IENDE Page 4

  SEVEN

  KYLE CLENCHED HIS buttocks in a curious but familiar pattern, a nervous response. The doorknob clicked and clanked as Remmie tried to open the door.

  “It’s locked,” she said.

  Kyle’s head was pointed down but he looked up at Remmie.

  “Why are you looking at me like that? You scared?”

  He was. “No.” He lifted his chin and offered her his best secret agent look of confidence.

  “I’m just joking with you.” She crossed her arms like it was no big deal. “I’m a little scared and it helps to joke around.” She began rabbit nostriling again.

  Kyle thought it was kind of cute. And her narrow body was so close he could smell fabric softener and something like his mom’s steamed peas and carrots. “Hey, I can get us in there.” Kyle pulled out his pocketknife. “It’s not a secure lock.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “You one of those guys who carries around a pocketknife?”

  “What’s wrong with carrying a pocketknife? Clearly it comes in handy. Like right now.”

  “It hasn’t come in handy yet; you haven’t done anything with it.”

  “I’m going to pick the lock.”

  “Like Lara Stilltrot or something?”

  Remmie was becoming less attractive again, reminding Kyle of the girls who used to spray perfume on him in high school. He’d had to throw away a good jacket because of all that perfume smell that wouldn’t come off in the wash.

  Without another word, he inserted the blade between the door and the frame then pressed the knife down on the latch bolt, using the blade to slowly walk it to the right. He pulled the door open.

  “See,” he said. “Lara Stilltrot isn’t all that.”

  “Okay, you win this one, but I still think carrying around a pocketknife is lame.” She turned to look in the room and her face contorted like she’d just come up from a minute under water. “What the fuck is this?”

  Kyle stepped beside her, his eyes now locked to the photos on the table. Photos of them—at work, going to work, in front of their parents’ homes.

  They each grabbed a few photos and began to thumb through them.

  “This guy’s been stalking us,” Kyle said.

  “That psycho! He was probably going to get us here and sexually assault and kill us.” Remmie looked at Kyle, then took a step back from him.

  “Why are you looking at me like it’s me?” he said.

  “You said you have a gun. You’re in on it, aren’t—”

  “I’m not! I found the gun in the seat of the Caddy, under a newspaper.”

  “We need to get out of here, now.”

  “I’m with you on that.”

  They turned to the door.

  And there stood a young man, shotgun in hand, pointed upward. He was tall and wiry, modest biceps, goatee, shining blue eyes, ruffled brown hair, white tank top with scattered yellow stains, ragged jeans. The look on his face reminded Kyle of the look his cousin would get when pulling the legs off of grasshoppers. The man grinned, showing off pristine white teeth as he leveled the double-barrel.

  EIGHT

  REMMIE FELT HER bladder give way a little. This would sometimes happen when she laughed too hard. Guess other things caused it too. Her gaze floated to Kyle, who looked like a plastic doll with wide, button eyes.

  The young man lowered the gun to his side.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, though he didn’t sound convincing. “Sorry about the gun, but I didn’t know who was in here. I need to protect myself.”

  The man glanced at the table, the photos, probably assessing how much they knew. Maybe this guy was the stalker. Remmie glanced at Kyle and raised her eyebrows, implying that they do something, but he returned a “What?” look, his chest quivering with every breath. So it would be up to her to do something.

  The man gave Remmie a once-over with a one-sided smirk. “Why don’t you take a seat, relax? Let’s talk about what you’re doing here. As far as I know, breaking and entering is still against the law.”

  Remmie’s heart thumped a slow baritone bass that tugged at her throat.

  A fluttering noise echoed through the warehouse—a bird. The man’s attention diverted for a moment. Remmie saw her opportunity and lunged forward, aiming a kick at his crotch.

  He dodged her foot, but she used her forward momentum to grab for his shotgun. But he held the gun high and then shoved her, knocking her onto her backside.

  The impact rattled her body, but she felt no pain. That would probably come in the morning.

  “Drop the gun!” Kyle said.

  He had a handgun pointed at the man’s face. Holy crap.

  Kyle had mentioned a gun in the Caddy, but now he was holding it. She wondered again whether he was part of all of this. Maybe Kyle was the crazy guy and this strange man was encroaching on his territory.

  No, there was no way Kyle was behind this. He’d been lured into this like she had.

  “You okay, Remmie?” Kyle said. “We’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna be okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, pleasantly surprised to discover that Kyle did own a pair. “Thanks for asking.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The man squatted and placed the shotgun on the floor, but then he budded an arrogant grin. “You should put that down. You’re just postponing the inevitable. You’ll be better off if you just relax and hear me out. I’m not the bad guy here.”

  Remmie saw hesitation on Kyle’s face, as if he was considering the man’s suggestion. “Kyle, let’s get out of here. This guy’s psycho.”

  It appeared that Kyle was faltering. He began to lower the gun, looking pensive, and the man began to lower his hands, his right hand open as if his shotgun were going to jump into it. Remmie gently put her hand over Kyle’s and snatched the gun, pointing it between the man’s eyes. He threw his hands back in the air.

  “I will blow your balls off,” Remmie said. “Step aside.” She nodded at Kyle. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The man looked afraid now. He might have doubted whether Kyle would use the gun, but there was no question that Remmie would.

  “Step back farther,” Remmie said. “Kyle, grab the shotgun.”

  “Two guns, two sets of fingerprints,” said the man.

  Kyle bent down with shaky knees, keeping his eyes on the man as he grabbed the gun. The man scanned Kyle as if looking for an opportunity, but it didn’t come.

  The man shifted his gaze between Remmie and Kyle as he backed to the far wall.

  The two exited and Remmie kicked the door shut.

  NINE

  KYLE FIGURED THEY would leave separately, but then Remmie asked which car they’d be taking. He didn’t have to be alone in his journey. Then he looked at the shotgun in his hand. He had just encountered a man with a gun. He could have been killed, and it wasn’t over.

  “Kyle, I need a decision or I’m just leaving.”

  He didn’t want to take the Caddy; it was part of what they wanted to escape. “Let’s take your car, but give me a second.”

  He ran to the Caddy and used his T-shirt to wipe the parts of the gun he had touched, an attempt to remove his fingerprints. It couldn’t hurt. Then he jammed the shotgun under the passenger’s seat. He started to put Victor’s handgun under as well but hesitated. It had already come in handy once. He slipped it back into the backpack. Then he remembered the cell phone in the glove compartment. Instinct compelled him to grab it before he locked the Caddy with the key inside.

  He raced back to Remmie.

  “I think we should take the Caddy,” she said.

  “No, it belongs to Victor—maybe—and I don’t want any part of it. Besides, I locked the key in.”

  “What about my bumper? That was stupid!”

  Remmie dropped into the Trans Am and jammed it in reverse. The bumper ripped free with a piercing crunch. Then she pulled around to Kyle.

  “Get in!”

  He le
apt into the passenger side as she punched the gas, throwing his back against the seat. The car jolted from side to side as they left the parking lot, Kyle’s shoulder slamming against the door just as he got it closed. He didn’t yet have his seatbelt on.

  “Whoa,” Kyle said. She would blow a tire or worse. He strapped himself in. “Take it easy. We need this thing to stay in running order until—”

  Remmie was silent, focused, cramming the car into second gear and screeching the tires as she turned onto Boulange Street, blowing past a stop sign. Her hands tightly caressed the steering wheel. She let out a whimper and her breathing became short.

  Kyle gently put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re out of there and we’re gonna be okay.”

  “What’s happening? You don’t know more than me, right?” Her eyes remained on the road. “You know this Victor guy. Did you know that crazy psycho in there?”

  “Never seen him before, and Victor? I don’t know him at all. You know him as well as I do.”

  “I’m scared . . .”

  “Me too.”

  “What should we do?” she said. “Go to the cops? Where should we go?”

  “I don’t know. And the cops . . . the cops were already looking for me, maybe.”

  “What did you do, Kyle?”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “My dad’s gonna kill me. And I bet shotgun guy’s gonna come after us.”

  “We should go to the cops.”

  “I agree, but I’m nervous that somehow this’ll all get turned around on us.” Remmie abruptly turned onto Boulange Boulevard, not slowing to see if a car was coming. “Let’s stop somewhere safe and figure out where we’re going to go and what we’re going to say. We could even call and just report that guy anonymously.”

  Kyle thought about it. Maybe they could get away with taking care of everything anonymously, but he was concerned that the cops were looking for him. And he and Remmie had left fingerprints in the building where they’d broken and entered. But then again, had the cops at his apartment been real cops?

  These concerns faded as he realized he would have to stay in touch with Remmie to check on each other and the situation. In fact, it would make sense that they stay together until they were sure everything was okay.

  “Hey, I’m hungry,” he said. “Maybe we could grab some food and talk about what to do.”

  “I’m hungry too. There’s a Green Veggie off of Eighteenth and Boulange.”

  “A Green Veggie? Are you joking? There’s a Squirt’n Dawg over in Ravdale, off of Grouse Avenue. And that’s the city where we should call the cops, if we call the cops. We need to get out of this area. And the Squirt’n Dawg has the best hot dog toppings in the state.”

  “I don’t eat processed food.”

  “We’ll have to find something we can both eat.”

  Kyle had an idea where to go, a place called Thursday Twilight that was supposed to cater to everybody—veggie stuff and greasy burgers under the same roof.

  “Let’s go to a Thursday Twilight,” he said. “There’s one in Ravdale.”

  “I’ve seen the commercials for that place. I think they probably have low-grade garbage to eat, but in the interest of making a decision . . .”

  Kyle looked up the address on his phone. He realized he was enjoying the moment, a rare thing for him, for he spent most of his moments thinking about what he didn’t have, or living through the television, or through Anthony. It was tough not to stare at her. This was the closest thing he’d had to a girlfriend since he was eleven, back when his neighbor, Brittney Smyth, would come over to play checkers with him. She was his only real friend back then. She would hold his hand sometimes. He told his other neighbor, Jimmy, about it, and Jimmy said Kyle could be arrested for touching her hand like that, so Kyle told her to stop coming over. Brittney got mad and kicked him in the shin. A couple of days later Kyle caught her holding Jimmie’s hand. Brittney turned out to be one of the prettiest girls in high school. She never gave him another glance.

  “Kyle, you’re spacing out. You still with me?”

  “Uh, yeah. I was just thinking and all, about all this craziness I mean.”

  “You look kind of sad.”

  She rubbed her thumb under his left eye, as if to wipe a tear, and smiled warmly. Kyle’s stomach became tickly the same way it had with Brittney. He didn’t care about what they had seen at the warehouse, or the crazy guy, or Victor. Kyle would ride the wave of this unique experience for as long as he could.

  “I’m okay,” he said, “just kind of freaked out.”

  “Me too,” Remmie said. “Thursday Twilight’s up on the right. I hope it’s not too pricy. Looks like parking’s in the back.”

  Remmie parked and Kyle pushed the backpack under the seat. In spite of all the peril he had just experienced, he felt as happy, as important as he ever had. He was hanging out with a new friend, and the crazy events from which his new friendship had spawned faded from his thoughts, which were now focused solely on Remmie.

  TEN

  IT WAS 11:30 a.m. Remmie sat opposite Kyle, sunk deep in the recesses of a booth, her chin barely above the top edge of the table. Thursday Twilight looked like every low-grade diner she’d ever been to: windows all around, covered with thick blinds that opened horizontally, a discolored carpet and a long counter with the kitchen exposed behind. The air was thick with a mixture of burnt zucchini, fries, and country fried chicken. She already felt as though liquid lead filled her stomach. She craved a Green Veggie “Tour the Farm,” a sampling of all their most popular veggie dishes.

  Kyle looked at the menu like it was divine scripture.

  A tall, chiseled young man approached the table, gaze locked onto Remmie, his black T-shirt hugging biceps thicker than Kyle’s legs. He was the image of every self-absorbed, bulked-up guy Remmie had dated since her eighteenth birthday, and he already had a let’s-hook-up-when-I-get-off-work expression.

  “Hi,” he said directly to Remmie. “I’m Blake. I’ll be serving you. Have you dined with us before?”

  “We haven’t,” Kyle said.

  Blake’s eyes remained on Remmie. “You?”

  “My friend said we haven’t.”

  “Ah, okay,” Blake said. “Well, we have a daily special. Today it’s a breakfast burrito with fresh chorizo—”

  “Sounds good,” Kyle said.

  Blake leaned his left forearm on the table, the striations of his biceps flexing. “Why don’t you let me finish. A gentleman would let the lady order first.”

  Kyle sunk into his seat. He probably took a lot of shit from guys like Blake. But it was on Kyle to grow some cojones and stand up for himself. And Blake did have a point about Kyle not being a gentleman and all. But then, Kyle wasn’t deliberately rude. He was just hungry, like her.

  “This your little brother or something?” Blake said.

  “No. He’s my boyfriend,” she said, mouth slightly open, tongue touching her front teeth.

  Kyle looked stupefied. She winked at him.

  Blake pulled out a notepad and scribbled something. “Look, I got other tables you know? What you want?”

  “I’ll have the cobb salad. Leave off the meat and blue cheese. You already know what Kyle wants.”

  “Dressing?”

  “Do you have any dairy free?”

  “I’ll have to check on that; otherwise the house okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Blake scurried away. Remmie’s gaze landed on his butt. He was a meathead, but nice buns.

  “Why’d you say I was your boyfriend?” Kyle whispered.

  “Because he was trying to hit on me, and I’m not in the mood. He’s a douche.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Remmie was surprised that Kyle had asked that. And from the look on Kyle’s face, he was surprised too.

  “I’m enjoying the single life at the moment,” she said.

  “Yeah, me too. I like my space an all.”

  Remmie rem
embered the situation she and Kyle were in. They had a stalker, maybe two, who were probably looking for them at that moment. They weren’t taking the threat seriously enough.

  “Hey, we need to figure out what we’re going to do,” Remmie said. “You got any ideas?”

  Kyle tapped his fingers on the table and his face became blank, like she’d asked him to explain quantum physics.

  “Look, I only know Victor from the store,” she said. “Maybe he’s in cahoots with the guy at the warehouse. Maybe they get off on stalking and murdering people like us—young adults in their prime. I think we should go to the police. Maybe the cops can watch our places so we don’t have to worry.” Remmie glanced out the window, as if one of their foes might be on the sidewalk. “But part of me is scared to do that. I mean, you have a gun, and you touched the shotgun. You touched the Caddy. We shouldn’t have gone into that warehouse. They could fool the cops . . . make it out like we did something, make us scapegoats.”

  The more she thought about it, the more possibilities she could see, and most of them didn’t end well for them. “Actually, maybe we shouldn’t go to the cops.”

  Kyle uploaded a blissfully proud smile. “I know what to do. It’s all probability. Odds. The odds are that guy at the warehouse is crazy and that he’s been stalking us and probably wants to dismember us. It’s also pretty evident that he and Victor are in cahoots, since he was at Victor’s address. And the cops are after me, or somebody is, according to Victor, but there’s a good chance that that was his way of scaring me into going to the warehouse.” Kyle’s face glowed like he’d just had an epiphany. “And he somehow knew you wanted another job, so he used that to get you to the warehouse. So, the odds are pretty high that Victor and crazy guy are pretty smart. So, the odds are highest—”

  Blake dropped off the food without a word, placing the burrito in front of Remmie and the salad in front of Kyle and fumbling the bill in the middle of the table.

  “I wanted to ask for some hot sauce,” Kyle said. “Usually the waiter asks if you need anything else.”

  “I don’t think Blake gives a shit.”