Текст книги "UnSouled"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Grace is all smiles. “The Hopis got the Juvies’ panties in a wad! Look at this!” She turns up the TV volume. It’s a press conference in which a spokesman for the Hopi tribe “will neither confirm nor deny” rumors that they’re giving sanctuary to the Akron AWOL. The reporters, however, seem to have plenty to go on. A shaky video of someone being moved in shadows into the Hopi council building. Media leaks from an “inside source,” insisting that the Akron AWOL is there. It looks like Chal worked his magic after all.

“Leave it to my brother,” Pivane says. “He could get milk from a stone.”

“My idea!” Grace reminds them. “Send the Juvies on a detour, I said.”

“Yes, you did, Grace,” Connor says, and she gives him a hug for agreeing with her.

“With the authorities distracted,” Pivane says, “now’s the time to get on with your business. Elina’s arranging for an unregistered car to be left at a rest stop just outside the north gate. I’ll drive you there tomorrow. After that, you’re on your own.”

Connor never told anyone on the rez where they were going—and he hoped Lev kept his mouth shut about it as well. Even if they’re among friends, the fewer people who know, the easier it will be to disappear. But there’s an added wrinkle now. What are they going to do about Cam?

42 • Nelson

Currently Nelson’s biggest problem is not the inflamed, peeling burns on the right half of his face. Nor is it the infected bites on his arms and legs from various unidentified desert wildlife. It’s the scrawny supermarket checker who’s been riding shotgun beside him these past few weeks.

“How much farther do you think?” Argent asks. “Are we still a day out? Two days?”

“We’ll be there by morning, if we drive through the night.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Driving through the night?”

“We’ll see.” The sun is behind them now, low in the sky. Argent has offered to drive since they left New Orleans, but Nelson will not surrender the wheel. He’s tired. He’s fighting a fever, but he won’t let on.

After more than a week of searching, New Orleans turned out to be a bust. If Connor Lassiter had business at Mary LaVeau’s, that business was done—and no one there could be persuaded to offer him information as to his whereabouts. Although New Orleans was a hot bed of illicit activity, none of it seemed to involve sheltering AWOLs. They wasted three more days heading north to Baton Rouge and searching there for signs of Lassiter or an Anti-Divisional underground that might be giving him sanctuary.

For more than a week they wandered, chasing hunches that Nelson had all over the deep South, until the damn checker said, “I don’t know why we just don’t go on to New York.”

“Why would we go there?” Nelson had asked.

The checker had looked at him with the stupid blinking brainlessness of a rodent. “I told you the other night.”

“You didn’t tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I did. Of course, you were storkfaced on whatever it was you were drinking. That and those pills of yours.”

“You didn’t tell me anything!”

“Okay, suit yourself,” Argent said, way too smug. “I didn’t tell you anything.”

In the end Nelson had to play into it like a goddamn knock-knock joke. “What did you tell me?”

“It was that news report about the Statue of Liberty. How they’re replacing her arm with an aluminum one on account of the copper one’s too heavy.”

Nelson didn’t have much patience for this. “What about it?”

“So it made me remember that Connor talked about having a date with the lady in green. You really don’t remember?”

Nelson had no memory of being told this, but to admit this to the rodent would give him way too much satisfaction. “Now I remember,” Nelson had said.

It wasn’t exactly the smoking gun Nelson wanted—“the lady in green” could mean a whole lot of things . . . but then again, wasn’t the statue a favorite protest spot for AWOL sympathizers? What was Lassiter planning?

What finally propelled Nelson to head north was the news report that he knew would eventually come. Argent’s picture with his hero, the Akron AWOL. Argent had been wandering out in the open for days. Someone will have recognized him; someone would turn him in.

Nelson knew he ought to cut his losses and take off alone, leaving Argent for the lions, but he found within himself the tiniest shred of pity and maybe even sentimentality. Argent had actually captured two AWOLs for him. A useless gesture, but the thought did count for something—because seeing those two bottom-feeders bound and gagged and practically gift-wrapped for him had brought some cheer to an otherwise miserable day. In time Argent could even be useful as a mole, infiltrating packs of AWOLs for him. So he hadn’t cut Argent loose. Instead he took him with him, following the threadbare lead to New York.

Now, as they cross from West Virginia into Pennsylvania, Nelson’s doubts begin to feel like roadblocks before them, and Argent will not shut his mouth.

“We should stop in Hershey,” Argent suggests. “They say the whole town smells like chocolate. There’s roller coasters there too. You like roller coasters?”

A sign up ahead says, PITTSBURGH 45 MILES. Nelson feels his fever coming back. His joints are aching, and his face stings from his own sweat. He resolves to take the night in Pittsburgh. He’s not up to driving through the night. He doesn’t even have the strength to shut Argent up.

“Yeah, New Orleans was something. I could spend some real time there,” Argent rambles. “I’ll bet that voodoo shop was something too. Saw a thing about it on TV once. You shoulda got us a voodoo doll of the Akron AWOL. Make him feel some of our pain.”

And now Nelson is glad he let Argent talk because it has turned out to be oh so informative. “Right. Make him feel our pain.” Nelson resolves to treat himself well tonight and do a full reassessment of the current situation.

Mary LaVeau’s House of Voodoo. Not something Argent heard out of Connor Lassiter’s mouth, but something he saw on TV. The rodent has no idea how thoroughly he’s just crucified himself.

43 • Argent

His mother always said, “When life gives you lemons, squirt ’em in someone’s eyes.” Argent knows that’s not the actual expression, but she was right. Turning your misfortune into a weapon is much more useful than making lemonade. He’s proud of the way he’s effectively blinded the parts pirate.

“I’ll bet there’ll be plenty of AWOLs for us to catch in New York, huh?” Argent asks as rural Pennsylvania gives way to the suburbs of Pittsburgh.

“Like rats,” Nelson tells him.

“Maybe you could catch a few,” Argent suggests. “Show me how it’s done. I mean, if I’m gonna be, like, your apprentice, I gotta know these things.”

The thought of traveling the country with a bona-fide parts pirate and learning the tricks of the trade actually excites him. It’s a career he could enjoy. He’s got to keep stringing Nelson along, though. Making him believe that he needs Argent—until Argent can really show him what a good apprentice he can be. Make himself a valuable asset. That’s what he has to do. But until then, he’ll keep Nelson dangling.

The man’s already given him some basic lessons, just in the course of conversation.

“Most AWOL Unwinds are smarter than the Juvenile Authority gives them credit for,” Nelson had said. “You set a stupid trap, and all you’ll get are stupid AWOLs. Worth a lot less on the black market. If the brain scan shows a high cortical score, you can double your money.”

So much to know about the art of entrapment!

While last night was a cheap motel, tonight in Pittsburgh, Nelson treats them to a two-bedroom suite in a fancy-schmancy place with doormen and half a dozen flags over the entrance.

“Tonight we indulge,” Nelson tells him. “Because we owe it to ourselves.”

If this is the life of a parts pirate, Argent’s ready to go all in.

The suite is huge and smells of fresh flowers instead of mildew. Argent orders expensively from the room service menu, and Nelson doesn’t bat an eye.

“Nothing’s too good for my apprentice,” he says, and raises his wineglass to emphasize the point. His own father was never so generous, either in wallet or in spirit. Nelson’s breathing seems labored. The good side of his face is taking on a pale sheen. Argent doesn’t think anything of it; right now Argent is all about his T-bone steak.

As their meal winds down, Argent drops his guard and Nelson begins to talk casually of the days ahead.

“New York’s a great town,” Nelson says. “Have you ever been?”

Argent shakes his head and swallows before he speaks, so as not to appear too uncultured for a room service meal. “Never. Always wanted to go, though. When our parents were alive, they used to say they’d take us to New York. See the Empire State Building. A Broadway show. Promised us the world, but we never went anywhere but Branson, Missouri.” He takes another bite of steak, imagining the food will be even better in the Big Apple. “I swore to myself I’d go there someday. Swore I’d make it happen.”

“And so you did.” Nelson wipes his mouth with a silk napkin. “We’ll have to make time for some sightseeing while we’re there.”

Argent grins. “That’d be sweet.”

“Sure.” Nelson smiles kindly. “Times Square, Central Park . . .”

“Heard about this club in an old factory,” Argent says, nearly frothing at the mouth with excitement. “A different famous band plays there every night, but you never know who it’s gonna be.”

“Did you hear about that on TV?” Nelson asks. “Like the House of Voodoo?”

It takes a moment to settle, bouncing around Argent’s mind like a pinball until it drops dead center. Game over.

When he looks up at Nelson, there is nothing kind about his smile. It’s more predatory. Like a tiger anticipating its kill.

“Lassiter never said anything about Mary LaVeau or ‘the green lady,’ did he?”

“I . . . I was gonna tell you . . .”

“When? Before or after you got your all-expense-paid tour of New York?” Suddenly he flips the table. Dinnerware flies, a plate smashes against the mantel, and Nelson pounces, pinning Argent against the wall so hard Argent can feel the light switch digging into his back like a knife—but it’s nowhere near as deadly as the steak knife Nelson now holds to his throat.

“Did you say anything that wasn’t a lie?” He presses the knife harder against his neck. “I’ll know if you’re lying now.”

Argent knows the truth won’t help him, so he avoids the question. “If you kill me, there’ll be a lot of blood,” he says desperately. “And you wouldn’t have fed me if you really meant to kill me!”

“Every man deserves a last meal.” His presses the knife harder, drawing a bead of blood.

“Wait!” Argent hisses, pulling out the only ace he has to play. “There’s a tracking chip!”

“What are you talking about?”

“My sister! When she was little she always used to wander off, so my parents had them put this tracking chip in her skin behind her ear. If she’s still with Lassiter, we can find them. But I’m the only one who knows the chip’s tracking code. Kill me and the code dies with me.”

“You son of a bitch. You knew about that chip all along!”

“If I told you, you’d have no use for me!”

“I have no use for you now!” He drops the knife and uses his bare hand to close off Argent’s windpipe. No blood. No mess. “Now that I know, I can find that code without you.” Argent tries to fight him off, figuring he’ll lose and that this is the end—but to Argent’s surprise, he’s stronger than Nelson. In fact, the man seems uncharacteristically weak. He pushes Nelson off, and Nelson stumbles, falling to one knee.

“Stay still and let me kill you!” Nelson says.

Argent grabs the knife from the ground, ready to defend himself. But Nelson doesn’t come after him. His eyes roll. His lids flutter. He tries to stand, but falls again, this time on all fours.

“Damn it!”

Then his elbows give way, and he lands facedown on the carpet, as unconscious as if he’d been tranq’d.

Argent waits a moment. Then a moment more.

“Hey. You alive?”

Nothing. He reaches down to feel Nelson’s neck. There’s a pulse, rapid and strong—but he’s hot. Really hot.

Argent can run. He can just take off and get the hell out of this situation . . . but he hesitates and stares at the unconscious parts pirate on the floor before him. He lets the pinball bounce around in his head a bit, then puts the knife gently down on the mantel. The ball is still in play, and there are plenty of points left to be scored.

44 • Nelson

When he regains consciousness, it takes him a few moments to realize where he is. The OmniWilliam Penn in Pittsburgh. The presidential suite. A detour on a wild-goose chase he should never have allowed himself to be on.

The TV in his bedroom plays an action movie at low volume. The waste-of-life grocery checker sits there watching it while eating room service French fries. He turns to Nelson and, seeing he’s awake, pulls his chair over.

“Feeling better?”

Nelson doesn’t dignify him with a response.

“This hotel’s so fancy, they got a doctor on call,” Argent says. “Had him come to check you out. Don’t worry. I cleaned up the mess before he got here and put you all snug in the bed. You talked to him a little. You remember talking to him?”

Nelson still refuses to say a thing.

“Nah, didn’t think you would. You mumbled crazy crap about a graveyard and a tornado. The doctor said those bites you got on your arms and legs—whatever they are—they’re infected. He gave you a shot of antibiotics. Tried to convince me to take you to the emergency room, but I paid him cash and he shut up about it. I got it from your wallet. Hope you don’t mind under the circumstances. Didn’t cheat ya or anything. There’s a receipt. From the pharmacy too, on accounta I filled the prescription for more antibiotics. Take three times a day, with meals.”

Nelson is like a boulder in this stream of words. He gets some of it; the rest just flows past.

“What are you doing here?” Nelson finally asks.

“Couldn’t just leave you on the floor to die, could I? We’re a team. Right half, left half, and all.”

“Get out of my sight.”

When Argent doesn’t move. Nelson turns his head to look the other way. Moving his head just the slightest bit makes him feel like he’s on a carnival ride.

“I don’t blame you for being pissed at me,” Argent says. “And maybe you woulda killed me and maybe not. But if I’m gonna be your apprentice, I know I gotta put up with a lot.”

Nelson forces himself to look at Argent again. “What universe do you think you’re living in?”

“Same as you,” Argent says. He looks at the label of the pill vial and puts it on the nightstand, pointedly out of Nelson’s reach. “Whether you like it or not, you need me right now. As long as you need me, you won’t get rid of me. You might even teach me a thing or two about being a parts pirate. One hand washes the other, as they say. And both our hands are kind of dirty. So I stay, and we both get what we need.”

The fact that he is now entirely dependent on Argent Skinner makes Nelson want to laugh, if it didn’t hurt so much to do so. “Are you my male nurse now?”

“I’m what you need, when you need it,” Argent tells him. “Today you need a nurse, so that’s what I’ll be. Tomorrow maybe you’ll need someone to help you set an Unwind trap again, so that’s what I’ll be tomorrow. And when you do track down Connor Lassiter and you need help bringing him down, you’ll be real happy you kept me around.” Then he opens the room service menu. “So, I’m thinking soup for you. And if you’re good, maybe some ice cream after.”

•   •   •

It’s another day until Nelson feels strong enough to move around the suite. He’s given up trying to fight Argent. The kid might be an idiot, but he’s a shrewd idiot. He knows how to make himself indispensable to Nelson—at least for now.

“I know you’ll kick me to the curb the moment you see fit,” Argent tells him. “It’s my job to make sure you never see fit.”

They don’t talk about their mission. Nelson doesn’t ask him for the tracking code because he knows Argent won’t surrender his one bargaining chip until he’s good and ready. Besides, as much as Nelson wants to move forward, he knows he’s in no condition. He has little choice but to convalesce in the presidential suite.

“Being a parts pirate must pay pretty good if you can afford a place like this,” Argent comments more than once, baiting Nelson to talk about his profession. Although making conversation with Argent isn’t exactly on his list of enjoyable activities, Nelson is a captive audience, so he endures it. He even tells Argent some of the things he wants to know, explaining the details of his best traps. The concrete tunnel lined with glue. The cigarette carton on a mattress perched over a pit. Argent hangs so fully on every word, Nelson begins to enjoy bragging about his best catches.

“I once had an AWOL swallow a miniature poison grenade, and I told him I’d set it off remotely if he didn’t turn over his friends. He led five other kids right to me—each one of them a better specimen than him.”

“Did you detonate the grenade?”

“It wasn’t a grenade,” Nelson tells Argent. “It was a cranberry.”

It makes Argent laugh, and Nelson finds that his own laughter is genuine.

Nelson can’t say that he’s beginning to like Argent—there really isn’t much about him to like. But he’s coming to accept the necessity of Argent’s presence. Like the AWOL who surrendered his friends, Argent Skinner has value to Nelson. For his services, Nelson had set the cranberry-eating AWOL free, because, after all, fair is fair, and Nelson has always seen himself as a man of integrity. In the end, Nelson will make sure Argent gets his just reward.

•   •   •

They set out the next day, Nelson feeling stronger, if not fully recovered. The bites are still red and swollen, the burned half of his face still raw and peeling, but at least his fever has broken. He endures the troubled gazes from other hotel guests as he checks out, just as he endured them when he had checked in.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” Argent asks. Now that Nelson has regained his strength, Argent has gotten shifty and uncertain about his tenure.

“Not New York,” is all Nelson is willing to offer, which sets Argent rambling on about other places he’s never been, but would like to go, fishing for any hints that Nelson might give. “Doesn’t make sense to be going unless we know where we’re going.”

“I know where we’re going,” Nelson tells him, taking great pleasure in Argent’s discomfort.

“After all I done, least you could do is give me a clue.”

Once they cross the Allegheny River and Pittsburgh falls behind them, Nelson reveals at least part of his hand. “We’re going to Sarnia.”

“Sarnia? Never heard of it.”

“It’s in Canada, across the border from Port Huron, Michigan. I’m going to introduce you to my contact in the black market, assuming he’s not on one of his airborne jags. A gentleman by the name of Divan.”

Argent twists his face like he’s smelled something foul. “Funny name. We sold Chicken Divan at Publix.”

“You’d be wise not to insult him. Divan runs the most successful harvest camp on the black market this side of Burma. State of the art. I bring him all the AWOLs I catch, and he’s always treated me fairly and honorably. If you want to be a parts pirate, he’s the man you need to know.”

Argent shifts uncomfortably. “I heard stories about the black market. Rusty scalpels. No anesthesia.”

“You’re talking about the Burmese Dah Zey. Divan is the opposite. A gentleman, and an honorable one at that. He’s always done right by me.”

“Okay,” says Argent. “Sounds good to me.”

“And,” adds Nelson, “in return for this show of good faith on my part, I expect some good faith from you in return. I want the code for your sister’s tracking chip.”

Argent turns his eyes to the road ahead of them. “Maybe later.”

“Maybe now.”

Then Nelson calmly pulls the car to the shoulder of the highway. “If not, I’ll be happy to leave you here, say good-bye, and let you live your miserable life with no interference from me.”

Cars whiz past. Argent looks like he might be ill. “You’ll never find Lassiter without that code.”

“There’s no guarantee your sister will still be with him anyway. If she’s half as annoying as you, he probably ditched her an hour out of Heartsdale.”

Argent considers it. He fidgets with his hands. He picks nervously at the stitches on his face.

“You promise you won’t kill me?”

“I promise I won’t kill you.”

“Left half, right half, right? We’re a team?”

“By necessity, if not by design.”

Argent takes a deep breath. “We’ll meet this Divan guy. And then I’ll tell you.”

Nelson pounds the steering wheel in fury. Then calms down. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it.” Then he pulls out his tranq gun, pulls the trigger, and tranqs Argent in the chest.

Argent’s eyes are wide in shock at the betrayal.

“I can’t tell you how good that felt,” Nelson says.

Argent slumps in his seat, and Nelson is left supremely satisfied. If he must endure the presence of Argent Skinner on his way to finding Connor Lassiter and his stinking tithe friend, then Nelson will endure him. Although frequent unconsciousness on Argent’s part may be required to make life bearable. Nelson smiles. In the end, perhaps he’ll put Argent out of his misery the same way he plans to kill Lev Calder for leaving him tranq’d on an Arizona road. Or maybe he’ll let Argent live. It’s all within the realm of possibility and all within Nelson’s power. He has to admit even when he was a Juvey-cop he enjoyed having power over life and death. As a parts pirate that feeling is so much more raw and visceral. He’s come to love it. It all comes down to tracking Argent’s sister. Then it’s only a matter of time now until he achieves Lev Calder’s death and earns Connor Lassiter’s eyes. Plus the huge bounty Divan will pay for the rest of him, of course.

Nelson punches his destination into the GPS, and it plots the fastest route to Sarnia. Then, checking his rearview mirror, he pulls onto the freeway in blissful, satisfied silence.