, well. Look who’s come back to say hello.”

He flung me across the street. My head crashed into the side of a car, causing a dent. I tried to regroup, but dizziness overwhelmed me. I needed a second to catch my breath, but I wasn’t getting one.

Derrick kicked me in the face.

I tried to roll away, but he was on me now. A punch in the jaw made my teeth rattle. There was a knee to the ribs and then another blow, I don’t even know from where, struck me in the back of the head, jarring my brain. My eyes started rolling back as the next punch landed. And then there was blackness.

When I woke up, I was being dragged through an alley by Derrick. He had one hand on the scruff of my collar. The other was holding a cell phone.

Pain flooded in, making my eyes well up with tears. My first thoughts were about Rachel and Ema. They had no backup now. Did they know that? I doubted it. If they had seen Derrick attack me, they would have screamed or done something. No, they had gone inside the club. Alone. Without anyone on the other end of the phone.

Derrick spoke into his cell phone. “Bringing him in, Buddy Ray,” he said.

“Nah, no reason for that.” I could hear Buddy Ray’s soft voice through the phone. “We have Ash back.”

“So what should I do with him?”

“Where are you?”

“Back alley.”

“Any witnesses?”

Derrick said, “Nope.”

“Then take care of him there,” Buddy Ray said.

Take care of him?

Fear can be like a splash of cold water in the face. I debated what my next move would be. I could pretend that I was still out for a few more seconds, surprise attack him. Derrick suddenly stopped moving. He dropped me like I was a bag of laundry. I kept my eyes closed, playing possum.

“Open your eyes, kid.”

When I didn’t, Derrick kicked me hard in the ribs with the toe of his boot. A bolt of agony surged across my chest. My eyes flew open now. I looked up, and I was staring into the barrel of a gun.

No choice.

I dived for the gun, but Derrick was ready. Using all his weight and leverage, he hit me with a powerful side kick flush in the center of the chest. My heart stopped. That was what it felt like, like all my internal organs—heart, lungs, whatever—had shut down. I collapsed back to the ground, unable to move. Another kick to the back of my head closed my eyes. Bright lights swirled in front of my eyes. I didn’t move. I don’t even think I breathed. I just lay there, helpless, swimming toward unconsciousness.

Until I heard the gunshot.