Ascending the Boneyard (17 page)

“Hey, time to cash out, man,” I whisper. “I think we're about to get busted.”

“One more,” he says.

As my gaze nervous bounces over to the security minions, Haze pulls the lever again, only this time, it isn't a row of sevens that toggle into view, and it isn't a row of bars either.

It's a row of cockroaches.

“Jesus!” I shove against Haze's arm. “C'mon!”

He rips the printout from the machine; but as we turn to hop off our stools, it's obvious we're not going to get very far, because by now we're surrounded by a minuscule cc detail.

“It's best you gentlemen leave,” one of them tells us in the deepest voice I've ever heard. “Now.”

“I'll be sure they cash out and go,” I hear from behind us, turning just in time to see that retina-piercing yellow wig push through the antennae and move toward us.

“Ready?” she says, sliding one of her slender arms through the crook of mine and the other through Haze's before guiding us toward the cashier cage.

“Just act like it's no big deal,” she says once we're out of earshot, rushing us through the casino like the three of us just pulled off the heist of the century.

“Is this a holdup?” I blurt. I'm not sure why, except that she's the one who gave us that slug in the first place, and now she's escorting us with purpose to the cash-out window.

“You boys aren't eighteen, are you?” she asks.

Haze and I flash a worried glance at each other over her head.

“That's what I thought. Come on.” She pushes us up to the cage, where a beefy dude with a shaved head bends down to greet us.

“Heya, Starlight,” he says to her with a wink.

“Heya, Bubba,” she says back, flashing him a thousand-dollar smile. “Can you cash these gents out? They lost track of time and just realized they have a ride to catch.”

I wonder if she means that figuratively.

“Sure thing,” Bubba says. As he studies our printout, I study the way he's oozing out of his casino-issue vest and how that dinky bow tie makes his fat head look even more mutantly huge. I wonder if they date, Bubba and Starlight. I wonder if Starlight is her real name or, you know, her
professional
name.

“They got this off sixteen hundred?” he asks.

Starlight answers with a musical, “Mmm-hmm.”

“I thought sixteen hundred was off the grid.”

“Guess they fixed it,” she says.

“They sure as hell did.” Bubba does not look happy. He glances up from the ticket, noticing me and Haze for the first time. “Which one o' you was on it?” he asks.

I don't waste a second sticking my thumb in Haze's direction. He sucker-punches me down low where Bubba can't see from inside the cage.

“Got some ID?”

My heart starts slam dancing but Haze just reaches into his pocket, cool as shit, and hands Bubba his ID card.

“And you're . . . Rutherford Hayes?” Bubba asks, his gaze ping-ponging between Haze and the card.

Rutherford?
His name is Nate. Rutherford Hayes was a—

“When's your birthday?” Bubba asks.

That's easy. June 24, 1996, exactly two weeks before mine.

“May fourteenth,” Haze says, “nineteen ninety-two.”

He's lying, of course. I should know when the dude's birthday is. I've eaten Hostess cupcakes with him in my living room every year on that day since fourth grade. But here's my man Haze with a fake ID I've never seen before, spouting off his fake birthday like it's for real.

Bubba doesn't believe him. He leans over till he's halfway out of the cage.

“May fourteenth, you say?”

“That's right.”

“What's your sign?” he says, and that's the moment I realize we're jacked. Totally and completely busted. Game over. Fail. Wipe.

“Taurus,” Haze says.

My eyebrows lift over the tops of my yellow goggles, eyeballs pivot from Haze to Bubba. I'm awed as Bubba nods in satisfaction.

“Very well, Mr. Hayes. Two thousand sixty-four dollars and fifteen cents.” He shakes his head. “Biggest payout I've ever seen on a coin slot machine. By about two thousand sixty dollars!” He tips his head back, hurls a sonic boom of a laugh into the air, then stops suddenly and lowers his eye beams at us one last time. “I'm calling maintenance to fix that goddamn machine.”

“Okay,” Starlight says. “Bye, Bubba!” She lifts a hand, graceful as all hell, and waves, and I get the strongest sense of déjà vu I've ever had. Is this girl a hostage? Have I seen her before, maybe tried to save her? I bet I tried, and failed, and now I'm getting another chance to free her. That's why I got the expansion pack. Extra chances to show I'm Worthy.

But I don't have time to linger on the thought. As Starlight leads us through the casino, she whispers, “Don't look back,” only it's more like a stage whisper because of how noisy it is in there. But of course, the minute someone says don't do something, that's invariably the first thing you do. Haze and I both shoot a look over our shoulders, and I'll be damned if those buttoned-tight security ninjas aren't following a safe distance behind us.

“What do they want?” I ask.

“They might just wanna make sure you guys leave. The casino doesn't like it when someone cashes out big.”

“That was hardly a big cash-out for a place like this,” Haze says. “What do they really want?”

“What did Bubba mean by that machine being off the grid?” I cut in.

Haze turns on Starlight. “Did you do something illegal?” he demands, and I'd say his tone is starting to make me nervous except that I'm nervous as all hell already.

“Did
we
do something illegal?” I ask.

“Shut up, the both of you,” she says, every ounce of sweetness evaporating from her words. “Just come with me, and for God's sake, quit asking questions for one single minute, would ya? I can't even hear myself think.”

I avoid looking in Haze's direction, double-avoid telling him I think this girl's in trouble for real. He'll say
we're
in trouble too, and he'd be right of course; but if Starlight is a hostage, she's probably trying to escape, which definitely means we're here to free her.

My heart races at the thought.

Starlight's jaundiced wig and flouncy skirt aren't helping to keep us incognito as we push our way through the casino and out a set of doors that dumps out at some side street, not onto the busy avenue we entered from, like I was expecting.

We follow her into a multilevel parking garage, where she rushes up to a rimless sedan that might have been light purple at some point but is now just a vague shade of gray. That car looks rode hard and mistreated—a lot like its owner, I bet. My terrified heart begins to soften for Starlight once again. Unless, of course, she's about to clobber us and take the two large we just won—in which case my sympathy for her will lie dying next to me on the concrete floor of the garage.

“Get in,” she says, and Haze freezes on the spot in a move so abrupt it would be comical if the whole thing wasn't so terrifying. “Get in!”

This time, Starlight's the one who sneaks a glance over her shoulder.

“Oh Jesus,” she says, panicking now. “Get in or get left behind!” She scrambles behind the wheel, fumbles with the keys as Haze and I do a Three Stooges routine, trying to get ourselves into the car before the security detail catches up with us.

“I guess they didn't just want to escort us out,” I say.

Starlight doesn't answer. She jams the car into gear and screeches out of the parking spot, leaving security behind in a puff of exhaust and terror. The tires squeal around every corner until we reach the exit of the parking garage, and without stopping or even looking, she hits the road, forcing the car that's already in our lane to swerve into the next lane to avoid a collision. The driver blasts his horn at us.

“Life or death, buddy!” Starlight shouts, flipping him the bird. I wish she'd pull her arm back inside before we incite the guy's road rage.

Haze is panting hard against his face mask.

“How is this life or death?” he asks, but she doesn't answer. She grips the wheel, eyes locked and loaded on the road ahead.

“Where are you taking us?” I ask.

“Me?” she says. “I'm not
taking
you anywhere.”

Right. Cuz she's a hostage.

Haze's mouth twists into an almost-sneer. “You're seriously gonna tell us you're not taking us anywhere?”

“Then what are we doing here?” I ask.

She finally turns away from the windshield and flashes the most dazzling smile I've ever seen.

“How 'bout a trip to the park?” she says.

14.5

Starlight's real name
turns out to be Starla Manley. She's eighteen—was only seventeen when she ran away from home with a guy named Scab, who dumped her as soon as they hit town. That, she says, is how she ended up broke and homeless and working at the casino. Of course, she had to lie about her age to get the job, but she says she had no choice.

As we merge onto the highway, she tells us she's done everything to survive, short of prostitution.

I wish she'd take that damn yellow wig off so I can see who she really is.

15

“Why would you
tell us that?” Haze asks.

“Tell you what?”

“All that personal stuff. You don't even know us.”

She kicks a stealth glance at Haze in the rearview mirror. “You seem like nice guys.”

“Yeah. And, bonus, we're loaded.”

A flicker of amusement crosses Starla's face, but it lasts only a nanosecond.

“I don't want your money,” she says.

My eyes drift to her chest, to the rise and fall of each quick breath she takes. I want to appreciate the moment for what it is: the hotness of a girl's half-naked breasts pushing against the superlow cut of her blouse. But I can't. This girl's scared as hell and I know it.

I look away.