The Drowning Game (11 page)

“I had to, Dekker!” She sobbed and wailed. “I can't even buy food!”

“Maybe you could if you didn't spend all your money on drugs.” He stood. “We're out of here.”

“Don't go!” she cried, trying to stand. “I'm sorry! I had to! I need that reward money!” She snatched at Dekker, who shoved her away, and she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. “Owww! Ow! Ow! You have to wait here, Dekker! You have to wait here!”

Dekker pulled me out of the apartment and through the house's front door. I didn't ask any questions, just followed him.

“We need to get to the truck as fast as we can,” he said. “We've got to stay out of the light. You see a car coming, you get in the bushes.”

I nodded.

“We're not going to run, though.”

We walked down the sidewalk, on full alert.

“I should have thrown you out of my truck when I had the chance,” Dekker said.

A car was coming our way driving slowly and Dekker stopped and watched for a moment before he said, “Bushes.”

We got behind a hedge that bordered a house's yard as the car drove slowly past. Once it was out of sight, we began to rise.

“Don't move.” An old man stood in the doorway of the house, aiming a shotgun at Dekker's head.

We both raised our hands.

“I've already called the police. They're on their way. You need to stay right where you are.” The old man's voice was shaky and frightened.

“Sir,” Dekker said, “we stepped behind your hedge to—­”

“I know what you were going to do, you were going to break into my house. I'm sick to death of you kids breaking into my house. You stay right where you are until the cops—­lookee there! Here they come now.” The old man's face fell as they drove right on past, red and blue lights flashing. He came down the stairs, watching them go.

Dekker stood frozen with his hands up and eyes wide, and I could see that he would be no help whatsoever. We didn't have much time. My terror of cops, pounded into my skull by Dad, pumped up my adrenaline.

I took advantage of the old man's divided attention and, when he got close enough, bumped the shotgun barrels upward with the heels of my hands then yanked the gun away from him and tossed it into the bushes. While he was still frozen in shock, I pressed my advantage and twisted his hand behind his back, incapacitating him.

“We're going to be on our way now,” I whispered to him.

He grunted. I released him and he fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder.

“Run,” I said to Dekker. I couldn't see his face in the darkness but he turned and did as I told him. I took off too, jogging next to him. We were about a half block away from the truck when another police car turned the corner and Dekker pulled me behind a large oak tree in front of a dark house. The police car was driving in the direction of Ashley's apartment, and from where we squatted we could see it double parking on the street.

We went on running. Just as we reached the truck and Dekker opened his door, another cop car drove by, lighting us up. We both froze as it slowed near us. But then the car moved on. Dekker got in, reached over and unlocked my door. I got in and buckled my seat belt. Dekker tried to get the key in the ignition but his hands were shaking so hard he couldn't do it. I took the key from him, stuck it in and cranked it.

“Take it easy,” I said.

I looked at my own hand and saw that it was steady. This surprised me, but it shouldn't have. My training had kicked in. Not only that, but I was outside of my house, out in the world, living. I was exhilarated in a way I'd never felt before.

He nodded at me in the dark and pulled out onto the street. I looked right and left, behind and in front of us, over and over. We came to an intersection, and Dekker got in the left-­turn lane.

A car pulled up beside us. I started to turn my head when Dekker said, “Don't. They're looking at you.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

“I can't tell if they're just checking you out or . . . oh, shit. Guy's got a cell phone. He's trying to take a picture—­”

I turned then and, sure enough, the guy snapped a photo.

Even though we had a red light, Dekker gunned it into the intersection, narrowly missing a white SUV. Outside a convenience store across the street, a cop jumped into his driver's seat and flipped on his cherry lights and siren.

“Dekker! What are you doing? There was a—­”

“Shut up,” he said. “I'm not talking to you. Just keep your mouth shut.”

He steered through the sparse traffic. I faced backward, watching for the police car to make it through the intersection.

“Turn now,” I said, “before he gets out to where he can see us.”

“There's nowhere to—­”

“Turn!”

He hooked a hard right into an alley, his tires kicking dust from the rough, hard-­packed dirt.

The siren grew louder.

“Don't stop,” I shouted as we neared the cross street.

His head hunched into his shoulders and he hit the street without slowing, bouncing up over the dip and into the next alley. Suddenly, a car backed out perpendicular to us, and Dekker jammed on the brakes.

I looked back over my shoulder and saw the blur of red and blue cherry lights whiz by.

“Back out,” I said.

“Quit telling me what to—­”

“Do it!”

With a furious look, he complied before throwing the truck into first gear and stomping on the accelerator.

“We have to get rid of this truck,” I said.

“I'm not getting rid of my truck,” he said, wiping sweat off his forehead and weaving around the few slow-­moving vehicles in front of us. The traffic signal ahead turned yellow and he slowed.

“Run it! Go!”

He did.

 

Chapter 14

T
HE STEERING WHEEL
was slick with sweat for the second time that day, and I could no longer tell which direction the sirens were going or how close they were. I couldn't believe I'd run red lights and evaded police. I'd known guys in high school who were into that sort of thing, but I wasn't one of them. And it was all because of this girl. I should have taken her money, headed straight back to Saw Pole and never given her a second thought. I cursed my softheartedness and, yes, my growing attraction to her.

Yet, at the same time, I couldn't help but think that teaming up with a fuck-­up like me would spell certain doom for her. I was a shit magnet, and she would be better off without me, in every possible way. But she was stuck with me—­for now anyway.

We had to get out of town. If we could get to US 40, which I hoped was just a ways up ahead, we might be able to get away. I hoped the cops would concentrate their search on the interstate instead of the little two-­lane highway.

As soon as I thought I could trust my voice, I said, “Fucking Ashley. She was over at the bar, and this guy comes up to her and says, ‘Hey, isn't that the girl and guy you came in with?' Pointing at the TV. Ashley sees a news bulletin.” I shook my head. “Dooley must have filed a police report that says you robbed his office, and I'm your accomplice.”

Petty didn't say anything.

“You like that? I'm your accomplice. Your
accomplice
. Who you threatened with a gun.”

Petty continued looking out the window silently.

“The report said your
fiancé
, Randy King, is
desperate
to get you back. So now there's a statewide bulletin out for us.”

“Just drop me off on the side of the road,” she said. “Then you can—­”

“Then I can what? Take the rap for what you did? That is not going to happen.”

“No, you can go back to Saw Pole and explain that—­”

“Oh, yeah. They're totally going to listen to me,” I said, my voice rising. The pounding in my head threatened to break it open, and I lost all control of myself, no longer caring if I hurt her feelings. “When Dooley and Randy stopped me on the road this afternoon, you know what they said? That you're retarded. That's right. That's what they said. Or autistic, or something. And that you're disturbed and deranged.”

She turned her face to me, her lips parted.

I was sorry I'd said that, even as pissed off at her as I was. I didn't believe she was retarded—­not mentally, anyway.

She turned back to the window. “Just take me to a bus station.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? We can't go to an exit point like that. They'll be waiting for us.”

“But I have to get to . . .” She trailed off.

We drove in silence for a long while after that. There were few cars out on the two-­lane. It was a moonless, dark night, with no sight beyond the headlights' beams. I kept wondering why in the world Randy King and Keith Dooley were so hell-­bent on finding Petty.

Finally, I couldn't contain myself anymore.

“Petty?” I said. “What is going on? Why is all this shit happening? Will you please tell me?”

She stared out her window at the dark. “Yes. I'll tell you.”

“T
HAT CAN'T BE
legal,” Dekker said after I'd finished explaining about Dad's will, Randy King, the trust, the photo of my mom.

“You'd think not,” I said. “But apparently if you put your money in a trust, you can attach any conditions to it you want. I have thirty days to marry him, but obviously he doesn't want to wait. That million dollars is burning a hole in his pocket.”

“Creepy,” Dekker said, shuddering.

“Where are we going?”

“We can't go back to Saw Pole.”

“I didn't mean to get you in any trouble.”

“You did, Petty.”

“Nobody forced you to come back to the bus station,” I said. “You did that all on your own.”

“Because I'm a fucking idiot!” He smacked the steering wheel. “I should take you to the cops and go home, but—­”

“You forget I have a gun,” I said.

“What I was going to say,” he said, irritated, “is that I can't do it because this deal with Randy King is sketchy as hell. He hit you, didn't he?”

“And he pepper-­sprayed my dogs,” I said. I didn't mention how he'd grabbed my privates. It was too humiliating.

“I think we need to find you a real lawyer. The only thing to do is call my uncle in Wamego.”

“Is he a lawyer?”

Dekker snorted. “No,” he said. “He is definitely not a lawyer.”

“Then why—­”

“Let's say he's a guy who knows how to get out of trouble.”

“I'm not sure I'd like to get to know any more of your friends,” I said.

“He's my uncle, and as an added bonus, he's not a meth addict. But out of all the ­people I've ever known, he is the most trustworthy. He's my mom's younger brother. Her favorite sibling. I was named for him.”

“You said his name was Curt,” I said.

“Right. Curt Dekker. Mom's maiden name was Dekker. When she died—­”

“Your mom's dead too?” I said, before I thought it through.

“When I was in junior high. Cancer.”

“Cancer?” I said. “Your mom died of cancer and you smoke?”

He stiffened. “It wasn't lung cancer. It was pancreatic.”

“Still,” I said.

“Anyway,” Dekker said. “My dad left us when I was in grade school, and then when Mom died, Uncle Curt took me in. It was probably the best summer of my life. We hunted arrowheads on his land and went to Echo Cliffs and Science City—­he's the one who got me interested in geology.”

“Geology?” I said.

“Yeah. That's what I was going to college for, thanks to him. After that summer I went to live in town with my dad's mom, my Oma, who you met at the dump, because I wanted to go to high school with my friends.”

A car accelerated around us.

He looked down at the dashboard. “Ah, shit,” he said. “I need gas.”

“We can't stop,” I said, my uneasiness making me alert. “We'll be recognized.”

“If we don't, we'll run out of gas.”

“Keep going,” I said. “Don't you dare stop.”

His enraged face appeared demonic in the light from the dashboard. “What are you going to do? You going to shoot the truck if it doesn't keep going?”

“Why would I—­”

“I was being sarcastic!” he yelled at the ceiling. “You are such a Neanderthal. Listen to me. Without gas, we will be stuck in the middle of Kansas. Do you understand?” He talked loud and slow, enunciating everything.

“Yes,” I said quietly, feeling stupid.

“We're going to Council Grove. It's a tiny town and nobody who's out this late is going to recognize us. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, but I didn't believe that.

He drove east on US 56, which led us into Council Grove, a little town that was dark except for a Phillips 66 gas station. Dekker pulled up to a pump, grabbed a hat out of the backseat and put it on, yanking it down over his eyes.

“It's only midnight?” he said. “Feels later. Do you think it's safe to use my cell to call my grandma?”

“Better not,” I said. “They might be able to track us. You might want to turn it off altogether.”

He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and powered it down. “I'll pump the gas. Do you need to use the restroom? Either way, put your hood up and keep your head down.”

I yanked up the hood on my sweatshirt and got out of the truck. I was stiff from sitting. There was no one else at the gas station, and the door to the restroom was outside, so I wouldn't have to go inside the cashier station. When I came back out of the bathroom, Dekker was standing at the pay phone, smoking and talking. I didn't get too close because I wanted to give him privacy.

When he hung up, he said, “I'll be right out. Get in the truck.”

I got in, closed the door, and leaned my head against the window. I was so tired, but now at least we had a place to go. A stray dog trotted by the truck, and I wondered if Sarx and Tesla were all right. I'd slit open a giant bag of dog food and left it for them, and there was a pond out back of our property, so I thought they'd be okay.

But nothing else was going according to plan. Mr. Dooley had come back from lunch too early. I should have been out of the office before he'd even finished his coffee over at the restaurant. Dekker would have driven me to Salina without me having to threaten him, without being blockaded on the highway by Mr. Dooley and Randy, and they wouldn't have even known I'd left Saw Pole. I would be waiting at the bus depot without looking over my shoulder. I'd have never met that awful Ashley, and the cops wouldn't be after us. I'd have gotten on that Greyhound bus in the morning and never seen Dekker again.

There was one aspect of how things actually happened that I did like. I enjoyed being with a person who talked to me, even though he was angry. I didn't blame Dekker. His anger and the way he expressed it stood in stark contrast to how my dad had gotten mad. While Dekker yelled and lashed out, Dad had grown dangerously silent and sometimes wouldn't talk to me or even look at me for days. I preferred Dekker's way, as it turned out.

Still, I regretted leaving the bathroom in the bus depot and coming with Dekker, because now I didn't have any idea how I was going to get to Detroit.

I was startled by a tap on the window. I turned and saw a large man standing there. Adrenaline flooded my system. The man didn't smile, but motioned for me to roll the window down. I reached into my hoodie and put my hand on Baby Glock. I shook my head at him. He made the motion again.

Where was Dekker?

The man tapped again.

I rolled the window down about an inch.

“Hey, gal, your seat belt's caught in the door.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.”

He nodded and walked away. I saw my seat belt was indeed trapped in the door. Dekker was on his way out of the store, his hat tipped low over his eyes, walking casually toward the truck. I took my hand off my gun, opened my door and yanked the seat belt inside. Then I slid down in the seat, my heart flopping around in my chest at the thought of being recognized, of being caught and arrested—­and then sent back to Randy.

Dekker got in.

“Let's get out of here,” he said. “Uncle Curt says we should drive over to Council Grove Lake and the Neosho Park recreation area off Lake Road. There's a loop there, and he says we need to leave the truck. He'll come get us.”

“Lake?” I said. “Why a lake?” Even the thought of being so close to a large body of water spooked me, as if the water would sense me there and erupt out of its banks and drown me, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

“Nobody will be out there this time of year,” he said, “so there's no chance of us being spotted.”

Pulling off Lake Road and toward the lake itself, I could see the spiky skeletons of tall poplars and expansive oaks ringing the lake. The water sparkled, in constant dark motion, making my heart race in a way that running from the cops never would.

The roads and parking lots were deserted. We didn't see a single vehicle. He drove off road and pulled the truck behind the tree line so we couldn't be seen from the parking lot. The clock on the dashboard said 12:44.

Dekker shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it up. Then he said, “I'll do this outside if it bugs you.”

“It does.”

He made an irritated noise and got out of the truck. I watched the lit end of his cigarette glow as it arced through the air to and from his mouth, but the dark water kept drawing my eyes. Dekker finally tossed his cigarette away and got back in the cab.

“Chilly out there,” he said. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. Within a few minutes Dekker was snoring softly against his window. My OODA Loop and I kept watch.

About an hour later I heard a rumbling and looked out the back window. A vehicle with its lights off rolled slowly into the empty parking lot, then stopped a distance away. Dekker jumped when I nudged him.

“What's up?” he said, then yawned and stretched.

I pointed out the back window.

“That's him,” Dekker said.

“How do you know?” I said.

“Who else is it going to be this time of night with the lights off? Cops don't drive rag-­top Jeeps and sneak up on ­people.”

He opened his door and walked across the grass to the edge of the lot where the Jeep sat. I watched out the back window and saw a man with long hair get out of the driver's side and throw his arms around Dekker. When he let go, the passenger side door opened and a thin figure in a Unabomber hoodie jumped out, ran at Dekker and jumped on his back.

An ambush!

My stomach heaved and I reached for Baby Glock. But then the figure hopped off him and Dekker turned to embrace it. I heard a loud female voice. It was a girl. She walked quickly toward me. My breath quickened and I kept my hand on my gun.

Dekker trotted to catch up and stopped her. He put his arm around her, bent his head and talked for a while, probably explaining about the weird girl in the truck. The long-­haired man joined the powwow and listened to Dekker's monologue.

Then the three of them came at me again, slower this time.

“Come on out here, Petty,” Dekker said. “I want you to meet my Uncle Curt and Cousin Roxanne.”

While I knew I wouldn't be any safer in the truck, probably less so in fact, I couldn't make myself open the door. I stared at the two unfamiliar smiling faces for so long their grins started to fade. I blew out hard, trying to steady myself. Dekker opened my door.

“Roxanimal, Uncle Curt, this is Petty,” Dekker said.