Still Waters (16 page)

Like I’d know what that was. “When will he be back?” I asked, but already knew the answer.

“Tomorrow.”

Of course.

I kicked the lockers. The substitute jumped. “Hey,” he said, faintly.

I turned and pressed my back against the cool metal. Tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Forced my breathing to slow.

The substitute edged away.

So that was it. I’d go to lunch, pull Michael aside, then quit. Get Dwight to remove the drugs. Glue the locks. Warn Clay and keep an eye on our backs until late enough in the day to get Janie, get the money, and run.

It was the best I could do.

I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Large tiles with zigzag scar patterns hung in a grid. My eyes tracked them, circled the gray bubble of a security camera cover. Tracked farther down the hall. Circled another bubble.

Then I had it.

Dwight may have backed me into a corner, but he’d left a weapon there. And now I knew it.

O
utside at the lunch tables, Michael listened to Beast tell a story. Indulgence on his face like a mask of formerly withheld parental approval. Beast was flushed, happiness spreading color up his neck.

Dwight rolled his shoulders as I walked up.

“I need to talk,” I said to Michael.

Beast froze, midsentence. Disappointment staining his face.

Michael stood to walk with me. I turned to Dwight. “You should hear this, too.”

Dwight’s expression changed as his brain caught up with the implications. His eyes daggered threats.

The three of us walked out, away from the building, stopping on the other side of a short stand of rangy pines.

“Dwight planted drugs in my locker. He jumped me in the bathroom this morning so I’d bruise him up. He says if I don’t leave the group, he’ll tell the principal I jumped him and about the drugs.”

Michael’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He turned on Dwight.

Dwight shook his head. “No. That’s not what happened. He did jump me.” He opened a hand at Michael. “He won’t be happy until he’s taken my place completely.”

Michael knocked Dwight’s hand aside. “Your place isn’t big enough to hold him.”

Dwight drew back as if he’d been slapped. He jabbed a finger at me. “You’ve just signed your arrest warrant. You think I’ll stop now?”

“Something you said this morning stuck with me. Funny how something can be so obvious, you don’t think of it, or even notice,” I said.

Dwight shook his head.

“Go ahead and report me, Dwight. You just knew I’d go to my locker, right? Well, I haven’t. Those security cameras you talked about? Yeah, they got us going into the bathroom. Bet they also got you going into my locker.”

Dwight’s jaw worked. A muscle flexed in his cheek.

Michael slapped my hand, then clasped it. He turned on Dwight. “This is what historians would call a rout. Right, Ice?”

Fierce joy surged into my veins, like power. Raw, bloody, and blazing hellfire. “I’m not going tonight if he is,” I said to Michael. “We can’t trust him.”

My fists throbbed.

“Ice, he’s not going to be anywhere near me.” Michael turned sharp eyes on Dwight. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t come near me or any of the others. You’re out.”

We left him there. Watching as we walked back to the tables—and the group he was no longer a part of.

The drugs were still in my locker. As long as I didn’t go there, I’d be fine.

And if Dwight came after me or Clay, I could handle it.

As lunch ended, Michael gestured for us to stay as other groups of kids jostled their way inside. Michael turned and stared pointedly at Dwight, still lingering in the background.

Dwight flinched like acid had been thrown in his face, but he hunched into himself and went inside.

“Dwight’s out,” Michael told the small group that remained huddled around the picnic table. “Ice, I’ll pick you up at the old gym at eleven. The rest of you talk to Cyndra—you’ll all be at my house by midnight. Where we’ll wait until the guard calls. Questions?”

T-Man shook his head with the certainty of a fighter cracking his knuckles. Beast’s eyes were wide-round like all he had were questions, but he didn’t know where to begin.

“Good,” Michael said. We filed inside as the tardy bell toned.

After school Clay had an academic club meeting, so I went home and got Janie. We grabbed dinner at the closest burger joint, and I walked her to Clay’s as the sky got dark.

At the door, she squeezed my hand. “Stay safe. This is it, right?”

“Yeah. Be thinking about where you want that bus to take us.” Trying not to think of Cyndra, of her smile, holding her, the soft pressure of her body against mine.

Janie squeezed me in a hug. “Florida?” Her voice lifted at the end like a balloon bobbing on a string.

She let me go before I could get uncomfortable.

It made me happy, though, in between the jagged pieces. Picturing Janie there. Sunshine and oranges and one of those stupid hats that the tourists all wear. Hell, maybe she’d relax enough to grow out her nails instead of chewing on them all the time.

“Okay,” I said. “I haven’t said anything to Clay yet.”

She nodded. “I’ll let you tell him. When you’re ready.”

I watched until she was inside, then I walked back to school. Once there, I slipped into the old gym and changed into a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt, and the hoodie. I lay down and threw an arm over my eyes.

• • •

Banging on the gym door woke me. I went out to Michael’s car. He drove silently, weaving past the gatehouse and up into the hills. We parked and then walked through his empty house. Michael didn’t call out to see if his mom or dad were home, didn’t creep in because it was so late and we might wake someone. Because he already knew they weren’t there.

Because they were always anywhere he wasn’t. Almost as if they knew he was dangerous—or just plain didn’t like him.

Cyndra, Beast, T-Man, and LaShonda sat in the downstairs bar, scattered around the room-long sofas, waiting. Energy and nerves for the night yet to come were charging the air and making everyone laugh a little too loud.

Mike-Lite and Ray-Ray weren’t there. And unless she was in the bathroom, Monique was missing, too. I cocked an eyebrow at Michael. “Three more down?” Couldn’t help the taunting note that edged into my voice.

He shrugged and brushed his palms together twice—like he was knocking dirt off. “We won’t even notice they’re gone.”

Ray-Ray and Mike-Lite had each other; exile wouldn’t hurt them. And as for Monique, always so eager to please, needing to be a part of things—that was about fear. The same fear that kept her away tonight.

Just as well.

Finally, Michael’s phone went off. He glanced at it and nodded.

“Yeah,” T-Man said, drawing it out. “Let’s have some fun.” LaShonda kissed him like he’d invented adrenaline.

The web of tension around Michael’s eyes eased. He held out a hand. T-Man slapped it.

We climbed the stairs and walked out to the four-car garage. Michael pressed a paddle, turning on a light and opening one of the bays. A battered black cargo van was incongruously parked next to a Lexus. The sliding door squealed as it opened.

Beast climbed in and settled on the floor. T-Man and LaShonda scooted to the back. Cyndra got in last. Michael gestured to the front seat, so I climbed in.

“Where’d you get the car?” LaShonda asked.

Michael started the engine and slowly pulled forward. “Bought it in cash. No registry. Got it off an illegal at the farmer’s market. It’s completely untraceable.”

I wondered how many people had seen him drive it up here—or if the security guard would remember it.

The black van eased down the driveway. Michael stopped at the Mustang to reach in and press the garage remote clipped to his visor.

At the road, the engine squealed when he turned. Michael’s hands drummed the wheel, eyes manic, mouth a hard line.

We drove down into the city.

W
e approached a medical conclave—sort of like a suburb of doctors’ and dentists’ offices, surrounded by dried, clear-cut scrubland. Each office had its own lot and driveway. They almost looked like houses in a subdivision, developed and built by the same soulless company.

Michael piloted us down the winding street. I knew we were at the right one when he tracked it with his eyes, head swiveling as we slowly drove past.

“No one’s around. No night cleaning crews. No security guards, no one,” Michael said. He pulled into the driveway, and then drove around back and parked by a short delivery ramp.

“Here.” He handed out black hoods. I pulled the stretchy fabric over my head. There were only eyeholes. I glanced behind me. LaShonda was making a face, like she didn’t want to muss her hair or makeup. She pulled the hood on, though.

Even though he was already wearing his hood, you could tell T-Man was smiling under the tight fabric. Beast looked like a hulking executioner in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Except his eyes were scared, not mean.

I couldn’t stop the laugh that choked out.

Michael’s eyes shot to me. Misinterpreted my laugh as excitement. He reached out and cuffed my arm. “Atta boy.” The mask muffled his voice a little. “Get in the spirit of the thing.”

“Don’t touch me.”

Beast glanced between us. His scared eyes crinkled in confusion.

T-Man scooted up, elbows on the backs of our seats. “Easy, Ice,” he said. “Easy.” Like he thought it was nerves.

“Let’s get it over with,” I said, feeling the skin of my neck drawing tight, even as adrenaline jangled in my veins.

Cyndra locked eyes with me.

“Fine,” Michael said. “We’ll go in there.” He nodded at the delivery door. “LaShonda, you’re the lookout on the front door. Cyndra, you’re back door. T-Man, Beast, you’re wrecking. Rip it up.”

Michael gestured to the back of the van, where a canvas tarp was folded. “Get whatever you need.”

Beast flipped the tarp off a few hatchets, picks, a crowbar, even a chain saw. There were cans of spray paint and a couple buckets of red paint.

Michael turned to me. “Ice, you find the surgical suite and dispensary. Grab all the drugs you can find.” He rummaged in the duffel and brought out a black backpack. Handed it to me.

“Ready?” his eyes swept the group huddled in the van. “All in. Trash the bastard.”

The back doors of the van opened with a shriek like a woman being stabbed. Michael and I piled out, slamming the doors behind us.

We hustled up to the back door. It was unlocked. I guessed we had Trent to thank for that. T-Man tore through first, smashing tinted camera bubbles as he ran down the hall. LaShonda followed, disappearing through a swinging door into the front waiting room. I shouldered the backpack and started opening doors.

All the doors on the right were little examining rooms like the one where Beast was already working. I hurried to each in turn, double-checking that they were empty.

I found some cabinets and drawers in the hallway. Pried them open with the crowbar and found some samples in little blister packs. Shoved all of it into the bag.

There was another private office complete with a massive desk. I didn’t even go in. After a janitor’s closet and another, lesser office, I found it.

The surgical suite.

Large silver lights hung in the middle of the space. There was a table for a patient to lie on and gleaming stainless steel trays on wheels. Suspended from the ceiling was a flat-screen monitor. A microscope under a cover stood to one side. There was a double sink with foot pedals, rolling cabinets. IV carts, tubes, sterile drapes. A portable X-ray machine. A defibrillator cart.

You could almost smell the money.

I went over to the rolling cabinets first. Immediately, I found vials of liquid and bottles of pills—some names I recognized from commercials or the street, sedatives, paralytics, antianxiety medicine, painkillers.

I pulled out more drawers, found more. They all went into the bag.

The crashes in the hall doubled. I went back to the door and glanced out. T-Man was ripping the framed art from the walls. He smashed the glass, picked up a hammer, and darted into the waiting room. As the door swung, I caught a glimpse of him taking aim at a television mounted on the wall.

Michael shoved me aside, barreling into the surgical suite. He kicked over the stainless steel rolling trays and jumped on them, warping them.

“What are you waiting for?” he yelled. He climbed onto the surgical table and yanked at the lights.

They fell with a crash. Their cords dangled.

Michael jumped off the table and ripped the monitor from its mount. He swung a mini-sledgehammer at the microscope. He shrieked at the empty room as he wrecked it. He didn’t even see me leave.

I walked into the hall. There were holes in the Sheetrock all the way down to where Cyndra kept watch.

I went to the front office. It was completely trashed, the counter broken and dangling from the wall in two pieces. Papers strewn on the floor. Broken glass from the reception window glittered across the carpet.

The waiting room was equally destroyed. Fish lay gasping on the ground, their aquarium glass, water, and gravel spilled across the sofa and floor. LaShonda ignored them, watching out the front windows.

My lungs squeezed.

T-Man lugged paint cans in through the back door, pushing past Cyndra.

I went back and forth, first helping Beast wreck the bathrooms, then helping T-Man slop paint onto the furniture, floors, and walls.

LaShonda’s scream pierced the sound of shattering porcelain. “Someone’s coming!”

I dropped the paint and ran up to the waiting room. My heels skidded on wet gravel and dead fish. I fell against the chair next to LaShonda.

Outside, headlights threaded through the medical park. The car passed under a streetlamp, and the crest on the door was briefly illuminated.

T-Man scooted around Michael and stood next to LaShonda. He caressed the back of her hooded head. “It’s okay, baby.”

Paranoia gnawed on my synapses. I went to the front door into the office, gave it a tug to make sure it was locked. My eyes snagged on the writing on the glass. The words were backward—meant to be read as you walked up to the door from the parking lot, not as you stood inside looking out.

“Stay calm,” Michael was telling the others. “He’ll drive away, whoever he is.”

My eyes tracked the words from right to left:
Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery and Dermatology Associates
. There were three doctors in the practice. Dr. Singh Patel, Dr. Sam Reaves, and Dr. Michael Springfield.

My brain felt like it was twisting, warping in my skull.

Dr. Michael Springfield, who named his only son after himself. Who was never home in his mountaintop mansion.

Plastic surgeons wouldn’t keep birth control medication in their offices. Cyndra and her stepdad had nothing to do with this. Michael had lied about all of it. Hadn’t said it was his own father’s practice we were planning to rob.

Did it matter?

I stalked to the window, glaring at Michael as the car got closer. It turned onto our street.

“We’re bailing,” I told him. “Now. Everyone, go to the van.”

The security guard’s car drew closer.

“Relax. It’s a rent-a-cop.” Michael didn’t even glance at me. “Maybe even Trent.”

“T-Man, LaShonda, Beast. Go to the van. Get Cyndra to start it,” I said. They scuttled out of the room.

“I’m not done here, Ice.” Michael turned cold eyes to me. His hand went to his waistband.

The security car turned into the office parking lot. Headlights swept the plate glass.

Michael and I dove for the floor.

The car parked and the driver’s door opened. The security guard passed in front of his car’s headlights, making them flicker in the window.

He was too tall to be Trent.

Michael swung the gun toward the door. I crouched like a racer, weight braced on my fingertips.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Let’s go!”

I eased around the bank of chairs toward the hall and the back door.

The security guard stopped at the door and gave it a tug. He turned on a flashlight and aimed it inside.

Crouched behind the row of chairs, Michael kept the gun trained on the door.

The flashlight glinted off the shattered glass of the television.

“What the—” The guard’s voice was muffled. He fumbled at his belt, pulled out keys.

A percussive blast ripped through the room. A second shot answered it. The door shattered. The security guard fell backward with a scream.

“Time to go,” Michael said. His eyes gleamed with jittery triumph. He lowered the gun and whirled.

We sprinted down the hall and crashed through the back door.

Outside, the van waited with Cyndra at the wheel.

Michael and I leapt in. He pulled the sliding door closed, straining against the acceleration as Cyndra spun the steering wheel.

She steadied the van, heading toward the driveway back to the main road.

“No!” Michael handed me the gun and wrenched the steering wheel hard. The tires screeched. The van skidded in a circle.

I fell against the door, half expecting it to shoot open.

Michael pointed out the windshield. “Over the scrub. They’ll be looking for us on the roads.”

Cyndra nodded and turned toward the curb. She took it too fast, bottoming out on the concrete.

“That way.” Michael pointed. “Head toward the radio tower. Turn the lights off. Don’t worry, it’s safe. I used to walk out here when I was a kid.”

Cyndra hit the switch. The lights went dark. The van bounced and lurched over the scrub.

The moon was bright enough to show a little of the ghost landscape outside the windshield.

I gripped the gun as the van lurched over hummocks and washouts.

After a few moments, Michael pointed again. Cyndra adjusted course, and the road suddenly smoothed to the whisper-jar of a dirt road.

“Access road for the tower,” Michael explained, shooting bright, junkie-with-a-fix eyes to the rest of us. He turned back to Cyndra. “Turn on the lights. Punch it.”

The lights blazed as Cyndra floored the accelerator. Pebbles pinged the side of the van.

I ejected the gun clip. Popped the slide and palmed the bullet in the barrel.

LaShonda watched with saucer eyes. T-Man nodded like he knew the first thing about guns.

We wound down the hill. The tires bit and spit rocks. At the base of the hill, a gate hung open where the pavement started.

Cyndra slowed and followed Michael’s directions. Everyone pulled their hoods and gloves off.

I kept my gloves on. Held the gun, clip, and bullet.

Michael directed Cyndra to a box store off the main road that bisected town. Parked in the lot were T-Man’s Lexus and Cyndra’s silver Mercedes.

T-Man whooped and held a hand out to Michael.

A worm, edged with razors, burrowed into my chest.

The cars were here. He’d brought the gun.

The lie about helping Cyndra, all to get me to be invested, somehow. When it was his own father’s practice he’d targeted all along. As if suspicion somehow
wouldn’t
focus on him, or his friends.

Or me.

The well-executed escape. Almost like he’d planned everything. Even getting interrupted. All so he could save us and get his adrenaline fix. Hero worship, adulation, and brain buzz in one great needle.

Me, the perfect fall guy.

And even though Michael didn’t know about it, now Janie and I couldn’t leave. Or if we did, it’d be a whole other proposition. Because it was one thing to leave town as nobodies. Something else entirely for me to disappear as a suspect in a crime.

And I never saw it coming. Idiot.

“Okay, Cyndra, you’ll take Beast and follow me in your car.” Michael turned to me. “Ice, you go with T-Man and LaShonda. I’m going to ditch the van and meet you back at my house.”

I shook my head. “This is where I get off.”

“What?” Cyndra’s voice reduced by the acid in mine.

I threw the clip at Michael. Then the gun. And the bullet.

“Fuck off, you psychotic bastard.” I got out of the car and then took off the gloves, shoving them in my pocket with the hood.

“Wait.” Michael jumped out and ran up behind me.

I whirled, hands up. “You going to shoot me, Michael? Is that next? What the hell was that?”

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

“Does your great plan involve me getting arrested for your little stunt tonight? Because I fail to see how that helps you with Cesare.”

Although, I could see how my arrest would help Michael, just not with Cesare. I was his safety if the cops figured it out. A get-out-of-jail-free card. The kid with the record pulling the heaviest weight.

“Calm down, Ice. No one’s getting arrested for anything. We got away clean.”

I bit off a curse at his idea of clean.

“You know what? I don’t care. I’m done,” I said.

“Finish the job, and you can be done.”

“Screw you. I’m done now.”

Michael crossed his arms high on his chest. “Go ahead. Ditch. Don’t get the rest of your pay.”

Rage arced through me like a lightning strike.

Michael saw it and stepped back. Then he took another step back. “They were blanks, Ice. Blanks. No one got hurt. No one ever gets hurt.”

The shattering glass. The fallen guard. Blanks my ass.

He got back in the van. After a moment, Cyndra and the others got out. Michael screeched the tires as he drove the van away.

Beast, LaShonda, and T-Man got in T-Man’s car and trailed the van out of the lot. Cyndra leaned against her car, watching me.

After a few minutes, pulled like she was magnetic north, I went to her. She held out a roll of bills. “He said to give you this.”

Her crimson-tipped fingers hung there, holding the money.

The razor-worm writhed in my gut. I took the money.

“I’m to drive you where you want.”

I got in the car and turned down her unspoken invitation. “Take me to the school.”