The Brothers (16 page)

“We had swimming. And since it was required, that took all the fun out of it.”

Gabe studied my face. “I’ve never learned to swim.”

I smile at him. “Remind me to teach you some time.”

His smile quirks up. “This way.”

Next to the tennis courts is a large, square building. Gabe pulls open a heavy door and leads me into the dim interior. High windows, whistling with the breeze, let in enough light to see. We walk down a short hallway and then he pulls open another door.

A high-ceilinged room holds rows and rows of bicycles. Wheels, spokes, and handlebars spread like a metal sea everywhere you look. Off to one side, spare parts are lined in rows on the floor—seats, tires, chains, and rubber tubes. A large table displays a bike on its side. It’s clear someone’s been working on these bikes, tinkering, and piecing them back together. A few that have been remodeled and the most road ready are parked beside the workbench.

Walking over, I run my hand along a taut leather seat. I ring a bell screwed onto a blue bike’s handlebars. “I’ve never seen so many in such good condition.”

Gabe straddles a red bike with lots of gears. “College students were bikers, so there were a lot lying around. And Tommy’s a bit of a collector. He loves tinkering. Luckily, here we still have roads that aren’t broken all to hell.” Gabe squeezes the black contraption on his handlebars. “Pick out any one you like.”

“I don’t even know how to ride.” I run my fingers down a sparkly silver bike with black trim.

Gabe steps off his bike and comes over. He looks over the bikes, rubbing his chin as he thinks. “This one,” he says, stopping in front of a light blue bike with a white seat and far too many gears. “This bike screams ‘Janine.’”

I look at the bike and at him. “It’s beautiful,” I say, gripping the handlebars, “but I still don’t know how to ride.”

Gabe cocks his head coyly. “I’ll teach you to ride and later you can teach me to swim.”

“Is there a pool?” I ask, looking around the cavernous space.

“Nuh-uh,” he says shaking his head. “It’ll be
later
later.”

I laugh. After everything I’ve been through with Houghtson, the abduction, and Bell getting stabbed, part of me needs this fun. When’s the last time I had fun? With Sabrina back in the hospital? It’s hard to remember. “Okay, I give up. Teach me to ride.”

He grabs my bike and wheels it toward the door. “That’s a girl. No sense in fighting me,” he says. “I always get my way.”

But riding a bike isn’t as easy as it seems. Staying upright while pedaling and steering is more complicated than childbirth. I fall and Gabe has to catch me over and over. But he’s patient and I keep trying. Pretty soon, I’m pedaling on my own. He pedals up beside me, the breeze pushing back his hair.

“Fun, right?” he asks.

I look over at him, wobble, and look back to the road. “Um, yeah.”

He laughs. “Just wait until I show you how to switch gears.”

I gawk.

He laughs again. “Come on.”

He takes the lead, pedaling through the parking lot and toward the main road. I follow, but that feeling of trepidation builds. We’re out in the open, in broad daylight. And I’m still a girl and wanted by the Breeders as well as pretty much everyone in the world. I pump hard with my legs to catch up to him.

“Do you think we should be out in the open?” I shout over the wind.

He leans back on his seat and coasts down the two-lane highway. “Why?”

I glance at the shops and businesses around us. “What if someone see me?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll just tell them you’re a visiting dignitary from Dubai.”

When I frown, he shrugs. “We’ll tell them you belong to Prentice. If you’re with me, they’ll believe it.”

“I belong to Prentice?” I ask, bouncing over a crack in the pavement and wobbling again.

Gabe nods. “Nobody steals from Prentice.”

“Why?” I ask. “What does he do?”

Gabe pedals, his long legs flashing up and down. “That restaurant right there used to have the best Mexican food in the United States. Now it has the biggest rat colonies.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

But I clam up as we ride down tighter streets with tall buildings on either side. Dark windows watch me. Alleyways seem to grow longer and darker the deeper in we bike. People could be hiding anywhere.

“Gabe, I think we should go back.”

But he doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. He pedals faster until I’m pumping and sweating and panting. He never showed me how to change gears, and I don’t know if that would help, but my legs burn and my butt is starting to ache. And, God, what am I doing out here anyway?

Gabe wheels around a corner at breakneck speed.

“Wait!” I call, but he’s gone. I try to keep up, but my heart is thudding so fast. I just need a break. Just a small break. I squeeze the handlebar brake like he showed me.

The brake locks too fast. The bike skids, tires squealing. My body lurches forward. I fly through the air. The pavement slams into my body.

I lie on the concrete, a bundle of hurts sprouting up from far too many places. My knee, my ankle, my shoulder, and my neck all throb. How much damage have I done? And how long until Gabe realizes I’ve fallen and circles back? I glance at the abandoned buildings all around me. So dark. So creepy.

I sit up, and the pain in my neck and shoulder doubles. Breathing deeply for a moment, I’m able to open my eyes. My pants are torn and blood seeps from cuts on my knee. Nothing looks broken. The bike doesn’t seem so lucky. The chain has fallen off the gear, and since I know nothing about bikes, there’s no way I can fix it. I’ll have to walk if Gabe doesn’t come—

A noise from a dark building behind me stops me cold. I freeze.

Something crunches. I whip toward the sound, ears straining. Is someone there?

Another noise. I stand, my heart thumping.

Three figures—three
men
—step out of the darkness.

Run!
my brain urges, but I’m frozen. The men are huge. One holds a long object in his hand. A bat? A crowbar?

I run, but my ankle screams with pain at each step. I limp forward as fast as I can.

They’ll kill me. They’ll brain me senseless.
I try not to cry, but, oh god, I’m so afraid. Their footsteps thunder after me, gaining ground by the minute.

A hand grabs my arm. I yank away, but another grabs my injured shoulder. I cry out, from pain or terror.

They whirl me around. Three men with scarred faces, missing teeth, eye patches. They’ve been cut and sown together like rag dolls with missing eyes and stitched-up scars. They leer at me like they’ve trapped something delicious they want to eat.

“Let me go!” I struggle, but it’s useless. The two men who hold me laugh as the third steps up.

“Lookie, lookie, caught us a cookie. We haven’t catched a bender in a
long
time,” the leader says. He’s as mutilated as the first two and when he smiles, he shows off empty gums. No wonder he talks so funny. He has both his eyes, unlike one of his crew, but an ear is missing. And as he brushes his salt-and-pepper beard with his hand, his middle finger is just a nub.

“Let me go,” I shout. “You have no right!”

He guffaws, his little belly rippling. “In case you’ve not been educatified, I’m Tarrish, local arm of the law. These are my deputies, Nobel and Abel.” He points to each, and they offer me dirty smiles. I can see now they’re brothers, but they have been cut up so much it mars their similarities.

“M’dear, you’re trespassing in the Brown District.
My
district.” He tips his dirty hat at me. “Anyone who trespasses suffers the consequences. Unless, of course, you gots a pass from Prentice.”

“Prentice,” I say, latching on the name. “I know Prentice. Or, my friend does. He just went around the corner. If we hurry, we can catch him.”

Tarrish rubs a dirty finger along his empty gums and then smacks them together. “‘Scuse our rudeness, but all the rubes say they know Prentice, but don’t nobody do.” He lifts an eyebrow. “So unless you gots a pass…”

I lower my eyes. “No.”

“Very well!” he shouts, gleeful again. “We has us another contestant! Come along, boys.”

Nobel and Abel grip an arm each and march me along. I drag my feet, beg, plead, but they drag me through the streets at a fast clip. When I stumble, they haul me upright and keep going. When I beg, they go faster. Tarrish dances ahead, whistling a merry tune.

I’m going to die and this lunatic will be the last person I see.

My eyes scan the streets and alleys for Gabe. Where is he? Did someone grab him? I never should have left Bell. I’ll never see her again now. My heart clenches.

They pull me up to a large building, a warehouse or department store gone to rot. Tarrish whips open a door and the twins pull me through. Inside, it smells like rot and dust and something else human that I don’t like. Torches burn in metal hooks on the wall, giving the hallway an eerie feeling. Far inside the building, I hear voices. Male voices.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice shrill. “Tell me what’s going on!”

The two men ignore me, but Tarrish walks backwards in front of me, smiling wide. “A game. And now we have us a new contender. We just lost our last one, but you’ll do fine.” His eyes look me up and down. Suddenly, I realize he means me.

“
What
? What game? What are you talking about?”

Tarrish waggles his eyebrows.

Two double doors hum as the voices behind grow louder.

“Make us proud, little one, and hopefully we won’t have to cut ya.” He winks at me.

“Cut me?” I stagger as they haul me forward. “Please, just let me talk to Prentice.”

But they can’t hear me. Or choose not to. Tarrish pushes open the doors, and light and sound flood in. The brothers carry me through.

When my eyes adjust, I look around the room. It’s a cavernous space, echoing with the men’s voices. I can’t tell how many or what they look like because two tall spotlights shoot harsh beams in the center, making it impossible to see the crowd. The spotlights center on a small card table and two folding chairs. In one chair, an old man in threadbare clothes openly weeps as he stares at a worn spot on the card table.

“Who is that?” I ask. “What’s he got to do with me?”

The brothers walk me into the circle of light and plop me in the chair across from the old man. He barely looks up at me. His wrinkled face is awash with so much terror I can’t take it. I lurch up from my chair. Abel clamps a hand on my shoulder and shoves me down so hard my aching neck twangs. I cry out.

Tarrish comes over and eyes me. “Careful with our contestant. If he’s broke, he won’t play well.”

“Play
what
well?” I nearly scream. But Tarrish doesn’t answer me. He turns to the crowd and holds up his hands. The room quiets.

“Gentlemen and those folk not so gentle, don’t leave yet.” The crowd turns. “We’re in luck. We found us a new contender. You’ll have five minutes to finish placing your bets. As you can see, we have two prime contestants this afternoon.”

Someone in the crowd boos. There’s a murmur of complaint. Tarrish holds up his hands again. “Now, I know they look like half-strangled chickens, but this contest isn’t for the tough. It’s for the clever.” He taps on the side of his head. “And Prentice says the gin’s half price until the bets are placed.”

Another boo from the crowd, but Tarrish waves it away. “Bah. Just place your goddamned bets.”

He walks into the darkness. The roar of the crowd picks up around me. Men step forward to peer into my face as if sizing me up. Then they trade slips of paper. While they’re distracted, I lean toward the old man.

“What’s going to happen?” I ask him.

He looks up at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen and starts wailing again.

Soon, Tarrish comes back, stuffing slips in his pocket. He winks at me. “Win this and I’ll treat you to supper. Got half a horse I been meaning to eat.” When I make a horrified face, he laughs. “Let the game begin!”

Noble and Abel walk over and set an object in the middle of the table. It’s a grid of cylindrical rods inserted through each other to form a sort of boxlike cage. Then the men place stacks of large and small rods in front of the old man and me.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask, looking between the brothers and Tarrish.

“Set the clock!” Tarrish yells.

In the dark, a set of red numbers flash to life: 5:00.

“Remember, contestants, if neither of you solve the puzzle in the five-minute time limit, both will face the hallway. No bets will be honored.”

Another round of boos from the crowd.

“On your mark, get set,” Tarrish says. He leans in to me. “You better win,” he whispers, all play gone from his voice. “Or I’ll see you in the hallway.”

A cold chill runs down my spine. His meaning is clear. If I don’t win, he’ll kill me.

“Go!” he shouts.

Go at what? I look at the rods in front of me and at the model in the center. I have no idea what to do. The old man jumps at Tarrish’s signal and starts jamming rods together with trembling fingers.

I pick up two rods.

“Go!” Tarrish whispers angrily. He jabs my shoulder.

Someone shouts a protest. Tarrish’s towering shadow leaves me, but the fear doesn’t. My fingers shake so much I can’t get the small rod into the hole on the larger rod.

Across from me, the old man is sticking rods in at random. Then again, maybe he knows the secret. I haven’t done a thing. Panic is making me stupid. I can’t think.

Men yell. Feet stamp. My heart pounds.

Where is Gabe? I never should’ve come here.

My eyes find the ticking clock: 4:25, 4:24, 4:23.

I grope for the rods and start matching them up. There are holes on both, big and small. So the littler rods go in the bigger rods, but where? Which holes? I reach for the example in the middle. Abel steps forward and swats my hand away. “No touching,” he says with a glare.

I draw my hand back, but study the structure with my eyes. The rods intersect to form triangles—

Someone staggers into our light. A drunk, barely on his feet, bangs into the table, sending our rods rolling off. He shouts in the old man’s face, yelling and pointing, until he’s dragged away. I scoop up as many rods as I can find from the floor. I look around for Tarrish, and he steps into the light. He’ll stop the contest for sure.