THE VEHICLE BUCKED, ITS SUSPENSION GROANING like old people getting out of chairs, as we swung onto a rutted road bordered by tall trees. Light-headed from Zach’s punch and the overwhelming scent of exhaust, I nearly vomited. A thought flashed through my mind—Do it! The more DNA you leave, the better. That’s when I realized I might die.
A dark SUV, like this one, ran Dustin off the road. What if it wasn’t about Whispertown or the mayor? Zach had been insane drunk that night. He could’ve caused the accident because Dustin, Carrey, and Lorenz embarrassed him.
I’d embarrassed him, too. So much that snatching me off the street in broad daylight became reasonable. What else fit Zach’s twisted reasoning?
We hit a vicious pothole, bouncing me against the floor. Starbursts exploded before my eyes. I yelped.
Russ said, “I think he’s waking up.”
“Good,” said Zach. “You still got that bat?”
Wood slapped palm. “You know it.”
Adrenaline sharpened my thinking. The skyline opened up, dense foliage replaced by dark clouds and half-erected building frames. I knew where we were.
Zach braked hard and killed the engine. The doors opened and the SUV rocked as everyone but me spilled out. Next, the hatch would rise and they’d do whatever they planned to do. I tried to recall a timely tip, some piece of wisdom from Bricks, or even Dad, that would reveal the exact move, or behavior, or attitude to get me through this. I had nothing.
Russ’s specialty must’ve been opening the tailgate, because he did that again. Dee and Dum dragged me out as gently as they’d put me in, then marched me over to a patch of red dirt in the center of the Burke Municipal Campus, where Zach waited. He smashed the business end of a Louisville Slugger into the ground over and over, like driving a fence post. Around us, construction equipment remained untouched, and buildings unbuilt. Like my previous visit, without the pretense of a subtle threat.
The sick grin on Zach’s face projected what I already knew. No help was coming.
No Eli stepping in with his camera and big brain. No Dustin and his Dead Boy Cavalry. No Dad to hide me from the bad men. Zach liked four-to-one odds, in his favor. Only . . . he’d miscalculated.
He’d made it so I couldn’t be Nick Pearson, the kid who played lacrosse, overachieved in science, and enjoyed hip music. Not entirely. I had to be the other guy, too. The son of a criminal, raised by thieves and schemers, tutored by killers.
My heartbeat slowed. My breathing, too.
I was Nick Pearson and Tony Bordeaux.
For the first time, I realized that the odds were in my favor.
“Long time coming, Pearson,” Zach said, taking short test swings with the bat. “Long time.”
Before things started—and regardless of how they finished—I needed to know something. “Are you going after Dustin next?”
He lowered the business end of the bat. “The hell you talking about?”
“You got Carrey and Lorenz on Saturday. Me today. You gonna kill Dustin next? It’s a simple question.”
He bounced uncertain looks off each of his minions, all of them shuffling, loose and confused. Dum let me go, he was so spooked. I didn’t run, though. Running wasn’t part of today’s plan.
Zach said, “Whatever, dick. Don’t try to spin your bad mojo on us. Ever since you got here, people been dying. Our phones were blowing up all morning about Reya’s car freakin’ exploding. Then, there you were, riding your bike like it’s all good. Nuh-uh. No way. I don’t know what kind of sicko hoodoo curse you got, but I’mma make you eat your teeth.”
Eat my teeth? Is that even—never mind. These guys weren’t killers. Just because they were all dumb, didn’t mean they could play dumb. Their confusion at the mention of Lorenz and Carrey was genuine. More so than if I’d asked them to spell genuine. There was still the matter of nailing the mayor and Miguel, the guys topping the Bad Stuff in Stepton pyramid. This first.
“Before I devour my teeth,” I said. “I suggest that you break both of my hands, too.”
“Huh?” Zach looked like he needed to consult his script.
“You should break my hands,” I repeated. “With no teeth, and broken hands, that will make it difficult to communicate for a couple of days at least. You’ll have a chance to run.”
Russ laughed. “Someone’s a funny guy, now.”
Zach, perpetually proving his toughness, nudged my shoulder with the bat. “How can you still talk smack when you know I’m about to cripple your ass?”
“I would not advise crippling, and I didn’t mean you’d be running from me. I’m talking about the cops, Zach. You’ll want to get a head start.”
Now everyone laughed. Dee said, “He’s going to tell on us.”
“Snitch bitch,” said Dum in a singsong tease you’d hear at a day care.
I said, “I won’t have a choice. They’ll want to know what happened throughout the course of my kidnapping.”
Laughs faded. They were back to confused. Where I wanted them.
“See, kidnapping is a Class A felony with a minimum sentence of a year. Unless, of course, you’re kidnapping a minor—which I am—then we’re talking five years. That’s minimum, guys. Even for the accomplices.” The legal talk was some BS. A mix of stuff I’d heard from Dad, Bricks, and a bunch of cop shows.
Of course, they wouldn’t know that.
Dee released my arm, wiping his hand on his jeans like I’d soiled him. “You ain’t kidnapped.”
“I ain’t? I didn’t come here of my own accord.” Got that from an old Law & Order episode.
He scrunched his face.
I said, “It means I didn’t come here willingly. Don’t worry. Your attorney will explain words like that to you before your arraignment. Provided he’s not court appointed. The court-appointed guys are too overworked to explain things; they’re just going to tell you to take a deal for less time. Maybe as little as a year instead of the five.”
I saw them doing the simple math in their heads—one year is better than five, right? I gave them some more data to crunch. “Of course, we’re only talking about the kidnapping charge. There’s still the aggravated assault, the reckless driving, and attempted murder—”
“Attempted murder?!” Zach said, not noticing I’d taken a step closer to him.
“—throw in any anti-bullying laws this state has on the books and”—I paused, made a show of looking at each and every one of their faces, then smacking my forehead—“wow, all of you guys are white.”
Such an abrupt statement of the obvious perplexed them more. I took another step toward Zach. “Four white guys jump a black guy, drag him off in a truck. In the South. That’s a hate crime, fellas. A federal offense. By the time this is over you might be looking at thirty, forty years each.”
Russ, a quake in his voice, said, “You’re lying. You’re trying to play us.”
“You got a cell on you? Look up anything you want, though I wonder about the reception out in this secluded area you kidnappers took me to.”
“Shut up,” said Dee.
“Before we shut you up,” said Dum.
Not in this century. “Zach might do okay in federal prison. He’s big, strong. After a couple of knife-fight wins, he’ll get some respect. But you two, I feel bad for. They’re not going to put you in the same facility. You’ve had each other’s back since conception. No more of that. If you thought arguing over the top bunk was epic before . . .”
They stepped closer to each other until their shoulders brushed. Two reflections trying to merge. If their mom was here, they would’ve asked to move back into the womb.
I turned my attention to Russ, while inching closer to Zach. “And you, I don’t know what to say. You’ve got to spend an hour a day getting your hair to look like that. The inmates are really going to appreciate you. There she is, Miss America.”
I literally saw him gulp, the lump slipping slowly down his throat. I could’ve pushed, adding something about how he should get used to that swallowing motion, but I distracted them long enough. Now for part two.
“Or,” I said, “you could shut me up for good. Kill me. Do it the right way, and you go on with your lives with the darkest secret you’ll ever have. You four are tight, none of you would break and rat on the others. Would you?”
Zach opened his mouth, probably to deliver some corny, unconvincing threat to sway things back his way. Too late.
Ripping the bat from his hand, I shoved his chin high with the heel of my palm. The body goes where the head does. Forcing his skull back at such an extreme angle caused him to fall, a puff of dust rising where he landed. I swung the bat, hard, embedding it in the earth next to his ear.
I felt something turn on in my chest and head and stomach. A red engine with pistons pumping in a shudder, spewing black exhaust. “Ever since I got here, people been dyin’. That’s what you said, right? You wanna be next?”
“Guys,” he said, in an almost shriek.
I pointed the bat at the twins. “Don’t move.” They didn’t. No need to deliver the message to Russ. He was creeping back to the ride.
To Zach, I said, “There’s no win for you here. You douche bags don’t have the brains or juice to put me down and get away with it. Anything less than that lands you in jail for the rest of your lives.”
His face went cherry, his breaths huffs and puffs, but he still tried to save face. I told him the rest, my secret desires. “Thanks to this brilliant plan of yours, I can do whatever I want and get away with it.”
I saw the doubt in his eyes. I smashed the bat into the ground next to his head again and replaced that doubt with tears. “Yes. Yes, I can. Because now it’s self-defense. You brought me here. You planned to jump me and beat me with a bat. I happened to wrestle it away from you and”—I swung the bat by his head again—“fought for my life.”
I raised the bat, high this time, like an ax.
Zach threw his forearm over his eyes, pulled his knees to his stomach, full fetal.
I hadn’t lied to him. Everything about the potential charges, and their lives in prison, and me having a free pass to hurt them had shades of truth, knowledge passed down from the overheard conversations of Dad and friends. There was another truth, a scarier one.
I wanted to hurt him, do more than hurt. I could get away with it, too. Maybe with WitSec’s help. Self-defense, remember. My arms quivered, my hands ratcheting the handle.
Slowly, I lowered the bat. Then tossed it into the guts of a partial building, where it rattled against the frame. “Go!” I said. “I’m not hurt. If you leave now, it’s just a prank. Not worth mentioning.”
Russ was already in the SUV, a getaway driver in the wrong seat. Dee and Dum scrambled. Zach wasn’t as quick; he took his time getting his feet under him, turning in an awkward way that did nothing to hide the wet spot at his crotch. He saw me seeing, shot me one final, hateful glare before crouching by a puddle and smearing handfuls of mud on his jeans to disguise the piss stain.
Zach climbed into the vehicle. One of the twins asked about a strange smell before the SUV fishtailed, spitting thick mud from the back tires. They spun in place before rolling away. Not so much as a wink of brake lights until they turned onto the main drag and sped toward town. Where I needed to be.
How the hell was I getting back?
I could’ve humped the four miles, but I felt achy and stiff from crashing my bike. Calling Dad wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to explain to Mom how I got here. I dug in my pocket for my phone and felt jagged plastic. When Zach ran me off the road I’d heard a crunch and I knew where it came from.
I groaned and emptied my pocket, thinking about how a broken phone meant I’d definitely be walking back to town. But my phone was fine.
Eli’s flash drive wasn’t.
Broken, clean down the middle.
“Mother—” My profanity echoed across the construction site.
Get back to town, Nick. Maybe someone can fix it.
I shot a text to the only person I could think of while giving myself a flash-drive-repair pep talk I didn’t believe.
Me: Any chance ur not n school AND mobile 2day? I need a ride ASAP.
Dustin: I’m on my way