Pretty Wanted (18 page)

Wow. Within the space of one afternoon I’d gone from rich snotty girl to poor little abandoned child. Both acts were meant to get a reaction. Both made me feel completely terrible.

The guy frowned. I honestly couldn’t tell whether my sob story was working or not. “He tell you he’s in here?”

“He’s at the craps table. That’s where he always is. Can we just go and get him?”

He looked behind him and then back at both of us. “You have five minutes. If you’re not back out here by then, I’m going to remove you myself.”

I thanked him, trying to suppress my smile. Aidan and I stepped past him, hurrying on in. Our time was limited. We had to move quick. But first, we stopped in the respective restrooms. I changed into the red dress Aidan bought for me at the City Museum. He changed into a sweater-vest and button-down he’d acquired from the thrift store. When we emerged from the men’s and ladies’ we were like different people.

“You look hot,” he said, blinking. “That dress is . . . perfect.”

Perfect for me, or perfect for solving a crime? I didn’t push him to make a distinction. “Thanks,” I said, stuffing my old clothes back into the backpack. In an ideal world, I would have preferred to pair the dress with at least a kitten heel but I only had a pair of flats and a pair of sneakers, so it was going to have to be the flats. At least this way, we would better blend into the surroundings.

In the lobby, we were greeted by a cacophony of jingling, jangling, beeping, metallic clacking, and the low-level din of chatter. It was like walking into the circuit board of the world’s biggest computer. The red-and-orange-patterned carpet alone gave me a headache. And the lights—the flashing signs for slots and video poker machines, the spinning rainbow over the Wheel of Fortune machines, the spotlights at the top of each round pillar, the elaborate crystal chandeliers dripping glass beads from the vaulted ceilings overhead. All of these were dizzingly reflected and refracted off the mirrored surfaces on the walls and ceiling.

We scanned the aisles for Bailey, passing roulette and craps and rows and rows and rows of chirping machines, almost every single one occupied by a person pinching in coins and pressing a button or lever. No sign of him here.

As we passed the offtrack betting area, I couldn’t help but think of Tre, who was involved in some kind of bookmaking, I suspected, for NFL games. How did people get into this kind of thing, the mindless sinking of money into long-shot hopes? You’d probably have to start off winning, enough that it would make you think you could keep winning. Of course, it wasn’t so different from my robberies—once you got the taste of that buzz, you wanted to feel it again, to
prove
you could do it again.

I guess we all just wanted to be lucky.

Then I remembered the video I saw with my mom and Granger. They wanted to protect people from the evils of gambling, because it was addictive and it only made the rich richer. But the riverboat people had won after all because here we were.

“There he is!” Aidan said, pointing.

The shiny black of Bailey’s jacket was visible ahead. He was headed into a smaller room off the main area. It looked like a private suite. But inside there wasn’t much gambling going on. People were dressed up in suits and cocktail dresses, holding drinks and chatting. A party of some kind, I assumed. The room overlooked the water, which glittered with the reflection of the boat lights.

We couldn’t go any farther, not without being seen, so we ducked behind some slot machines to watch Bailey as he approached another man in a charcoal-gray suit with a red tie. A man with blondish hair.

Could it be?

It was.

“Granger,” Aidan said out loud.

I remembered his conversation with his aide the other day. So this was his personal private meeting or appointment or whatever. He knew Bailey. Which meant he probably knew Chet, too. I shouldn’t have been surprised but the revelation still rang through me, as loudly as the machines blurting around us.

Granger lied to me. He was in on this somehow.

And what was he doing in a casino? Hadn’t he been protesting these very same riverboats in that old video?

Our view was framed between the metal cases of the slots. Bailey’s back was still toward us but we could see him leaning in close, whispering something into Granger’s ear.

Granger’s eyes widened as he listened. Then he whispered something back to Bailey. It took a pickpocket’s eye to spot it, but I watched their hands as Bailey passed Granger a folded slip of paper. Granger took it from him, without reading it, folded into smaller quadrants and put it into his back pocket. Bailey’s other hand slid into his pocket, and it looked like he was fiddling with his phone.

“We need that paper, whatever it is,” I said to Aidan.

I was going to have to go in and get it myself. The reefing technique seemed like my best bet—inching up the lining of his pocket from the outside until I could grab the note. But I still needed a distraction. He would remember me from the other day, but he probably wouldn’t remember Aidan out of context.

“I need you to walk right up to him and bump his shoulder,” I said.

“Won’t he recognize me?” he asked.

“Not right away. He’ll be confused in the moment, and that will give me enough time,” I said. “But we’ll need to move quick.”

I waited until Bailey walked away, passing back into the larger casino room. We ducked down as he neared us. Then, when Granger’s back was turned, I saw our chance.

“Ready?”

Aidan nodded. I went first, positioning myself at a bar ledge nearby. I picked up someone’s old drink, and pretended to be busy with it while I watched our mark. My heart thundered while I waited for Aidan to close in.

I watched with admiration as he marched straight through the door, heading right for Granger like he owned the place. But he’d added his own spin—a drunken spin. He was killing it. I crept up behind Granger just as Aidan plowed into him. The movement jarred Granger’s body.

“Watch it, buddy,” he said.

By then I already had the lining reefed, the corner of the paper in grabbable reach.

“I’m thso thsorry,” Aidan said, slurring like he’d had five martinis. “I didn’t thsee you there, thsir.”

I pinched the paper, closed it inside my fist. Within seconds, I was back out the door, hiding behind another row of machines, feeling its sharp edges press into my flesh while I watched for Aidan. He was done now, too. He walked away, hands raised in apologetic retreat, while Granger scowled at him. He even faked losing his balance a little along the way.

“Amazeballs,” I whispered to him when he was back beside me.

“Why thank you,” Aidan said. “So what’s it say?”

“I haven’t looked yet.” I wouldn’t dare until we were alone and away from here. I’d stolen a lot of stuff, but this might be my most valuable take ever, at least to me personally.

“So where’s that dad of yours?” asked a voice behind us. The guard from the entrance. His face, doubtful before, was fully suspicious now. It took me a moment to remember our lie, to realize he wasn’t talking about Granger.

“We haven’t found him yet,” I stammered.

“Ah, but I see you’ve had time to change your clothes. Nice sob story.” He pulled us both to our feet by our elbows. “Well, your five minutes of scamming are up.”

There was no need to struggle now. We’d gotten the paper. Best to act natural, go with it without making a scene. He didn’t need to drag us.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll go.”

So we went with him, the three of us walking back out into the lobby, the guard lecturing us about how he could lose his job and how underage gambling was a serious problem and blah blah blah.

The timing was all wrong, though. As we passed the men’s room, Bailey came out, stuffing his phone back into his pants pocket. We were, undeniably, face-to-face with him. It took a second, but his eyes widened in surprise as he lunged in our direction.

“You two,” he growled.

“Are these your kids?” the guard asked, forgetting that he’d already written us off. “They really shouldn’t be here, sir.”

Bailey shoved past him with a violence that quickly solved the dad question for even the most casual onlooker. He lunged at us. I didn’t need to have a flashback to our confrontation in the Painted Hills to know we were in deep. My muscles tensed automatically, firing up to launch.

“Run!” I yelled.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

THIRTEEN

THE ARCH WAS
just up ahead. By the time we crossed into Jefferson National Expansion Memorial Park back in St. Louis, we’d been running for a good twenty minutes. It was eerily silent behind us. Bailey was nowhere to be found. Even so, we were still looking behind us now and again to make sure.

“I think he’s gone,” I said to Aidan.

He exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. That was tight there for a minute.”

As we got closer, I could see that the Gateway Arch was more metallic than it had seemed from a distance, the carbon steel surface contrasting the now early evening sky. The park’s trees, skeletal in winter, were dwarfed by the enormous structure. I’d been looking at it for days, and we were finally here. It was massive. It was stunning. But this was not how I wanted to see the famous landmark.

And then in the distance, I saw a familiar figure. Was that Tre? Sitting on a bench outside the Arch?
How did he get here?
It was like he knew we’d be coming.

And then I had to smile. My legs were sore. I was cold. My dress was a less-than-optimal running outfit. I wanted nothing more than to sit down. But now I knew we had something to run toward. Safety. Maybe I had been right about the Arch all along—it was here to protect us.

“Let’s get Tre and get out of here,” I said to Aidan. We just needed to get back to the motel and figure out our next steps, the three of us. I imagined the walk back, how we would fill him in on everything we’d learned. How he would probably try to convince us to get the next bus home. How Aidan and I would argue that we were really onto something. For the first time, I believed we could actually solve this thing. I felt it in my bones—a vibration, almost.

Or maybe that was the car engine gunning behind us. I turned to see the red Pontiac careening up the park’s driveway.

I screamed, clutching Aidan’s arm. He grabbed me back and yelled, too.

Turns out, Bailey was very much not lost.

The car gained speed, and soon it was next to Aidan, swerving dangerously close. We jerked to the left, tried to move out of the way.

Then the car spun around and screeched to a halt in front of us, completely blocking the path.

There was nowhere to go but up and over. Aidan and I scrambled over the side of the car, feeling its cold metal burn our fingertips, and pushed off across the top, catching air and landing in a run.

The car door slammed shut. Bailey was running, too, and yelling. “Get back here! You almost blew it for me, you brats.”

We stepped up our efforts, pounding harder against the pavement. All I could think of was getting to Tre. Tre would know what to do.

Two bundled-up joggers came by, moving in parallel along the path. Then a man pushing an extra-wide stroller with twins. We pivoted left then right, then hopped over a post-and-chain barrier as we reached the inner perimeter of the Arch.

By now, people were stopping and staring. Two kids being chased by an adult. It had to look bad. Anyone who was watching could’ve put two and two together—no, I couldn’t think of that.

Tre moved toward us in quick strides. My fear churned with the bubbly mix of happiness and relief.

“He’s after us, Tre,” I panted, afraid to slow down. I should’ve told him to stay out of it. I should’ve just let him be. This was our mess, after all. But I knew we needed his help, now more than ever.

He looked back over his shoulder. “I see him. Come on. We’ll make ourselves disappear.”

“How’d you know we’d be here?” Aidan asked.

He raised both eyebrows in disbelief. “I didn’t. I woke up alone and figured I would at least see the city before heading back home.”

“I can explain . . .” I said between raspy breaths.

Now we were all running. “I know you can,” Tre said. “But not now, Willa. We need to disappear.”

Crowds were dangerous. Ask any pickpocket, and they’d tell you how easy it is to pick victims when there’s a bunch of people standing around. Yet Tre was right—there was shelter here, too. This was different from before, when we’d been in an abandoned state park, after-hours in a desolate area. Even if Bailey found us, he wouldn’t shoot at us in here, would he? In public? Risking the lives of innocent bystanders? No, I had to bet that he wouldn’t. He was evil but probably not that insane.

Tre hurried us into the underground entrance to the Visitor Center, where there were metal detectors. So Tre knew exactly what he was doing.

Inside was total noisy chaos as the teachers tried to herd groups of school kids around and settle them down. Clueless tourists walked in aimless packs, blocking the path. Animatronic Native Americans moved robotically in front of a two-dimensional desert, while real human guides in National Park Service gear were leading tours. This was as good a place as any to get lost.

I looked back and saw Bailey slip through the underground entrance. He would be held up at the metal detector. They’d never let him in if he was packing. We were safe in here.

“C’mon,” Aidan said. “Stop looking for him.”

Tre pushed us ahead of the crowd to the front of the tram line. There were two more trams left before the monument closed for the day, I heard someone say. Surely, there would be a good mess of people up there to hide in, at least for a little while.

“Excuse me, emergency, coming through,” Tre called out as he scooted us through to the narrow doors of the tram. It wasn’t a lie. It
was
an emergency, though they probably thought we were typical obnoxious kids. We followed him into one of the cars and sat down on the mod white plastic seats.