Pod (11 page)

Hacker says, “You ever cut your finger doin’ those tricks?”

Richie says, “I cut some fingers. Just not my own.”

The click again.

Richie says, “There, I feel better now. So where were we? Oh yeah, on the subject of lying. If it’s not me and it’s not him, then who?”

The woman says, “I … I told you. It’s not my fault the gun isn’t there.” Her voice cracks for the first time. She’s trying not to cry, and it’s not working. I know what the problem is. She sees what I can’t—Richie’s eyes, deep in the shadows of that hood.

Hacker says, “Try explaining that to Mr. Hendricks.”

Should I come out? Should I tell them who’s really lying? Throw the briefcase at Richie and run? No, not yet …

Richie says, “So that’s the best you can do?”

The woman says, “Did you find a kitten in a cage? It would be in the back, under a towel.”

Richie says, “A safe with no gun. A cage with no kitten. Seems like a trend with you.”

The woman says, “Can I please go back to my kids?”

Richie says, “Of course you can. But first we gotta figure this out. Get a new per-spective.”

He walks a short distance and stops. He’s behind me— I can’t see those boots.

Richie says, “You should check out the view from up here.”

The woman takes a deep breath, then says, “I’d rather not. I’m afraid of heights.”

I grip the handle of the briefcase so hard my knuckles turn white.

Richie says, “There’s a little coffee shop used to sell the best huckleberry scones, right up there on Wilshire. Fresh out of the oven, twice a day. It was easy to know when they were comin’ out ’cause you’d see a line down the block. Real huckleberries picked in the Willamette Valley in Oregon. I miss little treasures like that.”

The sandals don’t move.

“C’mon,” he says, smooth and easy. “Let’s look out over the city, you ’n me. Watch the beautiful alien spaceships, do some brainstorming. We’ll figure out a so-lution to this mutual problem.”

She’s still not moving.

Richie sighs and says, “I’m asking
nice
.”

The woman walks toward Richie. I’m facing the wrong direction. I’d make too much noise turning around, so all I do is listen to her sandals drag across the pavement. It’s like her feet are too heavy to lift. The sound stops. My legs
are numb from lying on the cold cement, and my stomach hurts from trying not to crush Cassie.

The woman says, “I … I don’t like this.”

Richie says, “Aw, it ain’t that bad. Now look right down there, two blocks east—Jake’s Java Joint, with the big green sign.”

The woman says, “I can’t see—”

Richie says, “You gotta lean out a little, like this.” A pause. “Yeah, you see it now?”

There’s a soft grunt.

The woman says, “
No!
Don’t—”

Then a scream, a flash of light. Three heartbeats and it’s done. I close my eyes, not wanting to see what I think I heard. There’s five seconds of silence. A wave of anger sweeps through me. I could have stopped him! I could have saved her and I didn’t. If I knew how to open this briefcase right now, I’d take the gun, point at the center of that hood …

Richie whistles. “You see that, my friend? Didn’t even hit the ground. I’m tellin’ you, they never miss. Not once!”

Hacker says, “Why’d you do that?”

Richie, the boots walking back to Hacker, says, “It’s simple. You lie, you die. That’s my motto.”

Hacker laughs, which turns into a coughing spasm. It’s a bad one.

When he’s done, Richie says, “There is one small detail I forgot to mention. This was in the safe.”

After a moment, Hacker says, “‘Bang, bang’? Who wrote it?”

“Whoever got to the safe before me.”

“So the lady wasn’t lying.”

“She said there would be a gun and there wasn’t. That’s close enough.” A pause, then, “Why you givin’ me that look?”

“Seems like a sad waste, is all.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta feed the aliens. Otherwise they’ll come lookin’ for food. Way I see it, I just did humanity a favor.”

Hacker spits and says, “You show this note to Mr. Hendricks?”

“Yes.”

“What’d he say?”

“Get the gun.”

“That’s it?”

“More or less. He doesn’t want the guests to have it. That point he made very clear.”

“You think it’s in the hotel?”

“No. Remember I said someone had a nest in the Navigator? Well, all that stuff, the sleeping bag and clothes, a yellow backpack—it’s all gone now.”

“What’re you thinkin’?”

“There’s a pirate co-habitating this garage.”

“A pirate with a gun.”

“According to the note.”

“You bring the .45?”

“Wouldn’t leave home without it.”

“So now what?”

Richie says, “We go on a little treasure hunt. Look for a sleeping bag and a kitten.”

They start walking away.

As their voices fade, Hacker says, “The lady said there was a grand in the safe. You happen to see any of that?”

Richie says, “The pirate must’ve took it.”

I wait until I’m sure they’re on Level 6. I crawl out from under the car, leaving my backpack and the briefcase where they are. I put Cassie in the backseat—this would be a good time for her to sleep. I don’t need to be worrying about a hungry kitten right now. Richie with a knife is bad enough. Now he has a gun. I walk over to the wall, reach into my pocket, and fish out the key to the safe. My mind pictures the woman, her sandals, her painted toes, her two kids back in the hotel. Why did I leave that note? What was I thinking? I throw the key as far as I can. It disappears in the empty streets below. I wait a few seconds, then walk back to the truck.

A plan, which I hope won’t be as stupid as it was to leave the note, is forming in my head.

I sneak down the ramp, hugging the wall and staying in shadows as much as I can. Ten more feet and I’m peering around a cement pillar, watching Richie and Hacker look for treasure. Richie stands guard with the .45 while Hacker uses a huge metal rod to pry open the trunks of cars. When they finish with a car they leave the trunk lid open, then move on to the next. There’s one car near the far wall, a blue Volvo four-door with a trunk lid that won’t stay up. After a couple of tries Richie says, “Screw it,” and
they move on to the next victim. This goes on until they’ve hit every car on this level, twenty at least, pulling all the stuff out, keeping some of it and throwing the rest over the side, with Richie saying, “No point in leaving anything useful for our friend.” Finally they move down to the next level. I sneak back to fetch my pack and the briefcase. And Cassie, who misses me, of course.

“Let’s check out our new home,” I say as she licks my thumb. “It’s my favorite color. Blue.”

Bam

“The water is off.”

I search for the clock beside my bed. It’s off, too—oh, yeah, no power. That would explain why Dad is peering down at me, his head lit up by the candle in his hand. I drag a pillow over my face. He pulls it away.

“No more showers, no more toilet,” he says. “We urinate in the green bucket in the garage and defecate in the brown bucket, then toss the contents out the side door in the garage.”

I stare at him. He actually said “defecate.”

Sitting up I say, “So our yard is the toilet?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“You woke me up to tell me this?”

“I needed to catch you before you went to the bathroom.”

Whatever time it is, it’s way too early for words like “defecate,” or to think about color-coded buckets of crap and how our life has just slipped down another notch. I roll over, facing the wall. “I’m going back to sleep,” I say.

He’s still there. I feel him in the room. After a few moments he says, “There’s something else I need to say.”

“Can’t it wait until the sun comes up?” I ask.

“No.”

“Okay, so say it already.”

“You know that rule I made about Mom?” he asks.

“The one where we’re not supposed to talk about her?”

“It’s a stupid rule,” he says.

“You can say that again,” I say, looking at the wall.

Mercifully, the door clicks and he’s gone.

The clock on top of the piano runs on a battery, so it’s one of two ties we have to life PP (-Pre-POD). My Seiko is in my locker at school. Dad has a Timex digital that he wears constantly, but he’s spending more and more time in his room. My old standbys, the displays on the microwave and cable TV box, are useless. But that doesn’t stop me from checking them at least fifty times a day. If time flies when you’re having fun, it moves like a tree sloth when you’re not.

So the piano clock says 2:30 in the afternoon. I’ve been trying to find the apartment girl pretty much nonstop since breakfast. Nothing but the usual suspects scratching their butts. I pick up the binoculars, sit down in the chair, put my feet up, and scan to the third floor.

Showtime! She’s standing at the window.

She holds a sheet of paper against the glass. In thick black letters it reads:

HT IM Amanda

It’s text-message for
Hi there, I’m Amanda
. I motion for her to wait, then tear through the house, snagging a stack of paper from the useless printer in Dad’s office and a marking pen from the utility drawer. But the top’s off the pen, so the ink is dried out. I run around opening and slamming drawers, waking Dutch and getting the raised hairy eyebrow from Dad. I find a bazillion markers, but they’re all too thin. She’d never see them. Finally I track down a thick marker in the closet with all the present-wrapping supplies. This one works, so I run back to the window. She’s waiting, but she seems anxious, looking over her shoulder. I write in big letters, asking her,
How’s it going?

Me: IM josh HIG?

She puts down her binoculars and replies.

Amanda: IM starving.

Is she really starving, or just saying it? It’s hard to tell with those sweats she’s wearing. I’m not skin-and-bones starving, but the refrigerator is empty and we’re eating from cans. I write,
Me too. Let’s order some pizza.

Me: M2 lets order za

Amanda: ROFL RU scared?

Rolling on floor laughing. Are you scared?
Yeah, well, only all the time, except when I’m doing this. Or sleeping. I wonder if she knows there’s a POD right over
her apartment. Then I wonder if there’s a POD over our house. I answer,
Scared of what? Just kidding
.

Me: scared of what? JK

Amanda: RU alone?

Me: no. stuck w/dad n dog RU?

Amanda: no IWIWU

I wish I was you.
That’s what
she
thinks—she doesn’t know my dad. But I wonder about the skinny dude.

Me: Y?

Amanda: he stole r food n watr n beer :(

Me: he?

Amanda: BAM w/gun

I’m pretty sure I know what this means. Since he stole her stuff and has a gun, I’m guessing
badass man
. I get a memory flash of the man on the sidewalk—small round holes leaking streaks of red. This skinny dude needs to go. The marker shakes in my hand as I write.

Me: where is he now?

Amanda: ZZZZ

Sleeping.
I wonder where her parents are.

Me: where r yr rents?

Amanda: KIA

Killed in action?
By the PODs or the skinny guy? I keep it simple for now.

Me: :(

Amanda: my lil sis is sik.

My little sister is sick.
This keeps getting worse. I think about it, then write,
Sucks to be you. Call for help
.

Me: S2BU 911!

Amanda: LOLA URYY4M

Laughing out loud again. I need to think on the second part.
You are
… something …
for me
. But what’s up with the two Y’s? Then I get it. Too wise!
You are too wise for me
. I look at her. She’s holding up another sheet of paper, glancing over her shoulder. It looks like the monster is waking.

Amanda: GTGB

Got to go, bye.
She scoops up her papers, blows me a kiss, and is gone.

She blew me a kiss! Just like in my dream. My head spins. I want to run over there and kick the skinny guy’s ass. But I can’t do that either. So I sit in my comfy chair, feet up on the ottoman, and quietly resist the urge to throw the binoculars through the window.

I must have fallen asleep—it’s dark outside. The clock reads 7:23. I stand up, stretch, and walk into the kitchen. Dad is sitting at the dining room table, punching numbers into a calculator by candlelight. His POD notebook is open; he’s working on yet another graph, no doubt. I know he’s had dinner—there’s a spicy smell that’s vaguely familiar. The counters are spotless. I wonder if he used some of our precious water to clean them.

Dad takes off his glasses and says, “Well, someone’s had a busy day.” He smiles, hoping for more.

I shrug. “All this activity wears me out.”

Still hopeful, he says, “You empty every drawer in the house and that’s all I get?”

I pick up his pen, flip to an empty page in his notebook, and write: NIYWFD.
Never in your wildest freaking dreams.
“Figure that out and I’ll tell all.”