Hush Money (9 page)

I grabbed him by the shoulder and walked us
over behind a row of pallets stacked high with boxes so I could
phase back. As soon as I felt the shift I turned on him.

“That’s bullshit—you’ve always looked out for
me. We always looked out for each other. But right now, you’re only
out for yourself. If this was just gonna be a few cases of beer,
we’d get it from Casey’s, and then we’d go down to the river and
drink it. Old man Casey loses a few cases of beer he wouldn’t sell
us, but it’s not going to ruin him or anything and it’s nothing to
the amount of crap his own employees steal from him. No big deal.
But you’re talking about a truck, disabling security, all this
crap. It’s not shoplifting anymore, it’s honest to God
robbery.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

“Because we can.”

I looked into his face, into that meanness in
his eyes that had been growing steadily, and let myself process
that. Really think about what it meant. It wasn’t going to stop
here. It was just going to keep getting worse. And so was Marco. He
just kept getting meaner and less like someone I wanted to be
around.

That was it. The decision was made. I
couldn’t stand by him anymore. My gratitude and my patience were
all used up.

Friendship over.

“I’m not doing this.”

He smiled at me. Actually smiled. “Oh, yes
you are.”

“No, I’m not. I’m—”

“You’re going to do this for me, and anything
else I tell you to—”

“Or what? You’ll tell my secret? Turn me
in?”

“Maybe. Eventually. But before that, I’ll
tell Joss’s.”

That got my attention. At first, I didn’t
even know what he was talking about, and it was just the threat
itself. Then I thought about Joss and secrets and I remembered. How
was I always underestimating what he was capable of?

“The fuck you will!”

“She already freaks out if you try to talk to
her—or even look at her funny. Imagine what it’s going to do to her
when everyone knows her dad’s batshit crazy. That they had to put
him
away
for it.” He chuckled. “Then
everyone’s
gonna
be looking at her funny. Which is just what the freaky bitch
deserves.”

“Look, you can’t do that, ok? That’s too
fucked up—even for you.” It wasn’t just about Joss, either. What if
this got out and damaged her dad’s reputation? What would that do
to their business? They didn’t have anything else. And while I
didn’t agree that Joss “freaks out” when people look at her, it was
true that she didn’t want anyone to notice her. I kinda thought she
could handle it if it came down to it, but then, I just didn’t want
her to have to.

“It’s really not. So here’s the deal: you and
I go on like this conversation never happened. You do what I tell
you to do until this thing is done, and quit giving me shit about
it. And I’ll keep my mouth shut about your girlfriend’s crazy dad.
Deal?”

I didn’t answer him. He knew the answer.

“Now get me out of here. I’ve got stuff to
do.”

Joss

Tuesday was family dinner night. Dad closed
the store around six, and we were usually eating by seven. Part of
what Jilly used to like about it was that meant she could stay up a
little later on Tuesdays. Now that it was all old hat, she had been
campaigning that family dinner night become family pizza night.
Yeah, good luck with that.

“Jill, stop playing with those peas and eat
them or no TV tonight,” Dad said. Wouldn’t be family dinner night
if he didn’t, I guess.

Whining followed.

“I had a visit from Pete Connolly today,” Dad
announced, out of nowhere. This explained Dad’s slightly elevated
level of agitation. In a family where everyone is on hyper-alert
for things to go horribly wrong, subtleties are often easy to spot.
Mr. Connolly was one of Dad’s cop buddies—or one of the cops who
frequented the shop, whom Dad kissed up to but secretly loathed as
part of the “police state this country has become” or whatever. So
what we were about to hear was going to be cop-shop gossip. Dad
never was one for idle gossip, so this was probably going to suck.
“He’s pissed off because he went out on a call last night where a
cop was injured, and they’ve put out a gag order on everyone and
are keeping it out of the media.”

“What happened?” Mom asked.

“Dumbass kid blew it. Phil Meeks. You know
him, Joss?”

“He’s in a few of my classes, average grades,
hangs out with some other trailer park kids, mostly.”

“Not for long. Dumbass kid. Lives with his
mom and her boyfriend—I got the impression it wasn’t the first time
Connolly had been there. Anyway, this time they get there, the
boyfriend was belligerent, big surprise, arguing with them, lying,
and the woman yanks one of those moving water picture things off
the wall—pretty hefty—and cracks the boyfriend in the side of the
head with it. Right in front of the cops, so now they’ve got to
take her in for assault. She resists, they’re trying to restrain
her, and then all hell breaks loose.

“Seems the kid, Phil, had been watching all
of this go down. They knew he was there, but he’s not a big kid,
not threatening at all, and he was staying well out of their way.
Next thing you know, Connolly says it was like a science fiction
movie. Streaks of red light, things bursting into flame…They all
got the hell out of there and the damn thing burned to the
ground.

“I read about a mobile home fire in the paper
today,” Mom said. “The article didn’t give much detail, but it said
the place was a total loss, no one was hurt, and the cause of the
fire was ‘under investigation’.”

“According to Connolly, one of the cops got
hit in the arm, burned through his clothes and down into his skin.
He’s in the hospital, but no one’s allowed to talk about it. No
doubt because they have to wait and see what the Feds want to do
about the kid. Connolly’s pissed that they didn’t even take him
into custody, but how’re they going to hold a kid with laser
vision? They’re not equipped.”

Laser vision? Phil?

Mom shook her head. “So they just left him
running loose?”

Dad and I both glared at her.

“Now, don’t you two look at me like that.
Clearly, this boy is dangerous.” There’s no point in arguing with
any of Mom’s statements marked ‘clearly’. “Do they know where Phil
is now? How long does Mr. Connolly think it will be before the
agents arrive?”

“This is what’s really pissing him off. He
was told that no one would be here until this weekend, and the cops
are supposed to ‘just keep an eye on the kid’ until then. He’s
staying with a friend’s family in the park right now, and we’ll see
what happens if and when his mom gets released. I think they may
try to hold her without bail just to ensure he stays local.”

Mom shook her head.

“Goes without saying, Joss, that I want you
to stay in this weekend,” Dad said.

I was about to roll my eyes at him, like
duh, where would I go on the weekend?
Then I remembered
Kat’s party. Well, if he told me I couldn’t go, I guess I wouldn’t
be too upset about it.

“Um, Dad, and I say this totally hearing what
you’re saying, but my—that is…there’s this party Friday night
that—”

“A party?! Joan, did you know anything about
this?” Dad’s color was up. I was wishing I’d just told Kat they
said no without even asking. And at the same time, it was suddenly
becoming really important to me that they say yes. And what was
that all about?

“No, honey, I didn’t. Joss, tell us about
this party. Whose party is it?”

“Um, well, it’s not a big deal, I mean—”

“Jilly-bug, go watch TV,” Dad said.

Jill looked down at the peas on her plate and
back at us. Then she took off.

My mom gave me her
I asked you a
question
look.

“Kat Dawson’s birthday party. She…I only
started talking to her because I was struggling in Chem, and I know
that being below average attracts attention, so I asked her some
questions. And I guess she felt like that was grounds for inviting
me to her party. I mean, it’s not a big deal at all. She’s inviting
pretty much everyone, from what I heard, and it seems like
everyone’s going. Not that that means I have to go, unless it would
be weird if I didn’t.” I shut my mouth. It wasn’t like me to
babble, even at home. Dad was looking stern but otherwise
unreadable. Mom was looking at me like we were sharing a
secret.

“Well, Gene, she does have a point. A girl
can stand out by being a loner as much as by being popular.”

“You know why we discourage her about getting
too friendly at that school.”

“I know, darling. And Joss knows too. I think
she’s done wonderfully well at following your guidance so far. If
she wants to go to this party, or if she just wants to not have to
explain why she didn’t go, I think we should trust her. How do you
feel about that, Jocelyn?”

Sometimes I wonder if my mom had some kind of
shrink training in the past, or if it was just being exposed to so
many around my dad when I was little.

“I, um, think it could be ok. I mean, I’m old
enough where it would be kind of weird for me to try to explain
that I wasn’t allowed to go to a birthday party. Other kids do that
stuff all the time. But it’s not that I want to, it’s—like mom
said—it’s hard to explain why if I don’t go. I mean, if I say I
just don’t want to, then that’s a dig on Kat, and I don’t want
her—or her friends—getting mad at me, because that just gets them
talking about you, you know? Plus, there’s going to be so many
other kids there, it will be just like at school: easy for me to
blend into the background.”

“Gene, I think Joss has clearly shown that
she’s trustworthy enough to go to this party.”

Clearly.

* * *

Joss

“It’s too bad you couldn’t stay for dinner
last night.”

I glanced around to see if anyone was taking
notice of the fact that Kat was pulling me along the hall with her.
Of course they weren’t. Kids get really wrapped up in their own
stuff so that even someone like me hanging around someone like Kat
doesn’t penetrate. Which was good.

“It was family dinner night.”

“Oh yeah? That’s cute. So after you left, we
worked out our whole plan to get Marco, the dick.”

“About that…Kat, it’s just not a good
idea.”

“You haven’t even heard the plan yet.”

“I don’t need to. Your logic is completely
flawed. I mean, I guess if Marco were a textbook bully, like you
said, then maybe. But he’s not how you said and there’s no way he’s
going to back down because of whatever public humiliation you guys
come up with. If anything, it’s only going to make him mad, and
you’re just going to make things worse.”

“I’m telling you, this is a solid plan, Joss.
You’ve got to stop worrying.”

Yeah, right.
We stopped at Kat’s
locker and I let my head bang against the wall as she spun her
combination.

“So, here’s what we came up with. It turns
out—”

“No,” I interrupted, firmly. “I don’t want
any part of this—not even being in on it.”

“Really? You don’t even want to
know
?
’cause it’s kinda juicy gossip.”

“No. Really.”

Kat shrugged as she pulled out her backpack.
“Suit yourself. And so ungrateful,” she said airily, smiling,
“since it’s really all for you.”

That again.
“Yeah, about that…”

“What the hell is this?”

For a second I thought she was talking to me.
Like the fact that I might actually say something about how she’d
used me, and twisted the truth into a pretzel, to get her friends
in on her game was somehow shocking to her. But she was spilling
the contents of a manila envelope into her hand.

On the top of the stack was a type-written
letter, business style, and the addressee was
National
Institutes for Ability Control
followed by the address of
NIAC’s main office in DC. I got as far as
To Whom It May
Concern
before Kat shifted the letter to the bottom of the
pile. Under that was a picture of Krista. Not a portrait, a candid
shot where she wasn’t looking at the camera. As I looked closer, it
seemed blurry and like she wasn’t aware of being photographed.

Then I saw it.

“Jesus.”

“What?” Kat asked.

I just put my finger on the part of the
picture where Krista’s arm, extended toward a glass on the table
near her, was just a little too long and too thin in the lower
half. Just a little. It was obvious she was reaching for the glass,
and yet as I looked more carefully at the picture, it also wasn’t
obvious because she wasn’t leaning in that direction at all. It was
just that slightly too-long arm extended toward the glass.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

“What’s next?” I snapped.

The next photo showed Krista standing in
front of a closet, reaching for something up high. Her body seemed
longer and thinner than it should have been, the elements of the
room strangely short and chunky by comparison. Out of proportion to
what my brain wanted to see.

Kat started leafing through the stack. There
were only a few, more of the same kinds of moments. Moments when
Krista assumed no one was looking.

“Do you think these were…manipulated?”

I thought about what a good athlete Krista
was, and how much easier it must be to get to that tennis ball on
time if you could get your racket just a little closer while your
body caught up. I thought about how it must help in the last
moments of a sprint if you could make your legs just a little bit
longer.

Jesus.
Out loud I said, “No, I don’t.
Kat, you have
got
to pay him off.”

Kat flipped back to the letter and we scanned
through it. An anonymous citizen, claiming to do his part and obey
the law, blah blah. Part of me was seething with rage over the
letter, the law, Krista’s carelessness—But I shoved it down because
that didn’t do any good, and I had plenty of pure freak-out to keep
my brain occupied anyway.