Hurricane Power (5 page)

I took my hand off the mouthpiece.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello,” Jennifer said. “I'm glad your dad was impressed. Does it usually take you longer than a few days to get a girl to call?”

“Very funny,” I said.

“Actually it is.” She laughed.

I didn't. I was steamed. More at Dad than at her though.

“Anyway, 2515 Palmetto,” she said.

“What?” I said.

“The address is 2515 Palmetto,” she said. “And his name is Carlos Pelayo.”

The kid's name and address. Dad had rattled me so much that it took me a second to figure out what she was talking about.

“Thanks,” I said when I'd gathered myself together. “You were fast.”

“Let's go tonight,” she said.

“Where?” I said.

“To visit Carlos Pelayo at home. Where else?”

“You want to go with me?” I asked, feeling glad she wanted to be my friend.

“I just want to help my dad with the track team,” she answered. “The sooner we go, the better.”

“Oh.” Maybe she didn't want to be friends.

“Besides,” she added, “what are friends for?”

“Oh.” Maybe she did want to be friends.

“Well?” she asked. “When should I pick you up? I've got my dad's car.”

“Hang on,” I said.

I put my hand over the receiver again.

“Mom, Dad,” I said to them at the supper table, “you mind if I go out for about an hour?”

“With Jennifer?” Dad asked, grinning.

“It's not like that,” I said.

“Right,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked.

“To tell the kid who thought I pulled a gun on him that I'm sorry. Jennifer's got his name and address.”

Mom frowned instantly. “Didn't you say that if he's the type who's afraid of the police, maybe he's someone to stay away from?”

I had said something like that. Naturally, my mother would remember.

“I'll be with someone who knows the area,” I said. “She wouldn't take me anywhere unsafe.”

After a second, Mom nodded. “Finish your dinner first. And be back in an hour, or I'll start to worry.”

“Yeah,” Dad said, “and introduce us to Jennifer.”

I sighed again. I got back on the telephone and told her I'd need another fifteen minutes or so. Then I gave Jennifer our address. I told her I'd be waiting outside on the sidewalk.

“Why the sidewalk?” she asked. “Don't you want me to meet your family?”

I sighed one more time.

She drove a Ford Escort—a few years old, with a few years' worth of dents. A few years' worth of hot sun had faded the red paint to something that looked pink beneath the streetlights. She drove carefully while talking about nothing much. That was fine with me. I liked the sound of her voice.

The neighborhood we drove to was not at all what I had expected. Around our school—where I had expected Carlos to live—the streets were cluttered with old cars.
As Jennifer drove, the streets got wider. Nicer cars were parked in long driveways that led to large houses with big yards.

I thought of Wawa, my little town of a few thousand people in northern Ontario. Basically it had just one main street. The most famous thing about Wawa was a giant statue of a goose. And even that wasn't real famous. There were no palm trees in Wawa but there were lots of spruce and pine. No Mercedes and bmws but lots of pickup trucks. In Wawa, the nearby water was not the warm Atlantic but the cold and dark and deep Lake Superior. I wondered what my friends were doing tonight while I cruised in the balmy, calm, night air of southern Florida.

“What a surprise,” Jennifer said, breaking into my thoughts. “I wouldn't have guessed Carlos came from a neighborhood like this. Most of the time, if people have money they send their kids to a private school. Not to one like ours.”

“Maybe his dad is like mine,” I said, blurting out my thoughts.

“Like yours?”

Jennifer had just met Mom and Dad and my brother Kirk. They had gotten along fine, mostly because they'd all had a good laugh as Jennifer told them about watching me roll under a bush. And about discovering the stuff on my shirt.

“Oh yeah, you told me your dad wanted to help people who couldn't afford good medical care. What made him decide to do that?”

“Long story,” I said, thinking back to how hard everything had been a couple of years earlier.

“Come on,” she said. “You said that to me once before. Are you trying to hide something?”

I was. But I didn't even want her to know that much.

“Look,” I said, pointing. “That's his address.”

She slowed down at number 2515.

We stared at the huge house, built in the Spanish style. Lights on the lawn pointed upward, throwing the house into a dazzling white display of marble columns and high walls.

“Boy,” Jennifer said, whistling in admiration, “living in a place like that, I don't think he needs his twelve dollars back.”

I nodded. It made me feel less worried too. Dad and I had been wrong. Carlos wasn't some criminal type who was afraid to call the police. He was a rich kid who didn't miss the money he had given me.

At least that's what I thought, until the front door opened a minute after we rang the doorbell.

“Yes?” the woman who answered the door asked, obviously surprised to see us.

She carried a small white dog in her arms. She wore a pink housecoat and had a pink towel wrapped around her head. She had on enough gold to fill an Egyptian pharaoh's tomb. Necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings. Her skin was as tanned and tough as a mummy's too. Her wrinkles were so deep, I was willing to bet that if she stood outside in the rain, her face would collect water. I had a
quick mental picture of her shaking her face, like a big, old, slobbery Saint Bernard. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“Good evening,” Jennifer said. “We're here to speak to Carlos.”

A few other thoughts were going through my mind. This woman definitely wasn't Carlos's mother. I also doubted she was his grandmother. Carlos looked more Hispanic than she did. Maybe a visitor? Maybe Carlos had been adopted by this family?

“Carlos?” she repeated in a scratchy voice.

“Yes, ma'am,” Jennifer said. “Carlos Pelayo. We go to school with him. We'd like to invite him to try out for the track team.”

“I don't understand,” she said.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her eyebrows were plucked into a thin high arch, and she had tons of makeup around her eyes. The smell of her perfume was enough to kill a skunk. Her dog lifted its lip to snarl at me, as if it knew my thoughts.

“Well,” Jennifer said, “we saw him run the other day. And he's very fast.”

No kidding, I thought.

“My dad's a track coach,” Jennifer continued, “and we're hoping he can join—”

“I understand that part,” the woman said sharply. “What I don't understand is why you're here.”

“To speak to him,” Jennifer explained patiently.

“Don't treat me like a child,” the woman said. “He's not here.”

“Oh,” Jennifer said. “Maybe you could give him a message—”

“Young lady, he doesn't live here.”

What?

“What?” Jennifer said. “I mean, I beg your pardon? Carlos Pelayo doesn't live here? But this is the address on the computer at school.”

“I have news for you,” the woman said. “Computers aren't always right. Of course, if you had been born before television like I was, you might understand that.”

“Are you sure, ma'am?” I asked, speaking for the first time.

“Of course, I'm sure,” she said. “Seems like
most of the time computers make much bigger mistakes than humans do. I'm still fighting a utility bill that makes me just furious.”

She scratched her dog's head. “Right, Sugar-booger?” she added in a high singsong voice.

Sugar-booger? “I mean about Carlos,” I said, feeling like we'd walked into a movie shoot with the wrong script. “You're sure about him?”

She glared at me. “Are you asking me if I'm sure whether some kid named Carlos lives in my house? Like I'm some old lady who's lost her marbles?”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“You talk funny,” she said. “I've never heard anyone say ‘sore-ee.'”

“He's from Canada,” Jennifer said. “They all sound funny up there.”

Like that was helpful as we looked for Carlos?

“Canada?” she said. “My fifth husband was from Canada. But I'm not sure where. A stroke took him before I had time to find out much about him.”

She scratched her dog's head again. “But he left behind lots of money, didn't he, Sugar-booger?” She frowned. “The Canadian dollar wasn't worth as much as I expected, and I almost felt cheated about the whole thing. His breath was horrible and—”

“We're sorry to have bothered you,” I said, backing away.

Jennifer and I quickly walked to the car.

“I don't get it,” she whispered. “My dad wouldn't make a mistake like this. He's the kind of guy who double-checks everything.”

Before I could answer, we heard the woman say as she closed her door, “Come on, Sugar-booger. Time for our bath.”

I shook my head. Wherever Carlos was tonight, I thought, he should be grateful not to be here.

Which, of course, left two obvious questions.

Where was Carlos?

And if Coach Lewis hadn't made a mistake, why did the computer have the wrong address?

At ten minutes after noon the next day, Jennifer and I followed Carlos Pelayo from room 225 to the school library. We stood by a drinking fountain down the hallway and watched him go in.

“So much for thinking we needed his entire schedule,” Jennifer said. “This was way easier.”

“Only because Mr. Johnson let us out of math five minutes early,” I said. “Otherwise we wouldn't have had a chance to wait outside
Carlos's class. When the bell rings, it can be tougher getting through these hallways than to bust through a defensive line in football.”

I should not have complained. The reason we'd been able to follow Carlos so easily was the crowded hallways. Staying out of sight had been easy.

I began to walk toward the library. Because we'd been standing still for a few minutes, I limped.

Jennifer noticed.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I lied.

She looked at me with an odd expression. “I heard about Jason playing a trick on you, but I didn't want to believe it.”

I shrugged. “It's my problem, all right?”

She didn't say anything.

“All right?” I repeated. I waited.

She finally nodded.

“All right,” she said. She pointed at the library door. “We go in and find him?”

“That's right,” I said. “It's a library. You know, quiet and boring. What can go wrong?”

* * *

What went wrong was the two guys with the black rose tattoos. They found Carlos first.

He was sitting in the corner by a window. Over his shoulder, I could see the chain-link fence outside the school. His face looked relaxed as he read the textbook in his lap. Beside him his leather jacket was folded neatly on the floor. He wore a white T-shirt, tight to his body. Without the leather jacket and without a scowl on his face, he looked a lot less tough, the way obnoxious little kids look sweet when they sleep.

Jennifer and I had just come around a bookshelf. It had taken us a few minutes of wandering the library to find Carlos. We moved slowly because we didn't want to just pop out of nowhere and scare him into leaving.

Neither of the guys with the tattoos noticed us near the bookshelf. They were focused on Carlos. Noticing a magazine rack that would keep us partly hidden, I grabbed Jennifer's arm to stop her from moving any farther. With my other hand, I put my finger in front of my lips to keep her quiet.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Met them earlier,” I whispered. “His friends. This might not be a good time to visit Carlos.”

Other students walked around, looking for books and talking with friends. Still, it seemed like there were just the five of us-Jennifer and me watching, Carlos reading and the two guys with tattoos.

Carlos didn't notice them until they stood in front of him and blocked the light from the window.

Carlos lifted his head. For a moment, it looked to me like a flash of fear crossed his face. Then he put on a big smile. A big fake smile.

Fear? I thought they were his friends and protectors.

The tattooed guys leaned forward and took turns speaking softly to Carlos. Jennifer and I were too far away to hear what they said.

Carlos shook his head. Once. Twice. Three times.

The smaller guy half-turned to hide what
he was doing. I didn't see much of what happened next, but I saw enough. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and held it beneath Carlos's chin.

The bigger guy, standing tall, made a quick slitting motion across his throat with a finger.

“Did you see that?” Jennifer said.

“No,” I said, “I did not see that knife. Knives are not allowed in the school. Remember, that's why they have metal detectors here. Therefore, what I saw could not have been a knife.”

Jennifer knew I was being sarcastic. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked.

Carlos stood up.

“Do about what?” I replied, although I knew exactly what she meant.

“You can't let them threaten Carlos.”

“You mean if I ask them nice,” I whispered, “maybe they'll just go away and leave him alone?”

The smaller guy tucked the switchblade into his back pocket. They started to lead Carlos away from the window.

“If you're not going to stop them,” Jennifer whispered, “then I will.”