Pretty Wanted (17 page)

“Hmph,” I said out loud. We’d see about that last part, maybe.

Political career

Though he was involved in social causes for all of his adult life, David Granger’s official career in politics began in 1999, at age thirty-nine, when he was elected to the St. Louis Board of Aldermen. Shortly afterward, in 2000, he was elected to the Missouri House of Representatives and ran unopposed for reelection in 2004. In 2008, he was elected to the State Senate, where he served as chair of the Jobs, Economic Development, and Local Government committee and as vice chair of the Commerce, Consumer Protection, Energy, and the Environment Committee, where he wrote legislation to keep jobs in Missouri, protect citizens from environmental threats, and strengthen consumer and workers rights.

More facts. But in the end, none of this was actually all that helpful. So he was a public figure—there was lots of documentation of what he’d done all these years, but there was no suggestion of any illegal activities or wrongdoings. There was also, I noticed, no mention of his activism before he went into politics, and no mention of the Equal Minority or casinos.

On the screen, at least, he seemed like a great guy. It’s what everyone seemed to think about him, wasn’t it? But maybe that in and of itself was suspicious.

Something else was bothering me. I needed to figure out the business of the hit-and-run and its connection to the robbery. I mapped the addresses of both locations, but they were on opposite sides of town.

“Got it,” Aidan said, calling me out of my screen-inflicted daze. “The car. It was a rental. I found it registered under another name. S. Brightman.”

S. Brightman. Who was that? “It has to be someone who works with Chet, right?”

“I have no idea. But there’s an address here.” He said no more, but I could read his meaning in the arch of his eyebrows:
only one way to find out
.

Back in the room, Tre was still asleep. “Come on. When he wakes up he’s going to put you on the first bus back,” Aidan goaded me, appealing to my Sly Fox side. “You’re dying to know, aren’t you?”

I hated to leave Tre like this, but Aidan was winning this debate. We already had an address. All we had to do was show up there and stake out the place. No one would even have to see us. And Awake Tre would not allow for our plan.

“Okay,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for betraying Tre. The guy was too cautious, I told myself. We would never find out anything if we did things his way. Some liberties needed to be taken.

And Tre would certainly not approve of what we did next. Eighteen minutes later, we were standing across the street from the Four Seasons Hotel, watching the Jaguars and Mercedes pull in under the overhang. One by one, the vest-wearing valet attendants got into the cars and pulled around the block to an indoor parking garage. Then they came back and hung the keys on a board in the office.

“Just give me the word and I’ll steal one of those keys,” Aidan said.

I stared into the distance, squinting at a blue BMW as it pulled away from the curb. “No. Too risky. I’m going to walk up to that office and tell him I need to get into my car. I left something in there.”

“But you won’t have a ticket.”

“I’ll act entitled.” I smiled. “I’ve seen enough Paradise Valley people do it.”

Aidan looked away, and I could tell my joke stung him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean you.”

“You didn’t?” Anger flashed in his eyes—a tiny flame, and then it was gone. I was reminded that we were still on shaky ground.

“I was
kidding
.”

“Whatever.” He shook his head. “What do you want me to do?”

“Wait for me on the third level of the garage. I’ll meet you inside and we’ll get the car together.” I couldn’t drive—we’d established that long ago, so we needed him behind the wheel to pull off the actual getaway.

“Are you sure that will work?”

My heart quickened. We’d stolen cars before, a motorcycle, even. “I’m sure. It’s easier this way. And we’re not destroying property. They won’t suspect anything for hours. We’ll borrow the car and leave it where it can easily be found. You do want to find this guy, don’t you?”

Aidan pressed his lips together in affirmation.

“All right, then. Do it.”

I waited across the street as Aidan went into the lobby, acting like a guest of the hotel, taking his backpack with him. We’d been in the habit of taking it everywhere with us, ever since I lost my bag in California. I had my mom’s date book in my jacket pocket—I was afraid to lose sight of it even for a minute. I even still had that stupid museum tag. I knew I could have thrown it out, but since I’d come this far with it, I wondered if maybe I should hold on to it a little while longer. I was well aware that I’d become a total flake, superstitious about everything.

In the meantime, I pulled on the fancy Barton Perreira sunglasses Aidan had stolen for me in California and smoothed my hair back before I approached the valet stand with all of the rich-bitch, Kellie-esque swagger I could muster. “I seem to have left my phone in my mom’s car. Can you tell me where you parked it?”

The attendant, a bearded, potbellied man in a black uniform, looked up. “Which one was it, ma’am?”

“A gold Lexus? 2011?”

He nodded. “Do you have your ticket?”

“No,” I said, trying not to panic, trying to sound official. “My mom lost it. But I’m in a bit of a hurry. She said you would be able to help me, that your job was taking care of the customers and that at the Four Seasons we could only expect the best treatment.” I gave him a smile, playing it up.

The last line felt a little jerky but I was trying to cover my butt. It didn’t even matter, though. The guy barely hesitated. He turned his back to me while he scanned over the keys on his pegboard.

As I stood there, I saw Aidan in my peripheral vision. He had a newspaper under his arm and a coffee (nice touches, I had to admit), as he headed out of the lobby and walked toward the garage.

“Here,” the valet said, handing me a plastic fob. “You’re on five C. Right over there through those doors.”

Perfecto. Sometimes all you had to do was ask.

I found Aidan waiting and we rode up to the fifth level. The Lexus was easy to find. It was gorgeous, a four-door model, and the morning light streaming through the garage windows hit the contours of its chassis like honey pouring over a spoon. I handed him the key, and Aidan slid behind the wheel.

“It’s a hybrid,” he said, turning on the engine.

“Maybe that’s good karma for us.” If we were stealing, at least we could be mindful about our carbon impact.

“How’d it go?” he asked as I buckled in and admired the smooth and nice-smelling interior.

“I was kind of a brat, and it worked.”

“So long as you’re back to your non-brat self now,” he said.

“I don’t know. This car is pretty sweet. It could give a girl ideas.”

He leaned over to kiss me and I kissed him back, feeling his stubble burn against my lips in the best possible way. This was the happiest we’d been in days.

The truth was, we both got that high when we stole something. It was almost like we brought out the need to steal in each other. A warning bell sounded in the back of my head. Was this really the best basis for a relationship? It didn’t matter, I told myself. Not if we got along and cared about each other. Or it shouldn’t.

I tried to focus on the car. It was a quality get, even for us. In the meantime, I’d have to add it to our IOU list.

He pulled out of the garage.

“Make a left here, and merge,” I said, consulting the directions.

We hit the highway and went north for a few miles. It felt good to be moving fast in the car, the sky whirring past us out the windows. Aidan turned on the radio, and it reminded me of the days he and I spent on the road, fighting over what station to listen to in between breaking into houses, dodging cops, and eating convenience-store snacks. Everything was new then. It was the first time I’d been on a road trip without Leslie. At the time, I had been terrified for her life, but I’d had no idea what lay ahead, the search I’d be on now.

Well, the me of a couple weeks ago was a completely different person—that was for sure. I looked over at Aidan whose eyes were trained on the road ahead of him. I wondered how he had changed.

“Get off on Broadway and continue on Bellefontaine Road,” I instructed.

We pulled into a quiet-looking, middle-class neighborhood with small, boxy, one-story homes.

“Make a right on Criterion,” I said.

The Lexus pivoted onto a side street where the houses were close together and the driveways were short. There were David Granger signs on some of the lawns, but that didn’t mean much, because there were David Granger signs all over the whole city.

“This is it,” I said. “Number 1305.”

The house was as nondescript as the others around it, with gray vinyl siding and a fat, shapeless hedge standing guard out front.

“Park in the cul-de-sac.” I pointed to the end of the block where we could stake out the house. “I want to see if anyone comes in or out.”

So we waited. And waited. Aidan switched on the seat warmers, taking full advantage of the Lexus’s luxury features. But we didn’t dare turn on the radio, in case we’d miss hearing something important.

It didn’t matter. Nothing was happening. No one was coming in or out. After a half hour or so, I started to wonder if this stakeout was really such a good idea. Maybe no one even lived here. Maybe it was a fake name and a fake address. S. Brightman? It sounded fake. What I thought was going to be a quick side mission was turning into an all-day event.

And Tre was undoubtedly awake by now, wondering where we were. When I thought of him, I felt my stomach turn with shame. We shouldn’t have left him. What was I thinking?

“I don’t know about this,” I said out loud. “Not much to see.”

“Be patient.”

“That never was my strong suit,” I said.

“No kidding. Let’s give it another twenty minutes, okay?”

The next twenty minutes passed with geological speed, so slow that I half expected to be fossilized.

Just when I was going to suggest we head back, a red Pontiac came into view, rolling down the street. It pulled into the driveway and parked. We watched as a man got out of the car, slamming the door behind him and jogged toward the front walkway.

“That’s him,” Aidan said.

But it wasn’t Chet. It was Bailey. We hadn’t seen him since Oregon, and he was better dressed now, in a sweater and jeans, but it was him all the same. “Does this mean he’s S. Brightman?”

“Not necessarily,” Aidan said. “He may be visiting whoever rented the Tahoe.”

Bailey disappeared inside the house and we looked at each other. I was afraid to breathe too much. What was he doing in there?

In a few minutes, he came out, wearing a black jacket on top of his sweater. He locked the front door and got back into the car.

“Follow him,” I said.

We got right back on the highway again, headed for the city. The Pontiac changed lanes a few times but Aidan maintained a respectably discreet distance without ever losing sight of it.

“Where’s he going?”

“Looks like he’s headed for the waterfront,” Aidan said, braking slightly as a truck in front of him slowed down.

That’s where our motel was. A chill ran through me. Was he coming for us, not knowing we were behind him? Did he know we were in town? It wouldn’t be unheard of. They’d found us in Arizona, and Oregon, too. I could see the triangle of Bailey’s elbow hanging out the window, flicking ash from a cigarette. The guy gave me the creeps. Or was he leading us into a trap?

“Don’t slow down,” I said.

“I have to. Unless you want us crashing into that truck. Please, Willa, don’t tell me how to drive, okay? We’ve already established that this is my area of expertise and you suck at motor vehicle operation.”

I couldn’t exactly argue there. The Pontiac exited the highway, but instead of heading toward our motel, it turned to cross a bridge.

“East St. Louis,” I read the sign. “Now we’re heading into Illinois. What are we doing over here?”

It was just like in Tahoe, when we crossed the state line from California to Nevada without intending to. And here, too, there were casinos. Riverboat casinos. Were these the ones my mom was protesting? I could see their lit-up shapes on the water to my left. The sun was starting to set, tucking behind the buildings of the city, but these ships were blazing like fireworks.

“Maybe he’s planning to play a few hands of blackjack,” I said.

Bailey parked the Pontiac in a public lot. Lo and behold, we watched as he walked several blocks toward the entrance of a boat with the name
Lady Luck
, a wide, three-deck model of an old-fashioned steamer.

“Then we’re going in, too.” Aidan pulled up at the valet station in front of the casino.

“Are you trying to be funny?” I asked.

“There’s no point in parking as far away as he did when time is of the essence. Besides, it’s free until four.” He pointed at the sign.

“You do realize the irony of this, don’t you? Valet to valet?”

“Just keep an eye on him,” he said as he handed the (stolen) key to the attendant.

Bailey was already inside. At the door, a man in a suit was checking IDs from every visitor. All of them, I noticed, were dressed to the nines.

Aidan and I exchanged glances. We didn’t have IDs. But I knew what we had to do. Same as earlier. Make up stuff. “Bring the bag,” I said. “We should probably change into something nicer once we’re in there.”

“That’s not going to help us get in, though.”

“I’m working on that,” I said.

“All right.” He grinned, still enjoying the adventure. We walked up the pier leading up to the entrance.

I took a deep breath when it was our turn. Honesty, or semi-honesty, was the best policy here. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “We’re obviously underage.”

He looked up at us, bushy brows lifted. He had salt-and-pepper hair, and a name tag pinned to his jacket that said
SIMEON
. “Looks like it.”

“But our dad is in there.” My eyes made a grim appeal. Sad, abandoned girl-face. It wasn’t such a stretch, really. All I had to do was think of my own family, or lack thereof. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours. Please. We promised our mom we would bring him home.”