Out of the Deep (8 page)

“It's just like with Cole. No one would believe that my gorgeous adoptive brother slapped me around, not even when I showed them the bruises. But now you guys have got a problem because your folks are on the hook with me takin' off like I did. So here's the way it'll be.” Leaning an elbow on her thrust-out hip, she wagged a finger at them and said, “You help me, and I'll help you. With this deal, there are
no
negotiations.”

Ashley looked at her quizzically. “Where do you want us to go?”

“Back to the bar.” Bindy grinned defiantly. “We're going to steal us a silver box.”

“What!”
Jack couldn't believe he'd heard her right.

“Actually, not me, Jack-o. You! I can't go bopping back into that bar—the bartender knows me. It's gotta be you. Unless Ashley—”

“You leave my sister out of this,” Jack stormed.

“Well then—” Bindy tossed her head at him as she declared, “It's you, you, you. Say yes, or I take off this minute.”

Talk about being between a rock and a hard place! He was standing on a slab of shore rock that suddenly felt as big as the whole state of Maine, while this lunatic demanded that he sneak into a bar and steal some imaginary silver suitcase. If he didn't humor her, his parents would get in a whole heap of trouble. If he
did,
he might get hit over the head with a baseball bat. In movies, bartenders always seemed to keep baseball bats behind their bars.

“OK,” he said, giving in. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Jack!” Ashley protested. “You're not going to go along with this—”

“Yeah. I am. Me and me alone,” he answered. “You stay out of it. Go back to the room and—”

“Forget it!” Ashley had that look on her face again, the stubborn look that meant Jack might as well save his breath, because Ashley would do what she wanted. He groaned. Now, on top of everything else, he had to worry about keeping his sister safe.

“Here's what'll happen first,” Bindy was saying. “We'll put together the whole scene like a movie script—dialogue, action, and me as the director.” As she began to outline her plot, Jack felt his stomach sink to his toes. This was a role he definitely did not want to play!

S
mokey's Bar looked like the kind of place for hard drinks and harder people. Situated less than half a mile down the shore from the Seaside Motel, Smokey's sat squat in a cluster of trees 50 feet from the shore, a plain rectangle with a flat roof and tin chimney. The building was made of wooden logs stained tobacco brown, with one small shuttered window that reminded Jack of a patched eye. The only decoration of any kind was a neon sign that read “Beer and Spirits,” which Jack could hear humming faintly in the distance, like mosquitoes at dusk. This was not like the other buildings that dotted the shoreline. Smokey's looked rough.

“Go around to the back, where no one can see us,” Bindy hissed. “Keep your heads down, but don't act weird, like you're trying to hide something. Just be natural.”

“We
are,
” Ashley retorted.

“I'm just telling you that as an actress, I've learned how to get into character.”

Ashley rolled her eyes at Jack, who shook his head back. There was nothing either one of them could do. Bindy had them caught in her web, and the only strategy Jack had left was to get it over with as fast as he could. Feet crunched on gravel as the three of them made their way through the back parking lot, stopping behind a garbage bin to make sure no one had seen them. He did not want to go into a bar. He did not want to steal a metal suitcase. He did not want to get caught and face the same officer that had arrested Bindy. The whole plan was nothing short of insane.

“OK, do you remember what you're supposed to do?” Bindy whispered for the 70th time.

“Yes. Create a diversion—”

“—and make sure you believe what you're telling them, or they'll see right through you and know you're lying,” Bindy interrupted. “Make your story good. Act. Once you start this, you can't back out.”

“You do realize I'll be stealing,” Jack reminded her.

“No you're not. You'll be preventing a crime. Fight fire with fire, that's what I say.”

He tried again. “If I get caught, I go to jail.”

“Then remember two points,” Bindy said, holding up her fist. “Number one”—her index finger punched the air—“it's not really stealing if, by taking the object, you stop a much bigger crime, like the killing of the whales. Number two—” She held up her middle finger and grinned, “Don't get caught.”

“Gee, thanks for the great advice.”

“What if we get the suitcase out, and there's nothing in it?” Ashley demanded. “Then what?”

“Then we sneak the case back to Smokey's, and I go home with you. Case closed. Agreed?”

Jack nodded, while Ashley stood frowning, with her lips pursed.

“Once you get inside, Jack, you'll see the bar on your left and the pay phone straight back at the far end of the wall. It's still pretty early, so there won't be that many people in there.”

“That's good, isn't it?” Jack asked.

“Yes and no. The downside is you'll really stand out. That means you need to go straight to the bar to do your thing. You ready?”

Jack wasn't, but he nodded again.

“All right. It's show time!”

Taking a deep breath, Jack squared his shoulders. He could do this. Think of his parents and how much they needed this, he told himself. And don't get caught. For sure, don't get caught.

Since it was only five o'clock, the parking lot stood almost empty except for an old van and a rusted BMW. Acting as if he belonged there, he crunched up the gravel path, pulled open the door and stepped inside. The bar was dim and hazy, as if Smokey's had settled for a kind of twilight. It took a moment for Jack's eyes to adjust. He blinked, trying to pull the scene into focus. The tables sat empty except for a couple of men hunched in a small booth in the back. The wooden floorboards had pathways worn where the veneer had been scuffed away. A bartender had been wiping down the counter with a towel, but when Jack approached he stopped in mid-wipe. He stared at Jack coldly.

“Hi,” Jack said, giving a halfhearted wave.

“Hey, kid, you can't come in here,” the bartender growled, “unless you're 21. You don't look 21. Unless you're some kind of a dwarf. That what you are?

A dwarf?” He laughed at his own joke and said, “I already got in trouble with a kid in here, and I don't need no repeat performance. Beat it.” He was an older man with a face grizzled by sun and salt. Thick gray eyebrows cast deep shadows over hooded eyes. “You deaf?” he demanded, rubbing the countertop once again.

When Jack didn't answer, he barked, “I said get outta here, kid. You're in the wrong place.”

“There's…there's….” Jack could hardly get the words past the lump in his throat. His parents, Sunday school, the Boy Scouts—every institution he believed in taught that his word was his bond. Now he was going to lie outright. Well, once Bindy kept her promise, he told himself, he could sort out the rest. For now he had no choice.

“There's water shooting out of the back of your building,” Jack told him.

The bartender's eyes grew wide. “
Where
out back?”

“I don't know. I was walking by and I saw it and I thought you might have broken a pipe or something. I thought you should know.”

“All I need is a stinking plumber bill….” The bartender smacked the towel down on the counter and ran along the hallway toward the back exit, leaving the bar unattended.

Jack tensed. This was it! No one was watching him. Feeling a thousand pricks of adrenaline, he hurried behind the bar and looked underneath the counter.

At first all he saw were cabinets and row upon row of liquor bottles, tall and short, fat and thin, with all kinds of foil labels in brilliant colors. Then—a flash of silver! So, at least that much of Bindy's story was true. Looking around one last time, Jack saw no one. As quickly as that, he grabbed the suitcase and began to sprint to the door. It was heavy! His knees almost buckled beneath him.

“…don't see no water,” the bartender's voice shot back. “So what is this, a trick?” Jack could hear the anger rising in his voice. “You some kind of prankster? Hey, kid—what are you—” His voice turned deadly.
“Give me that case!”

Jack ignored him. Yanking open the door, he bolted out into the parking lot and raced toward the trees where he was to meet Bindy and Ashley.

“Drop it, kid,”
the bartender bellowed.
“Now!”

His heartbeats hammered in his ears as Jack dove into the trees. Where were Bindy and Ashley? For a crazy moment, he thought Bindy might have set him up, but then he saw them hovering behind a knotted pine.

“Go!
Go!”
Jack shouted. He couldn't waste breath explaining anything—carrying the heavy case took a lot of energy, and they all needed to run. Tree limbs snapped at his face as he took the lead into the woods, the leaves churning beneath his feet like dust. He could hear Ashley and Bindy crashing behind him—or was that the bartender giving chase? Did the bartender have a gun? The thought, which he hadn't considered before, scared Jack. Would he get shot for stealing a suitcase? Curling his back as he ran, he thrust forward like a runner breaking through a finish line. He could almost feel the bullet in his spine.

“Jack! Wait!” Ashley cried.

Jack whirled around, and when he did, the suitcase banged against a tree with a thud. “I better not break whatever's in there,” he muttered. “Not after all this.”

“Jack, I said wait! It's Bindy—we're losing her.” Ashley had stayed right at Jack's heels, but Bindy trailed behind. Scanning the woods, pushing panic down, Jack forced himself to wait. A moment later he saw Bindy's round figure struggling up the hill, but nothing else. The bartender seemed to have vanished.

When Bindy finally caught up to them, she bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard. She panted, “Good work, Jack-o. You got the case. And we lost that old dude. He'll never find us now.”

“Are you sure he's not still back there?” Jack asked.

“Might be. But I kept turning around—he gave up a long time ago. He won't find us now.”

“Don't be too sure. We need to get back to our room and stay there.”

“What about the case?” Ashley asked.

Jack tightened his fingers around the handle. “What about it?”

“Should we open it to see what's inside?”

“Not here.”

“Why not? Let me see it,” Bindy demanded.

Jack clutched the heavy suitcase to his chest. “No. We don't open it. Not until we're in our room.”

Bindy's eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Jack?”

“I'm making sure you keep a bargain. I did my part, now you have to keep your end of the deal.”

“So you still don't believe me.”

Jack didn't answer.

“OK, fine,” Bindy said, sweeping out her arm. “Lead the way.”

They kept to the trees, winding their way toward the Seaside Motel. They could tell they were heading south by watching for glimpses of the bay. Jack didn't want to get too far afield, and yet he still wasn't sure the bartender wasn't back there, lurking among the trees. Finally he saw the roof of their motel, slate-colored and flat. He could feel himself relax. They were almost there. One road, then a parking lot, then the steps, and they would be home free.

“Just walk natural,” Bindy instructed. “Act like you own the road. No one will notice you if you act like you belong.”

She was right. No one seemed to pay the slightest bit of attention to the three of them as they sauntered across the road. By the time they hit the parking lot, Jack could almost taste the safety of his room. Up the stairs the three of them clambered, not even bothering to be quiet. When he finally opened the door to his room, Jack collapsed on his bed and threw the suitcase down beside him.

“We made it!” Ashley cried, dancing around the room on her toes. “We got Bindy back. We need to call Mom and tell her! I hope she can find Dad. Whew!”

“So open the case,” Bindy urged. “You'll see that I was right. It's some kind of sonar thing to kill whales. I'm not making it up. Open it.”

Jack heaved himself to his feet to stand over the case. Ashley and Bindy hovered behind him. It was an expensive piece, like nothing he'd ever seen before. Brushed to a satin finish, it reflected his face in a warped blur, his blond head featureless, distorted. It reflected Bindy, too, who stood so close he could feel her breath on his neck. He inched away from her.

“Come on! Do it!” Bindy cried.

He hooked his thumbs on the tabs on either side. “Well, here goes.” He pushed on the tabs. Nothing happened. Hooking his thumbs harder, he tried again.

Ashley frowned. “What's wrong?”

“I don't know. I think it's locked.”

“Locked?” Pushing Jack aside with her hip, Bindy yanked the tabs so hard her face reddened. “Uh,” she said, slamming her fist into the top. “I don't believe it—the jerk locked it. We need to get the key! Maybe it's under the counter. Maybe it's in the cash register.”

Despite the warm, stale air in the room, Jack felt a cold chill spread through him. “You're not serious.”

Bindy shoved her fists into her pockets and stared at Jack. She nodded decisively.

“We are
not
going back, no way. Look, I've already stolen for you. I'll be giving this thing back to that bartender guy, but that doesn't change the fact that I took it in the first place. That's trouble enough. Now you're talking about a stupid
key?”

“But Jack, how can I prove—”

“Forget about that. I did what you asked, it didn't work, and that's the end of it. I'm through breaking the law. And if you really want us to believe you, you'll keep your word and stay here and wait for my mom and dad. You promised.”

Bindy stood with her head bowed. Silence filled every corner of the room as Jack held his breath and waited. Different scenarios seemed to flash across her face, one after the other as she weighed her options, her fists still jammed into her jeans so that the pockets bulged, her brows knit tightly together. It was Ashley who seemed to know what to do. Gently, as if she were coaxing one of her baby animals, Ashley guided Bindy toward the glass double doors, saying, “Why don't you get some fresh air? Just sit out there and watch the waves and think. I need to let my folks know you're back. They're going to be really happy about it.”

Without a word, Bindy sank into one of the plastic chairs on the deck. On the ground beneath the deck, ducks waddled happily, quacking loudly at nothing, but Bindy didn't seem interested. She kept her eyes focused on her shoes. Jack couldn't help noticing she looked utterly defeated.

When Ashley stepped back into the room, she put her finger to her lips, signaling to Jack to be quiet. “I'm going to close these curtains a bit. Jack, we need to talk.”

They crossed to the bathroom, the farthest point from the balcony, so they could talk without Bindy overhearing. Ashley's dark, anxious eyes searched Jack's face. “I'm worried we can't keep her here,” she whispered. “I'm not so sure she'll stay. Then we'll be right back where we started.”

“At least we're better off than we were two hours ago,” Jack told her.

“Except we have to get the suitcase back to the bar. I still can't believe you had the nerve to steal it.”

“I couldn't think of any other way to help Mom and Dad. I'll just have to take it back and explain and hope that bartender doesn't kill me. If that works out, then I think we'll all be home free.”

“Yeah,” Ashley smiled. “Home free.”

Suddenly a fist pounded against the door so loudly it made Jack's teeth chatter. “This is the police,” a deep voice boomed. “Open up!”