Marco was caught behind a toppled stack of boxes with the unconscious Shay at his feet. Mike had some insane plan to flank the guards, but Marco was not sure what two guys and an unconscious girl could muster against the seven or so armed guards who’d arrived to subdue them in the stockroom. Mike had toppled the nearest stacks of boxes to distract them from his flanking move, but now Marco was left to hurl the few hard accessories he could find for the Stuff-A-Pals. Why couldn’t they have put the lockup in a kitchen store?
He was not fool enough to think his puny assault was doing much other than distract or, at the very best, annoy the guards. The only thing keeping them back was the fear of Mike and his gun. He’d fired a single shot at them and that was enough to hold them off. Of course, once they realized Mike was not behind the boxes, Marco was screwed.
And then he heard them. Screams erupted in the front of the store and then the bodies flooded in. Mike had freed the prisoners. The guy was a freaking genius. Why hadn’t Marco thought of it first?
Not wasting any time, he hauled Shay’s body onto his back and began to kick the different doors in the stockroom. “Ryan!” He wasn’t sure that any amount of screaming would be heard over the noise the prisoners were making on their way over the guards and out into the service hallway.
Finally, he received a kick in response to his own on a door. He held his ear to the wood and yelled for Ryan. He answered back, “Taco?”
How much did he hate this kid?
“We don’t have a key, so we’re going to have to bust the door,” Marco yelled.
“I’ll stand back.”
No really, stand right in front of the door, please . . .
Marco propped Shay in a nook out of the way of the fleeing felons, then lined himself up with the door. He kicked as hard as he could, then slammed his shoulder against the wood.
That hurt. A lot.
Mike grabbed his arm. “Nice attack, but the frame’s metal. No luck with a ramming tactic.”
“So what do you suggest?” Marco asked, rubbing his shoulder to regain sensation.
“This,” Mike said, pulling a fire ax from the wall.
The ax demolished the door to splinters.
Ryan was crouched in a corner with his hands over his head. “You could have warned me there would be an ax!” he yelled when Mike pulled him up by the arm.
“No, ‘thank you’? No, ‘I can’t believe you found me’?”
Ryan tugged Mike’s arm and the two embraced. Marco couldn’t help but be jealous of what they had. What Ryan had with everyone. What was so great about freaking Ryan?
Releasing Mike, Ryan saw Shay slumped against the wall. He immediately dropped next to her, cupped her face like that was going to help anything. “What happened?” he whimpered, looking only at Shay.
“She asked us for help,” Marco said. “Goldman punched her, but she’s okay.”
“This is okay?” Ryan tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I told her to stay behind,” Mike said.
Ryan pulled her to him, lifted her like she was light as air. “Let’s go,” he said. Marco could have sworn there were actual tears in his eyes. Pussy.
Back at the IMAX, Drew was screwing around with a couple of guys who, from the looks of them, represented the meatiest members of the Tarrytown football team. They held plastic cups of beer and were tossing around what turned out to be a dead rat Drew had found behind the curtain under the screen. Sitting in the seats facing them were a couple of what could only be described as blond, airhead groupies.
“You dirty rat!” one guy said in this fake scratchy voice, then threw the thing at another. Marco doubted they even knew what film or actor they were misquoting (Jimmy Cagney, Blonde Crazy).
“That’s disgusting,” Mike said.
“The hero returns!” Drew shouted, arms akimbo, beer sloshing from his cup. The girls in the audience turned to see what fresh meathead had arrived.
“I see you wasted no time.” Mike waved a hand at the tapped keg.
“Advance payment for services to be rendered,” one of the Tarrytown guys slurred.
“About those services,” Mike said. He began listing the various chores he had in mind to fortify the IMAX. Both guys and girls sulked.
Ryan snuck up a side staircase with Shay, laying her on the floor in the back. Marco followed at a distance, not wanting to admit what was obvious: He was not needed or wanted. He wanted to be wanted by Shay. Taking off his sweatshirt, he offered it to Ryan and said, “It’s kind of a pillow.”
Ryan glanced up at him. “Thanks.” He took the thing, rolled it, and gently placed it beneath Shay’s head.
“Do you think she needs anything?”
“I’ve got it.” Ryan didn’t look up at him again.
Fine. If Ryan wanted him gone, he’d go. Screw Ryan. Screw Shay. Screw everyone. There was plenty he needed to do. Mike was handing out tasks? Marco would be his go-to guy.
“What can I do?” he asked, approaching Mike.
Mike surveyed Drew and the four Tarrytown guys as they attempted to lift a row of seats. They strained, veins popping from their skin, but the things wouldn’t budge. “We’re going to need some screw guns.”
“On it,” Marco said. He was the only one with an access card. He was the only one who could do jobs like this. He was needed.
• • •
Lexi lay on her cot blinking closed one eye, then the other: camera right, camera left, camera right, camera left . . . Her view of the ceiling tiles and track lighting shifted ever so slightly with each blink.
This was how bored they all were.
Maddie threw the copy of Us Weekly at the wall. “I’ve memorized the fine print of the Botox ads, I’ve read this thing so many times.”
Ginger was biting her nails. “Why would they lock us in here over some kids taking a stun gun from a guard?” She tugged on a hangnail and winced. “Something worse is going on, I know it.”
Maddie tossed her a copy of Seventeen. “Read the article on page twenty about the cuticle damage you’re inflicting on yourself.”
Lexi sat up and surveyed the room. All the women seemed as nervous as Ginger, huddled together in groups, glancing out the gate into the mall like they expected a horde of zombies to rattle the links at any minute. This was a situation primed for Bad Things to Happen.
Ginger’s cuticle crisis gave Lexi an idea. “Where did you get that makeup from the other night?” she asked.
Maddie shrugged. “I found it in a pile of stuff from the cosmetics counters shoved in the stockrooms,” she said. “Makeup was not a ‘priority item,’ I guess.”
“Let’s see what else is in that pile,” Lexi said.
The cosmetics supplies were piled in a dark corner near the farthest wall. Ginger commandeered three of the carts they’d used sorting clothes and the three of them piled all the bottles of nail polish, plus the makeup and perfume, creams, cleansers, and tonics, onto the carts. They then each took one cart and rolled it out into the store.
“Anyone want to try some NARS eye shadow?” Maddie called, hoisting a black box.
“I have Sephora nail polish!” Ginger chirped, waving a few bottles on the other side of the room.
“Face cream!” Lexi hawked. “Get your ridiculously overpriced face cream right here!”
It worked like a charm. Women surrounded each cart and began sampling the various wares. Count on people to meet stereotypes. But even Lexi had to admit that it was fun to get a pedicure from Ginger after they’d handed out all the supplies on the two floors. And the mood in the Home Store? One hundred thousand times better.