Quid Pro Quo (5 page)

BYRON: Yes, you do, baby doll.

ANDY: DON'T CALL ME BA … BYRON (INTERRUPTING): You need me to keep my mouth shut. And I will, 'cause you know how much I'd hate to have to tell Cyril the truth about his dear old mother … ANDY: YOU
BEEPING BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
! That's my choice? Ruin my career or ruin my life?

BYRON: Think of it as a chance to do something good for someone else.

ANDY:
Beep
off. I've looked after you for weeks. That's good enough.

BYRON: Hey, it's not for me! It's for my friend. You know, the dead guy.

ANDY: Yeah. Right. “It's not for me!” You expect me to believe that? You just want revenge.

BYRON: Can you blame me? It's about time I got something out of this deal.

ANDY: (SUSTAINED CURSING. BARELY AUDIBLE.)

FINGERNAILS CLICK AGAINST THE TABLE.
THE SOUND OF A LIGHTER FLICKING IS FOLLOWED BY AN INTAKE OF BREATH AND A LOUD SIGH.

BYRON: (COUGHING) ANDY: What do I have to do?

BYRON: Put out that cigarette and I'll tell you.

ANDY:
Beep
off. This is my apartment.

BYRON: And these are my lungs.

(30-SECOND PAUSE) BYRON: Okay. I'm a reasonable man.

ANDY: Oooooooh, right!

BYRON: You can smoke outside.

ANDY: Fine.

BYRON: (COUGHING) Do you mind not blowing it right in my face?

CHAIRS SQUEAK ACROSS THE FLOOR. A DOOR OPENS AND SLAMS SHUT.

SILENCE

chapter
thirteen
Truancy

Unexcused absence from school

I
made it through history class the next day, but I couldn't hack it after that. I had to get out of school. I needed to think.

When the bell rang for second period, I snuck out the back door and over the parking lot fence.

Kendall had moved to another school. I thought about trying to catch him at lunch, but what was I going to say? We never really talked about private stuff before, and I thought I should maybe ease him into it at first. You know, ask him what his father does, for example, or tell him I'm afraid of spiders or wet my bed until I was eleven. See how he handles that before hitting him with some story about my mother being blackmailed into doing something illegal by this homeless ex-convict. It was sort of a lot to dump on him out of the blue like that and all.

And anyway, what could Kendall do about it? Lend me that fancy new skateboard of his? Introduce me to some hot girls? Show me how to do a kick-flip? That would take my mind off the problem for a while, but in the end, Andy would still be in trouble.

I decided to pretend I was sick and go home. Maybe I could get Byron in a chatty mood again.

I was just coming round the corner on Cornwallis Street when I saw Byron leave the house. I couldn't believe it. He'd lived with us for almost a month and hadn't left the apartment once, at least that I knew of.

It was pretty clear that he didn't want anybody else to know about this little excursion either. He wasn't dressed in a disguise exactly, but he didn't look like himself. I only knew who it was because I saw him walking out our door. His stump was tucked into his pocket. He was wearing this old jacket that Andy had picked up in the men's department of the Salvation Army ages ago. It was way too big for her, but she used to think it looked pretty cool. He was wearing a ball cap, and I thought at first he'd tucked his hair up under it. I got a better look when he turned onto Gottingen Street and I realized what he'd done. He'd cut off his hair and that weaselly beard of his too. He looked practically presentable.

I followed him. He was walking pretty fast and keeping his eyes on the sidewalk. Still, I had to be careful he didn't see me. It wasn't all that easy. There's not a whole bunch of trees in our part of town. I kept about half a block behind him and had to do quite a bit of darting around. Byron might not have looked suspicious, but I sure did.

He walked past where all the stores were and turned up this quiet little street. There was no traffic and no people to hide behind, so I had to hang back. I let him turn the corner, waited a couple of minutes and tried to catch up.

I got to the top of the street but couldn't see him anywhere. I didn't know whether to go left down the street or right up the street or straight ahead into this sad-looking little church. People in old movies always have their secret meetings in churches, but somehow I couldn't see it working for Byron. If I were the minister and I saw Byron in my church, I'd start worrying about the collection money. I'd call the police immediately.

So I ruled out the church and decided to turn right because, well, I had to do something. I couldn't just stand there.

I hadn't gone very far—maybe ten, fifteen steps—when I suddenly realized that Byron was sitting on a park bench right across the street from me. I would have seen him sooner except I'd been daydreaming. You know, imagining myself on CNN talking about how I single-handedly caught this master criminal, instead of actually trying to catch him. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so sad.

I dove behind a parked car and just sat there shaking for a while. I was really scared that Byron had seen me and was going to come over and pound my lights out with that purple stump of his.

I waited, but nothing happened. I decided that I was going to crawl back to the corner and make a run for home.

It seemed like the sensible thing to do, but it was too pathetic even for me. I could just see me slithering along on my belly right when Mary MacIsaac happened by. It wouldn't be long before everyone at school heard that not only was I mean to the mentally challenged, but I was a chicken too. That would pretty much have killed any chance I had to get a girl in this lifetime.

I decided to stay and find out what was going on. After all, there was Andy to think about too. I peeked up through the car windshield. Byron was still there. He was sitting on a bench in this little tiny park, talking to a woman. A small dark-haired woman with a big bandage on her arm. Her back was to me, but she was moving her hands around a lot so I could tell she was talking. I could tell she was upset. Byron was doing his chick-magnet thing and patting her on the leg. She seemed to calm down a bit (the hands weren't flying around quite as much) but then Andy showed up. The little woman practically jumped into Byron's arms.

As soon as she turned around, I knew exactly who she was.

Consuela Rodriguez.

chapter
fourteen
“In camera”
(Latin)

The hearing of a case in private

I
t probably sounds funny that I remember her, because she only came into Atula's office once last summer, and she was really quiet too. But that kind of made her stand out. Sort of like those teachers who, instead of screaming at the class to quiet down, start whispering. In a weird way, it gets your attention even better.

I remember Consuela didn't speak English. The only things she could say were “Atula?” (which I guess isn't English) and “Do you talk Spanish?” which of course I didn't.

I remember her name because it took me, like, half an hour to figure out what she was saying.

Onsweda?

Consweera?

Consweto?

Rodreekays?

Rotrigaze?

Rodrinkhaze?

She was really patient and nice about it, but she finally just took my little message pad and wrote the name herself. She smiled and then went and stood in the back of the room. She waited all day. Sometime in the afternoon she managed to score a chair. By 4:30 there were only a couple of people left, and even though she didn't have an appointment—who did?—she had a really good chance of seeing Atula that day.

At about 5:00, Atula came out of her office and asked me if some man had called her. It was the sort of question Atula asked all the time. The name didn't mean anything to me. I wouldn't even have remembered her saying it, except that right then Consuela bolted. She knocked a chair over on her way out. It made this huge racket. We all kind of stopped and looked. Atula asked me who she was, and I told her. Atula shrugged as if she'd never heard of her and went back to her office. I crumpled up the pink paper with Consuela's name on it and slam-dunked it into the wastepaper basket.

That must have been sometime in late August, I guess. Consuela never crossed my mind again until that moment in the park.

I was dying to find out what she was saying, but I couldn't hear from where I was, and there was no way I could get any closer. There was just the car and wide open space between us. All I could do was watch through the windshield.

Too bad I couldn't lip-read. They were there for about an hour, but I still didn't have a clue what was going on. Consuela talked. Byron talked. Andy said things every so often, but mostly she just scribbled stuff down on a big yellow legal pad.

At about eleven, Byron said something, and suddenly the meeting was all over. I managed to get my head down about a nanosecond before they started coming right for me.

I slid under the car and prayed.

As they got closer, I started to make out what they were saying. Andy said something about having to get going. Then Consuela went, “Thank … you … for… my … ummm, ahhhh.” She said something in Spanish, and Byron said, “Children.” Consuela said, “Thank you for my cheeldren, Hhhhandy.”

Andy just said, “Yeah, okay.” Byron and Consuela kept talking away in Spanish. The only words I could make out were “Adios,” when they left, and “Carlos,” because they said it, like, ten times and that's the name of the guy in the Bonanza Burritos commercial. (“Who can eat another? Carlos can!”)

Andy left by the little side street. By the sound of their footsteps, I guessed that Consuela and Byron were headed back downtown. I stayed under the car until I was sure they were gone. In fact, I stayed under the car until the guy who owned it came out and said, “What are you doing under my car? Get outta there! Don't you know you can get yourself killed that way? Damn kid! What's the matter with you?”

I almost told him.

chapter
fifteen
Fraud

Deceitful conduct designed to manipulate
another person to give up something of value

T
hings had changed since I'd listened to my spy recorder on the way to school that morning. I still felt like throw-ing up, but for different reasons. I thought at first that my mother had got herself messed up with some really bad guy. Now I thought my mother had got herself messed up with some really smart bad guy. Byron spoke Spanish as easily as he spoke English. Not just anyone could do that.

There was also something about his whole, I don't know, manner, I guess. The guy didn't have any money or any job or any big fat title, but he still walked around like he owned the place. Like he was in charge. It was kind of creepy. Like, what was this? Mind control or something? What did he have over everybody? Why wasn't everybody just telling him to get lost? Why wasn't
anybody
?

The Consuela thing was weird too. I didn't know her—like I said, I'd only seen her that one time—but she sure didn't look like your typical criminal. She seemed so sweet and nice and kind of scared of everything. Maybe that was just some big act, but I have to tell you, she had me convinced.

I started to think that maybe Byron was blackmailing both of them. About what, I didn't know. All I knew was that Byron was beginning to look more like an evil genius and less like just some dirty bum who kicked me out of my bedroom.

I needed some time to pull myself together. I found this playground nobody I know goes to and sat on a swing until I got cold and some little kid started hassling me about hogging it. Then I hung out at Toulany's for a couple of hours until the guy behind the counter pointed at the “No loitering” sign and told me to buy something or get going. I bought one red licorice. He rolled his eyes, and I left. It was almost six o'clock by that time, and I knew that if I didn't get home soon, Andy would be suspicious. I'd just say I stayed late for science club or some other dorky thing.

I tried to come into the apartment the same way I always do. I threw the door open so it banged against the wall. I dumped my knapsack right in the middle of the floor so Andy would have to kick it out of her way when she walked in. And then I got all ready not to answer when Byron did his “How was school?” thing.

Only problem was, Byron didn't do anything. Didn't say anything either. The apartment was dead quiet.

I went to the bathroom as if I needed to pee. I went to the kitchen as if I was hoping there might be some leftover pizza. I stuck my head in my old room as if I was looking for my Discman.

Byron wasn't anywhere.

That's okay, I thought. He knows I'll be back from school by now. He'll have an excuse all ready for why a homebody like him would be out on the town. I even figured out what I was going to say when he walked in: “Hey, I thought vampires weren't allowed out in daylight.” It was a little lame, but it was good enough.

I could see there was a message on the phone, and I realized that Mrs. Payzant probably called to find out why I wasn't in school. I figured Andy had her on the payroll. Mrs. Payzant was always really nice to my face, but as soon as I came in three minutes late or got less than 99.4 percent on a test, she'd be calling Andy to discuss her “concerns.” Between the two of them, they'd pretty much killed any chance I had to be normal.

I was right. Mrs. Payzant had called. I just had to hope it was after Byron left. I erased her message and listened to the next one. It had come in at 3:38. It was from Andy.

“Hello, honey,” she said. “It's just me, Mama. I'm going to be home a little late for dinner, but I made you something and put it in the freezer. If you want to get yourself some of those donuts you like—you know, the ones with the special filling—there's some money in the Player's Tobacco tin by the stove. I'll be back as soon as I can. Oh, and if you need to reach me, call me at…”