The Game (5 page)

Chapter 12

C
andice waited patiently for the first text message. But when it came it wasn’t what she expected. They wanted her to go into the city, to a record store on Bleeker Street. The instructions were to look for a CD by a band called The New Bomb Turks, to open the case and find the next set of instructions.

She stuffed the phone into her jeans pocket and stood on the porch for a few minutes. She stashed her large piece of luggage inside the trunk on Zee’s porch and filled her backpack with the essentials. Then she plunged into the sleet mixed snow and headed towards the bus stop.

The ride into the city felt like it wasn’t real. It was not quite a dream-state, but something altogether indefinable. Her mind was at a crossroads. One direction led to complete breakdown, insanity. The other direction led to a rage to live and fight. And right now she wasn’t sure which one she wanted. It was an odd feeling because she’d never been suicidal in her entire life. But for a brief flicker she felt like death might be a faster and better alternative than whatever waited down that road full of fight.

It was not an option. It was not in her to give up. She’d always been a fighter. There had never been much of a need for it, but it was inside her. Her brother’s death and her parents’ divorce, those things were hard to take at such an impressionable age. But as an adult she appreciated those experiences because they made her tougher. If these people were trying to break her, they were in for a rude awakening.

This whole thing had to be a nightmare. No, not even her worst nightmares had been this bad. For a couple years after her brother died, she had horrible dreams. She had visions of him dying though she wasn’t there. Since they never found the car or the driver, she would dream up all kinds of random people that had been behind the wheel, from celebrities, to her own mother or friends. In every case, the people were sinister and reveled in the concept of killing a ten-year-old boy on a bicycle.

She knew the reality probably wasn’t sinister in that sense. Candice always felt it was probably a drunk driver who didn’t even know what they’d done. Or a young kid too scared to turn himself in. Anton was crossing a dangerous road at dusk, flirting with disaster, and it came for him.

She looked at her cell, and resisted the urge to call her mother. If they found Zee, they could find her mother, and she didn’t want to put her in the crosshairs.

Outside the bus window, the snow was starting to thicken. The temperatures were dropping rapidly and although she hadn’t seen the weather forecast, she could feel the snowstorm in the air. For a day that had started out so beautiful and warm, it had turned cold and nasty in every way.

The thick flakes of snow painted lines on the New York City skyline. It hushed the brightness of the lights, and dimmed the constant hum of traffic. The bus chugged into the Lincoln Tunnel. The pulse of passing overhead tunnel lights throbbed in time with her quickened heart. She wanted to sleep but dared not.

After the bus surged up the ramps and squeaked to a halt, passengers were already streaming into the aisle and towards the door. She didn’t immediately stand and kind of felt like just staying on the bus, forever. The people outside in the depot were all going somewhere, doing something. The world felt so far away.

“Let’s go, honey.” She looked up to see a husky dark-skinned woman standing in front of her. “This trip ends here.”

Candice nodded and pulled herself up. She stepped off the bus at the Port Authority depot, onto the grimy sidewalks and into the diesel-soaked air. With a new determination, she made her way down the concrete corridors, through the throngs of people.

Up the long stone steps, she rose to the street level and out to the taxi infested avenues. She never lived in New York City, but growing up in New Jersey, she’d spent many nights romping through this skyscraper maze. She knew her way around quite well.

The sleet and snow mix turned to full snow. It was a wet snow, but it was already collecting on the parked cars and sidewalk edges that were cooler and untouched by feet.

The city was bustling. Thanksgiving was days away now, and already Christmas preparations were underway in earnest. Every other storefront had a Christmas theme on display. Some were advertising Thanksgiving deals and everyone had the Black Friday shopping rush on their minds.

Candice started walking down towards Greenwich Village, heading to a place called Cubby Hole Records. A yellow cab skidded to a stop near her and a man jumped out. She froze, but he ran by without a glance.

She was jumpy, and rightfully so. Whatever game this was, she had to be ready for anything. That crossroad in her mind was now turning on to the only logical route. She was going to fight these bastards tooth-and-nail. She wasn’t going down without scrapping until her last breath.

She didn’t claim to be any tougher or weaker than any other girl. This attempt to unravel her had already done damage to her mind but she wasn’t broken. They couldn’t break her. All they’d done is strengthen her resolve. If their plan was to force her to crack up, taking Zee was a big mistake, because that only pissed her off.

She refused to let herself think of the worst possible scenario. Zee needed her help. If she had to give herself up to save Zee she would. Obviously, that’s what these people wanted.

Making her way through the streets of the city, Candice stopped noticing all the bustling people. A new focus had come into her mind, a sort of tunnel vision. The only thing she cared about were the street names and numbers.

Street-by-street the blocks clicked off and passed by. She turned down Bleeker Street and started scoping out the numbers along the edges of the bricks and above the doors. Then she saw the red and gray brick building.

The record store entrance was nothing but a black door down a short flight of concrete steps. On the top of the door there were stenciled yellow letters that read
Cubby Hole
.

She looked in both directions down the block. There were scores of people walking about, in and out of small cafes and other shopping venues. Just down at the corner, there were two New York Police officers standing.

When her phone rang, she jumped, but she answered. The familiar little girl began to speak. “Hi Candy! Do you like New York City? I’m here playing with Zyanna, she says hi. She’s really fun. I see you’re at the record store already, that place is depressing. You can go in.”

Candice yanked open the tight steel door with a creak and scrape. There were a few other patrons in the store and they looked at her as if she didn’t belong. Probably because she didn’t.

The store was crowded with bins of records, tapes, CDs, and various band and musical memorabilia. Every inch of the walls were covered with something from record jackets and stickers to women’s panties and random knit caps. There was netting suspended from the ceiling with broken guitars and all their parts jutting out in all directions. One wall had hundreds of drumsticks in different states of distress.

“Hi, welcome to The Cubby Hole!” said a petite girl behind the counter. She sported black rimmed glasses and jet-black hair with thick blonde stripes, and blue and pink streaks throughout in random accents. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

Candice listened on the phone, but there was no one on the other side so she slid the phone into her jeans pocket. “I’m looking for a CD, The New Bomb Turks.”

The girl smiled. “Oh, The Turks.” She lifted up a span of counter top and walked out onto the sales floor. “Do you know which record?”

“
Destroy, Oh Boy
?”

“Good choice,” the girl said as she slid by a pair of shoppers, shoving one forcefully out of the way. The shaggy haired kid didn’t even look twice as if she’d done that to him many times before. She went towards the back of the long aisle. “Lucky you, I only have the one copy. Used but in great condition. This is a hard to find CD.” She plucked the CD from the bin and handed it to Candice. Then she adjusted her orange fishnet stockings and her short black skirt and headed back to the register.

Candice opened the CD and looked inside the jacket for some note or something, but there was nothing. She wasn’t sure what to do next. Maybe the record itself was what she needed. She made her way to the front of the store, where the girl in the quirky clothes and rainbow hair waited behind the register.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Candice nodded. “Guess so.”

“Will that be cash?”

Candice fished a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket and placed it on the counter. The girl swiped it up and handed her back a five-dollar bill and a nickel. “Would you like a bag?”

“Please.”

She slid the CD into a green paper bag just large enough to accommodate the disc, stapled a receipt to the top of the bag and held it up with a smile.

Candice left the store, unsure of what was going to come next, but leery of everything around her. Large flakes of snow bombed her face, causing her to blink them away rapidly. A swirling wind bit at her lips, scattered clouds of her breath. Her phone rang again.

“Candice, you’ve done well.” This time the voice was that of an Englishman. It was tenor and proper. “Please read to me the title of the third song of the record.”

She fished out the CD and flipped to the back. “Up for a Downslide.”

“Very good. Now please proceed to Madison and Thirty-third Street. There is a coffee shop at the intersection with a large neon sign that reads
hot bagels
. Go inside and wait for further instructions.” The call ended.

She sighed and reluctantly started walking. Not wanting to carry the CD, she tossed it into a mesh garbage can next to a newspaper box.

“Excuse me!” a man said from behind. She didn’t turn around. “Hey, did you mean to throw this away?”

“Keep it.” She kept walking. At the first intersection, she waived down a cab and the first one stopped. Finally, a lucky break.

The ride didn’t take as long as she thought it would. Street traffic wasn’t light but it was flowing.

She paid the fare and sucked a deep breath of warm air before heading out into the cold again. The snow was getting heavier. The flakes were growing finer and more numerous. The storm was intensifying.

She glanced up at the street signs, Madison and 33rd Street. After searching a bit, she saw the coffee shop. It had a large red neon sign that read
FRESH
BAGLES
and another that said
GOURMET
COFFEE
. That was close enough to what the caller instructed, besides there were no other options.

The shop was busy but not choked with customers. The panes of glass were draped with blue and white Christmas lights and frosted with spray snow on the edges.

Candice walked up to the counter, ordered a small black coffee, and took a seat near the glass. She was paranoid that her face was giving away her predicament. But no one was really paying attention to her. One good thing about New York City was the anonymity of the crowd.

“You look worried,” a man said next to her. She turned to him. He was good looking, with shaggy sand-colored hair and a perfect two-day growth even Don Johnson would be proud to show off.

“I’m fine.” She sipped her coffee.

“Are you sure? You look like you’re in some kind of trouble.”

“Been a rough day, that’s all.”

“I hear ya.” He stood and moved to a table closer to her. “Name’s Ken Sheppard.”

“Candice.”

“Good to meet you, Candice. You don’t look like you’re from around here.” He eyed her closely. “Nothing personal, but usually all I see in this place are high money and spoiled college kids. You don’t look like either.”

“How do you know?” Candice wasn’t comfortable with this situation.

“People around here don’t wear Levi jeans and Nike ski jackets.”

“Are you a fashion expert?”

“As a matter of fact…” He handed her a business card. “I’m a modeling scout and fashion is a big part of that. Have you ever thought of modeling?”

Candice shook her head.

He looked her up and down again, making her feel uncomfortable. “You should consider it,” he said. “You’ve got the right face and a nice figure. You’re probably not tall enough for runway work but I could definitely get you some catalog spreads or commercials.”

“Sorry, that’s not my thing.” Guys had tried this pickup game with her before. She handed back the card and looked at her phone, almost hoping it would ring right now.

“That’s not going to ring.”

She looked at him and scrunched her brow.

He sipped his coffee. “You were sent here to meet me.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat, and had to remind herself to breathe.

He stood up, casually sipping his coffee. “If you come with me now, they say your friend will be okay.” He got up and walked outside. He stood near the glass and looked back inside at her. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for her to come outside.

She finally stood up and met him on the sidewalk.

“This is quite the storm shaping up. Do you like snow?”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

He slowly shook his head. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just being paid to take you somewhere. I have no idea what this is all about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, I’m serious. Some dude came up to me, showed me your picture, and said to meet you here at this time. He gave me a thousand dollars, which I thought was ridiculous, but hey, that’s a lot of money, even for me.”

“What did they tell you?”

“They said your friend was in trouble, something about drugs. They gave me an address and said to bring you there.”

Candice studied him, unable to tell if he was being honest. His face was too handsome, too cool. He had a cocky assured smile that oozed too much confidence. But if he was some sort of entertainment industry professional as he claimed, maybe that was his natural manner.

“My car is around the corner.”