Jericho Point (23 page)

I ran around the car and got in. Shut the door. Marc marched toward us. Jesse gripped the gearshift. He was waiting for me to say something. One word. I was that close to getting tossed out. I gave Marc an apologetic glance, and held my tongue.

‘‘Okay then.’’ He floored it.

We thundered down the driveway. Gold light and green shadow strobed across us. I checked the wing mirror and saw Marc running behind the car, sprinting but losing ground. After a dozen strides he gave up. He changed tack, waving to the parking valet.

‘‘Do you see the Mings?’’ Jesse said.

‘‘No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t coming.’’

‘‘We’re gone. They won’t catch us.’’

We roared out onto the main road. The Mustang’s engine sounded raw. ‘‘Worlds Apart’’ coursed from the stereo, a hard melody of loss and anger. I watched the live oaks streak past.

‘‘I know I’m an idiot,’’ I said. ‘‘I blew it, big-time.’’

The road curved. He took the bend hard, and I pushed my feet against the floor, but I had no brake pedal. He straightened the wheel and the car leaped down the road.

‘‘Where does he get off, telling P.J. there’s no pride in taking me on?’’ he said.

‘‘Jesse, you—’’

‘‘And don’t say it. Just don’t. That was the stupidest, rudest thing I’ve ever done in public, and I’m dogshit in my family for the next century.’’ He checked the mirror. ‘‘I had P.J. He was done.’’

‘‘I know. And thank you for taking my corner.’’

‘‘It was a fight. Straight up. I didn’t need Roger Ramjet wading in and saving my ass.’’

‘‘I get the feeling he’s pulled people out of fights before. He meant no disrespect.’’

‘‘Right, strutting around with his lock-and-load attitude. Wearing those fuck-me shades.’’

‘‘All right, enough.’’ My shoulders tightened. ‘‘This isn’t about the U.S. Navy.’’

‘‘No? Then what is it about?’’

The white line on the road was a blur. The stereo was hurting my ears. I turned it down.

He turned it back up. The car heaved over a rise in the road.

‘‘You’re going too fast,’’ I said.

No response.

I reached for the stereo and hit the eject button, put down the window, and threw the CD out. His mouth opened in astonishment. But he didn’t stop.

Her
. It was her, Evan Delaney, here at this la-di-da Montecito wedding. Her and her little friend. He watched her run out of the room, and he wanted to run after her, but they were in the middle of the song, so he kept playing, and shit, they had to do something, now.

He turned, keeping the beat. Murph was steady on the kit, but looked like he had a plan. Murph always had a plan, made them up right on the spot. That got them into trouble sometimes, with Toby. Got
him
into trouble, ’cause even Toby was scared of Murph and wouldn’t yell at him. So he got his ass chewed instead.

Final chorus. They ritarded. Murph did a little roll and fade. Merlin worked his shoulders. Shit, stuff like this made him itch.

The next song on their set list was ‘‘Isn’t She Lovely,’’ but Murph stood up and told the guys, ‘‘ ‘You Spin Me Round.’ Acoustic.’’ Murph pointed at him with his drumsticks. ‘‘Come on.’’ Merlin’s nerves jumped.

The guys slid into the Dead or Alive shit, no questions asked. He and Murph hopped off the bandstand and went out into the hall. Murph pulled him toward the entrance.

‘‘You saw Delaney?’’ Merlin said. ‘‘She shouldn’t be here, middle of the day. She’s supposed to be getting the money. What’s she pulling?’’

Murph stuck his drumsticks in his back pocket. He was thinking. Hard, Merlin could tell. They came to the entrance and looked outside.

‘‘Don’t know,’’ Murph said, ‘‘but we’re going to find out.’’

They saw him in the sun, the black dude. Looking pissed off. Standing at the parking valet’s podium, while the valet phoned to have his car brought around.

‘‘Yeah,’’ Murph said. ‘‘We’re going to find out right now. Come on.’’

Jesse gaped at the rearview mirror, watching the CD spin across the asphalt behind us. ‘‘Why’d you do that?’’

‘‘That album makes you angry and depressed. And it was giving me a headache.’’

‘‘You’re blaming the E Street Band?’’

We were coming down the glen, back toward city traffic. My stomach was cramping. He had the Mustang running flat out.

‘‘You’re in danger. It’s because of my brother. How could you think I would let you face it alone?’’ He stared out the windshield. ‘‘Do you want me on your team?’’

‘‘Don’t say that. You and I
are
the team.’’

‘‘I’m not blind, Evan.’’

I felt two inches tall. ‘‘I know.’’

‘‘And I will not play second string. Not with you.’’

‘‘That’s not what’s going on.’’

He looked at me. ‘‘Delaney. You came to the wedding with another man.’’

I saw it ahead, where the road curved left—the line of orange traffic cones Marc and I had passed driving to the wedding earlier. The job site was now empty. I saw the sunlight turning through the canopy of the live oaks. I felt the car going into the bend. Late.

‘‘Jesse.’’

He braked. The tires grabbed for the road and missed. He threw the wheel, but the back end of the car danced to the right and swung out from under us. We skidded sideways into the cones, flying down the line. They spewed around us one after another,
bam bam bam,
flying up like bright scattershot. The view out the windshield panned to trees and the golf course and the road back where we’d been. Jesse hung onto the wheel but we were gone.

We spun, tires screaming, off the asphalt onto the shoulder. Dirt blew over the car and in my window. The air went brown, stinging my eyes, and I felt Jesse hanging on and trying to stop the car, but we were slaves to acceleration. The trees were coming at us through the flying dust.

I prayed. God, please. We were going backward, loose and helpless, bouncing over the dirt. I waited for it.

And without a sound, we came to rest on the shoulder. Dirty and stunned and unscathed. The engine guttered, ready to rumble some more.

The dust settled outside like a brown veil, clicking onto the roof and hood, clearing to a view of light glowing through the trees, and strewn orange cones, and skid marks. Jesse gripped the wheel, breathing hard.

‘‘You okay?’’ he said.

I listened to the engine and the dust shirring down.

‘‘Evan.’’ He clutched my arm. ‘‘Are you all right?’’

I saw him. He wasn’t hurt. But he wasn’t okay.

I opened the door. I tried to get out but couldn’t stand up. I looked down and unbuckled my seat belt.

I got out of the Mustang and stood by the roadside. My legs felt like a newborn foal’s, ready to buckle. The air seemed to be knocking me around. Looking back in the car, I saw Jesse leaning across to my side, his face dazed.

He wasn’t anywhere close to okay. He was only close to the edge. And I could see only one way to get him back.

‘‘Go home,’’ I said.

‘‘Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?’’

I walked away from the car, heading down the glen toward town.

He called my name. I walked. The light was intensely bright. Where the trees shaded the roadside, puddles lingered. The engine dropped into gear. He pulled alongside.

‘‘Please get in,’’ he said.

I shook my head. The Mustang inched alongside me.

‘‘Please. I’ll drive slow. You can drive. We won’t drive; we’ll just talk. Please.’’

The engine growled. It sounded as if it were ready to eat me.

‘‘I’m not getting back in this car. Nothing you say can make me.’’

‘‘Evan, I’m sorry.’’

I didn’t look at him. ‘‘You’re going to kill yourself. I can’t be with you when you do it.’’

A raw silence bled around me. Jesse’s voice was empty. ‘‘Marc’s going to be here in a minute. Go with him.’’

I nodded. He kept pace, until finally I said, ‘‘Go.’’

‘‘When I see his truck coming.’’

I stepped in a puddle without meaning to. After a minute we heard a vehicle coming down the road from the direction of the country club. It was Marc’s truck.

‘‘Ev.’’

‘‘Just go.’’

He pulled away.

The silence in the glen felt sharp. I waited, and as Marc’s truck drew nearer I hugged myself, because I was about to lose it. I hated the thought of unraveling in front of Marc, every bit as much as I wanted to cry on his shoulder. The truck slowed and stopped. I walked toward it.

The doors opened, and the Mings stepped out.

Two beats, count ’em, I stood by the road. What had they done to Marc?

Didn’t matter. They were going to do it to me too. I ran like a stone flung from a slingshot.

Murphy ran too, with real linebacker speed. He clipped me from behind with a low tackle that threw me off my feet. I landed flat, splashing in a puddle. The breath clapped out of me. My elbows scraped open on muddy gravel. I got to my knees to crawl but the skirt of the dress tangled around my legs. Murphy jammed his foot between my shoulder blades and stomped me down again.

‘‘Where’s the money?’’

I writhed but he put weight on his leg.

Gut check. I couldn’t lose it. ‘‘The money’s all set.’’

Merlin paced back and forth. He was a powder blue rodent. ‘‘She’s lying.’’

‘‘What’s your problem? I’m not supposed to pay Toby until five o’clock.’’

Murphy dropped onto my back, straddling me. It was like having a two-hundred-pound mattress draped across me. I could hardly breathe.

‘‘You said you needed till five to get the money transferred. Instead you dicked around, coming to this froufrou wedding.’’ He waved at Merlin. ‘‘Check her purse. See if it’s in there.’’

Merlin grabbed my small purse and dumped out the contents. He kicked my lipstick and cell phone into the puddle.

‘‘Nothing.’’

I turned my head toward him. ‘‘I couldn’t fit twenty-five grand into that tiny purse. Give me a break. You know how big a wad that much cash makes.’’

He kicked my key ring, picked up my wallet, and pulled out all the cash I had, sixty-four bucks.

‘‘You haven’t done jack,’’ he said. ‘‘Lying bitch. You played us again.’’

He threw the wallet at me. And he threw the money at me. He spun in a circle, little hands pawing his thinning hair.

‘‘Toby’s gonna kill us, Murph. We are so fucked.’’

Murphy’s hip bones pressed on my ribs. ‘‘Calm down.’’

‘‘We were supposed to keep tabs on her, make sure she was doing what she was supposed to,’’ Merlin said.

‘‘Shut up,’’ Murphy said.

‘‘What we gonna tell the boss, we saw her at our gig? Right, keeping tabs on her, we catch her all prettied up partying with her pals, having a good laugh at us?’’

I looked at him. ‘‘The money’s ready to go.’’

‘‘We seen you there, talking with your partner.’’ He stalked in a circle.

‘‘If you mean Sinsa Jimson, you’re—’’

‘‘You were figuring how to hose us up the ass.’’ Without warning he changed direction and slapped me hard across the face.

My head snapped sideways. He slapped me back the other way and my vision fireworked white. The pain caught up with the shock and drove my thoughts away to the edge.

Murphy said, ‘‘Jesus, chill down.’’

But Merlin had sprung a valve. ‘‘We’re screwed. So screwed.’’

He squatted down in front of me, grabbed me by the hair, and shoved me facedown into the puddle.

Straight through cold brown water and down into the mud and pebbles at the bottom. Eyes, nose, mouth shoved under. Panic hit me.

He yanked me up by the hair. ‘‘Screwed. ’Cause of you.’’

Air. I inhaled, choked, coughed. ‘‘No. I’ll—’’

He shoved my face back down. I heard a splash this time before my nose and mouth hit the mud and sank in.

My right arm was free. I swung wildly and tried to lever myself up, but Merlin had plenty more leverage to keep me under, and Murphy was on my back. I clawed my fingers into the water by my mouth, into the mud, trying to scoop it away. It was too deep. I grabbed dirt and pebbles into my hand and flung them blindly, trying to hit Merlin. My lungs burned. I grabbed again, fingers catching on my key ring. I closed my fist around it and swung, trying to stab him with a key, something.

They were too strong. I was drowning in an inch of water. Jesus Christ, it hurt.

Merlin’s hand jerked off my head.

I pulled my face out of the puddle and gulped air. Mud was caked in my nose and mouth. I spit it out, coughing. Had I hurt him? I blinked, tossing my head back and forth to clear the mud from my eyes, and saw him sitting on his butt in front of me. I breathed, frantically.

Merlin’s shoulders were chugging up and down. His face was red. Maybe I got him in the nuts.

Murphy was pointing at him. ‘‘Not that way.’’

No, I hadn’t hurt Merlin—Murphy had knocked him down. Murphy’s hand settled on the back of my neck. It was hot, and the size of a catcher’s mitt.

He leaned close to my ear. ‘‘I’m going to give you a choice.’’

In dreams, I try to run but my legs stick, as if the air is glue. At that moment the nightmare broke the bounds of sleep. I couldn’t make my limbs move. Murphy leaned close to my face. He had two drumsticks clenched in his hand.

‘‘How do you want it?’’ he said.

This was no dream. I fought.

I kicked, I thrashed, I bucked my head back. Murphy said, ‘‘Hold her down.’’ Merlin got to his haunches and pinned me by the shoulders. Murphy unzipped my dress. Cool air pricked my skin, and I felt Murphy’s clammy hand running up and down my back.

He lay on top of me. I sounded like an animal, groaning and thrashing beneath him. The hand with the drumsticks slid down my ribs and past my thigh and rustled beneath the fabric of my skirt. I screamed through my teeth.