the Big Time (2010) (17 page)

TROY TOOK A RIGHT
at the next stop sign and bolted in between a grassy stretch separating two big homes. Even in the dark he knew that the secret path he'd followed through the trees and underbrush behind the homes to get to Seth's place wasn't far. Tate kept up, but Troy could feel that the shadowy man—who remained frighteningly silent—was gaining on them. On a hunch, Troy broke through a line of shrubs, but when he came out the other side, he slammed full speed into a chain-link fence.

He recovered quickly and sprinted up the fence line and into a stand of pine trees, where the glow of a nearby pool let him see. The bushes swished behind him, and he heard the man crash into the fence just as he had. The undergrowth got suddenly thick and dark;
Troy grabbed Tate by the arm and pulled her straight into it with him, the branches and brambles whipping their faces and cutting their hands.

Then it ended. They broke free into a swath of grass that bordered the concrete wall surrounding Cotton Wood. Troy sensed the spot and took a hard right. When he glanced back, he saw nothing of the man's dark shape. With his lungs on fire, he put his head down and ran even faster. The ladder wasn't too far.

When they reached it, Troy had to use all his inner strength and every lesson his mom had taught him not to just scramble up and drop down over the other side. Instead, the noble side of him won out, and he handed Tate up the ladder so she could climb up to the top of the wall. When she did, she looked down the way they'd come, and a muffled whine escaped her.

“Troy,” she said, “hurry! He's coming!”

TROY NEVER LOOKED BACK
;
he bolted up the ladder, spun, and grabbed it. The shadowy man closed in. Full speed he ran. The man grunted something that sounded like “ate.” The sound sent a shiver through Troy.

“Stop!” the man shouted in a deep, husky voice.

Troy heaved the ladder up and over the wall and sent it crashing down the other side. Tate already hung from the edge of the wall by her fingertips, and she dropped down beside the ladder. Troy crouched down, too, aware of the man closing in. He gripped the rim of the wall as Tate had, then dropped to the ground with a thud.

Together they looked up at the top of the wall, listening silently as the man on the other side grunted
for them to come back and scraped at the concrete as he leaped over and over again for the top of the wall, straining for a grip on its peak so he could finish the chase.

“Let's go,” Troy said, not giving one hoot about the ladder lying in the brush.

He took Tate's hand and led her down toward the tracks, up and over them, and straight through the pine needle path toward his house.

“How'd you even do it, Tate?” he asked. “How'd you follow me in the first place. Even that guy—who moved like a doggone ninja—couldn't get over that wall. How did you?”

“Simple,” Tate said, dusting her hands with a
clip clap
. “I climbed a tree.”

“A tree?”

“There's a pine tree right up close to the outside of the wall,” she said. “I shinnied up and climbed far enough onto a branch for it to droop right down over the wall. I only had to jump about six feet. It was easy.”

Troy wiped some sweat from his brow and said, “I said it before, Tate, you're like a monkey.”

“In a good way, right?” she said.

“Monkeys are cool,” Troy said. “You planted the quarter?”

“I gave you the thumbs-up,” she said.

“So, how'd you do it?” Troy asked, the glow of his
house appearing through the trees. “You just asked for the bathroom and they all looked away?”

“I just pretended like I was a ditz,” she said. “I kept talking. I told them the story about my aunt Mary Ann getting arrested for throwing paint on women walking down Park Avenue.”

“What?” Troy said.

“She's with PETA,” Tate said. “She's kind of nutty, but I figured, you know, that with all those dead animal skins, at least they'd think I had a point. So I'm telling the story, and I kneel down on that bear rug to explain how my aunt says you can see the pain on the animal's face even after it's stuffed, and I slip that quarter right into his mouth. You think it worked?”

Troy shook his head. “You're crazy. Yeah, I'm sure it worked. But something must have gone wrong. Otherwise, who was that guy?”

“Well,” Tate said, hanging her head. “I tried, Troy. I'm sorry if I blew it.”

Troy put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

“It's okay, Tate,” he said. “Don't worry. I think all this stuff is just going to turn out however it was meant to be. My mom says that all the time and it drives me crazy, but I'm starting to think it's really true. Some things are just meant to be.”

“So, what do we do now?” Tate asked.

“My house,” Troy said, and they followed the familiar
path to his front door.

When Troy swung the door open, he could tell by the look on his mom's face that something had happened—and it wasn't something good.

“
TROY, HONEY,” HIS MOM
said, rushing to him and hugging him tight.

“What happened, Mom?” he asked, separating from her.

“You're okay,” she said. “That's the important thing.”

“Of course I'm okay,” he said, nudging Tate so she wouldn't give away the fact that they'd been chased. There was no reason to worry his mom.

“They sent an agent after you, but I guess he didn't catch you,” she said.

“Agent?” Troy said, glancing at Tate. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

“From the FBI,” she said, taking the cell phone back from him and dialing as she spoke. “It happened fast, Troy. They called to tell me. They wanted me to
let them know if you got back. The FBI got what they needed on tape right after Tate dropped the quarter. The agents rushed right in, but a couple got away. I guess it was hectic, and they wanted to make sure you and Tate were okay.”

“A couple of who?” Troy asked, but his mom was on with an FBI agent, explaining that she had Troy and Tate and that they were fine. Then she hung up.

“Those men,” she said, her attention now fully on Troy. “Your father was one of them. G Money had a tunnel the FBI didn't know about. It goes between the main house and a guesthouse behind the pool. From there they got away into the trees. The FBI has a helicopter on its way. Tate must have interrupted their meeting at the perfect time, because the FBI said that the minute she was gone, the men kept right on talking about a money-laundering deal.”

“But that's good,” Troy said. “I did what they asked me to do, and now they have to help my dad. They got what they want. What's wrong? Why do you look like that, Mom?”

“Well,” she said with a pained expression, “it's the money, Troy. The plan was to take it.”

“What do you mean?” Troy asked. “What money?”

“The five million dollars from the Jets,” she said. “
Your
money. Your father was going to take it, Troy. He was going to give it to those men. He was taking their cash to pay back his investors, then giving them your
clean money in return. I'm sorry.”

“That can't be,” Troy said, the look on his mom's face making him sick because he knew she believed it to be true.

“I blame myself,” she said, shaking her head. “People don't change. I know better.”

“You can't just take someone's money, Mom,” he said, studying her face for the punch line.

“I thought the same thing,” she said. “I was going to let him handle it—sign the contract and set up an account for you. I
trusted
him. I'm sorry I have to tell you this, Troy, but I just think you need to know.”

Troy's mom took a deep breath. “He told them he would wire your money into an offshore account. That's how they do it, these criminals. It's as fast as pushing the right button on a computer. The FBI can't stop them. Everything happens too fast.”

“He wouldn't do that,” Troy said, his voice weak and pathetic. “Not to me.”

“I'm sorry, Troy,” she said, rubbing the back of his head. “He was, but he's going to pay for it now. That wasn't part of the deal.”

“But I did this to
help
him,” Troy said, glancing back at Tate, who nodded vigorously. “Mom, don't you get it?”

He stared at her, searching.

“I don't want him to go to jail,” he said, the word dying on his tongue.

“You're a good boy, Troy,” she said, touching his cheek. Then she turned and bolted out of the living room. Troy heard her bedroom door rattle closed, and he turned to Tate.

“Sorry,” he said.

Tate shrugged. “It's okay. I understand.”

“I wish I did,” Troy said.

“She loves you, Troy,” Tate said. “A lot. Everything that happened she feels bad about. I think she feels guilty.”

“Why?” Troy said, his face screwing up with frustration.

“I think it's a girl thing,” Tate said. “It's hard to explain.”

Troy grabbed two handfuls of hair and twisted. “I'm going crazy, Tate. This whole thing is a nightmare.”

“I'm sorry, Troy,” she said in a whisper. “I wish I could help.”

Troy let his hands fall to his sides and said, “No one can help.”

“Maybe you should call him, Troy,” Tate said. “I know this all looks really bad, but maybe there's a reason. I know my mom is pretty extreme with her religion and all that, but she always says God has a reason, and things always work out the way they're supposed to.”

Troy looked at her big brown eyes.

“You think my life was supposed to turn into a complete disaster?” he asked quietly. “Famous for something
that gets everyone around me acting crazy? My father finally showing up, but it would have been better if he never had? Why would all that happen, Tate?”

Tate shrugged and looked at her feet. Her voice came in a whisper. “I don't know. Maybe it will still be okay. Things happen.”

The phone on the kitchen wall rang, and Troy ran to snap it up before his mother could answer from the bedroom.

“Hello?” Troy said.

“Troy? It's me, your dad.”

TROY COULDN'T SPEAK.

“Are you there?”

“Yes,” Troy said in a whisper.

“Did you hear?”

“Yes,” Troy said.

“I can explain, Troy,” his dad said. “I want to. That's why I ran. I need to see you. I need to tell you. Not the police, not your mom—me. Please, Troy.”

“Were you really going to take it?” Troy asked.

There was silence before his father said, “I need to talk to you about that. Can you meet me on your bridge?”

“The FBI are looking for you,” Troy said. “There's a helicopter.”

“I know,” his father said. “But I need to see you first.
I never wanted things to be this way. You have to believe me. Will you meet me?”

Troy looked at Tate. She shook her head slowly, no.

“Yes,” Troy said. “I'm coming.”

He hung up, and his mom appeared in the hallway, asking, “Was that the FBI?”

“No,” Troy said, looking directly at her, the words slipping out of his mouth like snakes slithering out of a plastic bucket. “Wrong number.”

“I thought you were talking,” she said.

“They wanted to know what number they called,” he said, the words still slipping past his lips, “and if a Robert lived here. I thought maybe they were looking for Gramps or something.”

His mom blinked at him, then said, “Oh. Well, I'm going to lie back down. I've got a migraine coming on, and I want to try to beat it. I'm sorry I just walked out. This whole thing is so…”

“It's okay, Mom,” Troy said. “I'm okay.”

She smiled weakly and put a hand to her forehead. “Good.”

When she disappeared, Troy held a finger to his lips and motioned with his head for Tate to follow him outside.

Back through the pines they went, the distant
chop chop
of a helicopter now in the air. When they hit the train tracks, Tate grabbed his arm.

“You think it's safe?” she asked.

Troy took her hand and gently freed it from his arm.

“It's my dad, Tate,” he said.

“And others, too, maybe,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I thought you said they were dangerous.”

Troy turned on her and said, “Don't worry, Tate. I have to do this alone anyway.”

“I'm not saying I won't go with you,” Tate said, but he could hear the fear in her voice.

“I need to do this alone,” Troy said.

Tate hugged him. He squeezed her tight and felt the bones beneath her skin. He pushed his face into her silky hair, just for a moment, before turning to go.

He didn't look back.

WHEN TROY REACHED THE
edge of the bridge, he could just make out the dark shape of his father in the middle. The
chop chop
of the helicopter seemed closer, but it droned back and forth, still moving without an apparent purpose.

“Dad?” he called out.

“Yes,” his father said softly. “It's me, Troy.”

Troy stepped out onto the steel bridge, his feet clapping the metal with an empty sound. When he reached his father, he stood facing him, and his dad put a hand on each of Troy's shoulders.

“I know this is where you come to dream your biggest dreams,” his father said.

Troy thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his father's eyes. Troy's own eyes began to fill, and he said,
“But this is a nightmare.”

“I didn't mean it to be, Son,” his dad said, wincing and looking up into the starry sky. “You have to believe that. I was never going to take your money. I was just going to trade it. You have to understand. They said they'd kill me, Troy. I took their money and invested it because I thought I couldn't lose. I was in the big time. It was all going so well—my condo, the planes, the Porsche—and then the economy, it just…no one thought it could ever happen. I…I…”

His father hung his head, and his shoulders sagged. He clasped his hands, wrung them together, and swayed. Over the sound of crickets, Troy heard the growing thump of the helicopter's blades pounding in the night. Above, the fat beam of a spotlight stroked the stars, wavering, and then burst through the trees to light up the bridge. They turned and shielded their eyes against the white light. Troy's father took Troy's arm and pulled him into a tight hug. He squeezed the back of Troy's head so that it almost hurt.

“I'm sorry, Son,” his dad said. “I love you, but I have to go.”

Behind him, Troy heard the shouts of men.

He opened his eyes. Over his father's shoulder he could see the dark shapes of the agents advancing with flashlights. His father was trapped.

“You can't,” Troy said, grasping for a hold on his sleeve even as his father stepped away.

In horror Troy watched as his father ducked beneath a steel beam and turned to face him from the outside edge of the trestle.

“I love you, Troy,” his father said, raising his voice above the thundering helicopter. Then his father looked around at the men running toward them and at the helicopter, still beyond the trees but sweeping the branches above with wind from its blades so that they shook and trembled in the swirl of light and noise.

Someone shouted, “Stop!”

Troy's father held up a fist that told Troy to be strong.

Then his father jumped.

The helicopter sprang into the open sky between the trees, its spotlight glaring down at the murky Chattahoochee below.