The Quick Fix (23 page)

our discussion, we both felt drained but wired, so we zoned out to a movie. The next thing we knew, it was six
A.M.,
and we were waking up to the TV blaring some infomercial about the life-altering power of a vegetable chopper. We peeled ourselves off the couch and started our morning routine.

I was still getting ready when Mom headed for the exit. I met her at the door. She wrapped me in a huge hug, and although she was small, I swear she had the strength of a hundred moms.

She leaned back and grabbed me by the shoulders and
held me at arm's length. She had a sly smile on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You give 'em hell,” she said.

I smiled back at her. My heart raced. It's amazing what a few words of support can do.

She gave me a kiss on the forehead, then left. I watched her car back out of the driveway, and wondered how different the world would look the next time I saw her.

The phone in my office started ringing, so I ran down to get it.

“Hello?”

“Matt? It's Jimmy.”

“Hey. Listen, Mac, I'm sorry about yesterday, and about dragging you into this mess … and a lot of other things.”

“Be sorry for the other things, but not for getting me involved in this case … because you didn't. If there's a story, I'm there … Get me?”

“Yeah, I got you.”

“Listen,” he said, “I wasn't calling to be a guest star in some Hallmark special. Someone dropped something off at my house last night. Want to guess what?”

“A baby unicorn?”

“Nope. More interesting than that.”

He told me what it was, and he was right … it was pretty interesting.

“So, what do you think I should do?” he asked.

“Sell some papers,” I said.

I could practically feel his smile beaming over the phone line.

I checked the clock on the wall. “I have to go,” I said. “See you in a few?”

“Will you?”

“Call it wishful thinking.”

“Is there any way I can help?” he asked.

“No. Just get those papers out, so if I do go in the Outs, I know I'll have some company.”

I hung up the phone, grabbed all the clues that pertained to the case, and shoved them in my backpack. I grabbed the duffel bag that Vinny had given me yesterday. I even grabbed the wood box. I really didn't want a souvenir from the case that put me in the Outs. Let the blackmailer have it.

When I walked out the office door, I saw what I expected to see: Cynthia, standing there waiting for me.

“Oh. What a surprise.”

“Can I walk with you?” she asked.

“I don't think I can stop you,” I said.

She smiled. “No, I suppose you can't.”

We walked two blocks without talking. I could feel her sneak peeks at me, but I didn't return any.

“Do you know how you're going to handle this?” she asked when we were half a block from school.

“I'm going to follow directions and hope for the best. Never know who might show up, though.”

“Who? You mean the blackmailer?” she asked.

I didn't answer.

“Matt? Do you know who it is?”

“We're here,” I said.

The school was large and imposing no matter what time of day it was. Looking at it always filled me with such mixed feelings. It was the main source of thrills and dread in every student's life. We never wanted to be there, but we didn't want to
not
be there and miss something. Our day could go from super great to really horrible in the twitch of a finger, and living constantly on that edge made it hard to breathe sometimes … but it was also exhilarating.

I started up the steps. Cynthia just stood there and watched me.

“Come on if you're coming,” I said without breaking stride. I heard her follow behind me.

The halls were empty, except for the early morning light, which was dusty and had the faint smell of pencil lead and glue. I walked up the stairs to the second floor. Cynthia kept pace.

“What locker was it again?” she asked, but it sounded forced and unnatural. I smiled at her, but didn't answer.

When we got to locker 416, Will was leaning against it.

“Will,” I said.

“What's this all about?” he asked. He looked at Cynthia. “And what's she doing here?”

“Couldn't be helped,” I said. “She has a stake in this, too.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“You'll see,” I said. “But first things first.” I pulled the manila envelope out of my bag and held it up.

His eyes went wide. A couple of beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “What—?”

“Go ahead. Take a look,” I said, holding out the envelope to him. “It might jog your memory.”

“Where did you get that?” His eyes kept darting from
the envelope to me, and back to the envelope. He licked his lips four times in a row. Other than that, he was hiding his anxiety well.

“The envelope?” I asked. “A basic office supply store.”

His mouth tightened into a grimace. “No. The— Whatever's inside.”

“You still haven't checked it,” I said, practically pushing it into his chest. “I don't want there to be any misunderstanding. You know: I'm talking about one thing, and you think I'm talking about something else. Then our whole lives become like a bad sitcom.”

“I—” he said, then stopped. He turned his head away from me.

I pulled the photo out of the envelope and held it up. Cynthia took a long look and gasped. I thought Will was going to grab it and crumple it up, but instead he just stood there, looking panicked. His head jerked around, scanning the hallway. Cynthia and I were the only witnesses.

I understood why he was so tense. The picture was grainy, but there was no mistaking what was going on. Two boys were standing in a locker room. One was obviously Will, even though his face wasn't clear. His size, posture, and the big number 4 on his official Franklin Middle
School basketball jersey gave it away. The other kid in the picture was Vinny Biggs. Will was holding his hand out to Vinny; Vinny was about to put something in that empty hand. Even with the graininess, you could tell it was a wad of cash.

Will stared down at his shoes. “I made that mistake a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I know. The date stamp in the bottom right corner tells me that. You want to know what else that date stamp tells me? It tells me that this picture was taken the day of the Carver game. You know, the game that Pete supposedly threw.”

“Date could be faked,” Will mumbled.

“Yeah, it could be. One look at you tells me it wasn't, though.”

Will continued to stare at his shoes. He looked miserable.

“Pete forgot to take his phone out of his shorts,” he said. “He ran back to put it in his locker. On the way, he saw me talking to Vinny and decided to take a picture of us. Why? I'm not even sure he knows.”

“So Pete tried to win that game on his own,” I said. “That's why he wouldn't pass to you. He knew he would
probably lose anyway, but he figured he'd go down swinging. Ironically, it was his fight that made it look like
he
was the one tanking … and that played right into your hands, didn't it?”

Will bowed his head.

“And you let him take the blame,” I said.

“He wanted to take it. He offered,” he said. “I didn't want to throw my whole life away just because I needed a little cash. Pete already had a Pixy Stix addiction. He was bound to mess up sooner or later. Why do you think he kept this a secret for so long?”

“Because he didn't want to rat out his friend. And he didn't think anyone would believe him, picture or no picture.”

“It was more than that! Honest! The pressure was getting to him. He didn't want to play basketball anymore. All he wanted to do was get Stixed all the time.”

“So instead of getting him help, you turned him into the most hated kid in school. Pete was drowning in a sea of sugar, and you tossed him an iron doughnut.”

“Neither one of us realized how bad it would get for him!”

I swallowed my anger. “You know what?” I said. “I don't even care. What's done is done, right?”

The weakness and desperation drained from his face, replaced by suspicion … and familiarity. “Right,” he said cautiously.

“Past is past,” I said. “Let's talk about the future.”

“What about it?”

“Well, the future—more specifically,
my
future—looks like it's going to be unpleasant,” I said, “and I think it's my responsibility to myself to cushion the fall a bit. Don't you?”

He didn't say anything but gave me a look of someone with experience in these types of discussions, a look that said,
What do you want from me?

“Here's what's going to happen,” I said, unzipping the bag. “I'm going to count this money and make sure it's all there.” I took out one of the money stacks and pocketed it. I zipped the bag back up and put it in the locker. “Yup, all there.”

Cynthia grabbed my shoulder. “Matt? What are you doing?”

“You can't just take that!” Will said. “What about the blackmailers? They'll release my—”

“Photo?” I said. “No, they won't. If they do that, the gravy train pulls out of the station, never to return. As long as the photo stays hidden, they have a steady income. Oh,
they might be miffed that the take is less than it should be, but that's not your problem. That's between them and Vinny, right? All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. Both of you.”

“Matt?!?” Cynthia said. “What're you …? You can't—”

“Quiet,” I said. “I'm trying to
work
, here.”

She looked confused, but she stopped talking. And was that a glimmer of realization I saw on her face?

“So, you're blackmailing me, too,” Will said. He scowled. He bit his lip. He banged his fist on the locker four times. “You're a real jerk, you know that?”

I shrugged. “You're not exactly an angel yourself, so excuse me if I take that with a grain of salt. And what are you getting so bent out of shape for? All you have to do is not say anything. It's not like this is your money.” I paused. “Is it?”

He twitched.

I smiled. “Well,” I said, “not as cool off the court as you are on, are you?”

“
You're
blackmailing
me
,” he said, trying to change the topic back to one in which he was the hero.

“Really? Or are you upset that I'm cutting into your profits? Maybe I should put it back then.” I turned away
from him, to face the locker. I opened the door and reached for the bag. Before I could grab it, I heard Cynthia gasp. I had a hunch why.

“Turn around,” Will said.

I did. Will was holding a small blue squirt gun, the kind that's easy to conceal. It was pointed at me. For some reason, I couldn't stop smiling.

“You weren't blackmailing me just now, were you?” he asked. “You already knew.”

I pulled out the two ransom notes and held them up. “You wrote these.”

He shrugged, a smug smile uglying up his handsome face.

“You couldn't see them on the originals,” I said. “They were too faint. But something happens with a photocopy sometimes, where it picks up a little indentation or a little mark that would otherwise be completely hidden. There are four little pen marks on this note, where you tapped the paper. Four … your lucky number. You don't do anything until you tap it four times.”

“Uh-huh,” Will said. “Keep going.”

Cynthia's eyes kept darting from me to Will and back again.

“Pete's main connection for Stix was the Thompson twins. He had worked up a massive debt to them, and they were no longer supplying him. So Pete tried to square up with them by showing them your picture. He hoped he could lead them on, promise to give them the picture, or a copy, for a constant supply of Stix. The Thompsons agreed, then planned to take the picture by force, and use it to blackmail Vinny. If kids still thought the fix was in after all this time, it would put a major dent in Vinny's gambling operation. After Pete came down from his sugar high, he realized what he'd done by telling the Thompsons, and he assumed that the slimy little jerks would come after him. He freaked out and regretted it. He gave you the box with the photo to hold. You heard through a few connections of your own that Pete had floated your picture out there.”

“You're serious, Matt?” Cynthia asked.

“Yeah … Will saw an opportunity … the Thompsons wanted to blackmail Vinny, but what if he got there first? Since Will was in the photo, Vinny would have a hard time suspecting him, especially if the photo was out in the wild. So he played a little shell game with it. He gave it to Melissa, sent a note to the Thompsons tipping
them off, so they'd get their hands on it, then schemed to have someone—either me or Vinny—take it away from them. The more people who touched the box, the harder it would be to remember that Will had it in the first place. The only person who might suspect something was up was Pete. All Will had to do was play dumb with him.”