Strike (43 page)

As we walk back to the hotel, Gabriela and Rex get noticeably clumsy. We're lucky it's only a block from the restaurant, because by the time we're in the elevator, Chance is pretty much carrying her, and Wyatt's got an arm around Rex, half holding him up.

“Thought caffeine was s'posed to make you wake up,” Rex slurs.

“S'not working,” Gabriela adds.

I've already tossed the remains of both their drinks.

Wyatt gives me a look that says he knows damn well something is up, and I give him an exaggerated wink and murmur, “The eagle waits at midnight.”

Bea seems totally unconcerned and continues to nurse her Mountain Dew as if this is totally normal.

When we get in the elevator, I push the button for my floor and say, “Just bring him, too.”

I lead the way to our room and clear all our crap off the beds. Wyatt helps Rex crawl into one, although the kid won't get under the covers until he's managed to slip off his shoes. Chance tucks Gabriela into the other one, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Don't wake up, Sis,” he says, more sweetly than I imagined him capable of.

It's only eight, which means we've got another hour before it's time to meet downstairs, but I want out of this room. It still smells of bleach and hair dye, and every second I spend here makes me want to pace back and forth like an animal trapped in a zoo. I grab my backpack and nod to the remaining three people on my team.

“Let's go be rebellious.”

Wyatt and Chance grin, and Bea tries to.

This hotel is perfectly situated for anarchy. We start at the closed-down seafood place next door, and I leave my mark on one brick wall, my biggest one yet. I buy some big markers in the hobby store, and we head to the mostly empty bookstore, where we sneak
into corners with the bestsellers and scribble
VALOR $UCKS
and
FUCK YOUR VALOR
and
READ THE FINE PRINT
and
PAY OR DIE
inside. When one of the bookstore employees starts watching me in the big mirror, I grab the others and run.

We hit a busy coffee shop next, and with the guys standing at the table like they're trying to pick me up, I scrawl
VALOR $UCKS
across the fake plastic wood. In the bathroom, I get out my paint cans and write,
VALOR IS YOUR NEW GOD
on the wall.

We run away laughing, and the sound is wild and mad, like dogs on the hunt for meat.

When I check my phone, we've got ten minutes left, and we hurry back to the hotel lobby. I realize that we lost Bea somewhere along the way. She's probably still in the bookstore, looking for a new cowboy erotic romance. One by one, people are dropping off. And that feels right. The fewer people who walk into that mall tonight, the fewer people who can get in my way. And the fewer people who can die fighting my fight.

We're a minute late, and my dad is furious.

“Where are the others? Aren't there six of you?”

“Not anymore,” I say, and he doesn't ask why. It's just Chance and Wyatt, now.

My dad leads us out to the burgundy sedan and pulls a big duffel bag from the trunk. Inside are crisply folded jumpsuits, gray and
creased. He hands one to each of us, and we stuff them in our backpacks on top of the identical tan work boots we bought at Mark's today. When my dad gets in the driver's seat, Wyatt and I get in the back, and Chance sits in the front.

“It's almost an hour until the mall closes. I'm going to drop each of you off in a different department store. There are four of them anchoring the mall, so we'll go to one each. I'm parking the car closest to Nickel's, which is by the hotel. I don't care what you do until nine fifty, and then I want you in your department store's bathroom, putting on your jumpsuit and boots. Dump your bag and find something to do that a janitor would do. Push a garbage can, carry a mop, squeegee a window. It doesn't matter. You have to be out of your store and in the mall at ten, or else you get stuck behind the cage and can't help. Got it?”

We all nod. We're outside the yawning mouth of the Mr. Goodbuy store, and Chance grips the handle of the passenger door, but my dad stops him with a hand on his sleeve. “I'm not done. As soon as you're out in the mall, find a place to hide. A bathroom, whatever. We have to give the CFF time to bring in the boxes. Stay on the lower level. Leave the upper level to me. I'm going to take out all the guards. And do not let them see you.” He reaches into his bag and hands Chance a beat-up burner phone. “You're the only one without a phone, right? Only use this for emergencies. I have all your numbers. Once the Crane guards are gone, I'll text each of
you, and then we've got to find the dog and get out before five a.m. Don't stay late. Don't do anything stupid. Just wait, get the dog, and get out. You guys need to check the boxes in each atrium and near the Santa-photo setup. Got it?”

And I watch him, realizing that everything he's just said contradicts what he told me in private about this entire mission being a trap. But I don't say anything, because I'm going in anyway.

Chance nods and gets out. Turning back, he says, “Break a leg, nerds.”

Walking into the department store, he looks like any other eighteen-year-old boy. Tall, gawky, trying to walk with swagger that he doesn't quite possess. My dad drives around to the next store, Oxford's.

“You're up, kid,” he says to Wyatt.

Wyatt takes a deep breath and opens his arms, and I want to hug him forever. If everything goes wrong, this could be our last hug. Or my last hug. Or his. I don't want it to end, but my dad gives a pissy little sigh, so I tilt my head up and kiss Wyatt on the lips. Not like our earlier kiss, not half crazed and desperate and hard. Just a soft, long peck, a sigh into his mouth. Wyatt goes still, probably mortified that my dad is watching us kiss, but I'm not done with him. I put a hand on his cheek and say, “Be careful.”

He goes to kiss me on the cheek and whispers, “Fuck that plan. Meet me by the popcorn shack at ten.”

And then he's out and walking toward the store where the rich girls buy their prom dresses, looking like a dapper kid on the hunt for some plaid.

“Last one.” My dad's voice is strained, whether from the stress of going into a soon-to-explode mall or the pain of watching his daughter kiss a boy.

He pulls up in front of Frills 2, and I wince. In my old clothes, I would've looked so out of place here, where they import all the high-fashion crap that didn't sell at the fancier mall downtown. But now, with my red pixie and pink lips and flowing tunic, I belong. I put my hand on the door, and my dad says, “Patsy, wait.”

“Don't worry. I'll be fine.”

He takes his foot off the brake and parks nearby. When he turns the car off—that's when my alarm bells start ringing. What is he going to say to me that he didn't say to anyone else?

“Dad, what?”

He purses his lips, thinking. “We never talked about what would happen after this.”

“We get Matty and drive away into the sunset. Or sunrise, I guess.”

His grin is boyish and sweet. “Even after all this, you still think you're gonna get a happy ending, huh?”

“I'm counting on it.”

“If you get out of here, with or without the dog, with or
without anybody else, you keep this card.” He hands me another gift card from a stack of cards with a rubber band around them. “It's got . . . well, a lot of money on it. I'm leaving my real bag and the laptop in the trunk. You don't wait for me. You drive away, you hear? And keep these.” He hands me three drivers' licenses, one from Georgia, one from Texas, and one from Canada. Each one has a different name, and the faces on them look enough like me to work. “You're going to need those to rent an apartment or get a hotel room. And for driving. Here's an extra key to this car.” He hands me that, too. My palms are starting to feel heavy, weighed down. “The tank is full.”

“Seems like you were pretty busy this afternoon,” I say.

He snorts. “Yeah, well, we can't all spend our time defacing private property.”

I clear my throat and try to rub some green paint off my hand.

“Doesn't matter,” he says. “Point is, we're not vigilantes anymore. We've got your mom and the others to look after. I don't know what Valor's next move is, but I know that things are going to be hard for a while, and the best thing anyone can do is find some mountain house where you can grow vegetables and dig a well and just stay off the goddamn grid until the government sorts out its shit. I know you don't know how the darknet works, but when you open the laptop, there's a tab for a Canadian pharmaceuticals company that will mail you any meds your mother needs. Chemo drugs,
needles, Zofran, medical marijuana.” I blush. “Whatever she needs,” he repeats gruffly. “The password is ‘Patsy' and your birthday. No spaces.”

“But I don't need to know all that, because you're going to be fine, Dad.”

“We can't count on that, honey.”

And damn if he doesn't look like he thinks we're going to fail. I want to tell him everything—from the past fourteen years and from right now. But what comes out is what I need him to know.

“Mom got the money. Put it in a college fund for me. She had it all along.”

His smile is fond as he shakes his head. “Oh, Karen. Of course she did.”

“And I forgive you. I'm sorry for everything I said.”

The car suddenly feels too small and warm, and I lean in to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. This is the dumbest good-bye, awkward and sideways with a parking brake in my hip. We've barely had any time together, and it's all been borrowed. He never got to know the real Patsy, the one who collects stuffed turtles and does yarn bombing and dresses in the nasty dinosaur costume for little-kid birthday parties at the pizza place. The only Patsy he's ever known is a killer who couldn't quite smile, and I've picked a fight with him every chance I got. I guess, at least, our relationship is pretty typical. Dad doesn't understand daughter; daughter rebels
to get dad's attention. Except that, on a lot of levels, he does understand me. We both know how to shoot people if it means our loved ones get to keep going.

“I love you,” I say for the first time, my words muffled against his shoulder.

“I love you too. And don't ever forget that everything I ever did since you were born was meant to keep you safe. I might've failed, but goddammit, I tried. Now let's go get your dog.”

“I thought you didn't care about the dog.”

“I care about
you
.”

He kisses the top of my head, a benediction, and I get out of the car and look back.

When I motion for him to open the window, I say, “See you tomorrow morning.”

“See you, honey.”

It's a quick walk to the mall, stuffing the four cards and the car key into my padded bra. I don't want to use them, don't want to think about what it means that he's given them to me. Is my dad planning something even more stupid than what I've already planned? I should've had Chance sneak pills into his drink. At least then I'd know he was safe. At least I'd know he wasn't going to mess up.

The moment I push open the front door of Frills 2, I start to feel queasy. I don't know if it's the cloud of perfume, the overheated air, the effects of bargain sushi, or the fact that I'm walking toward a big pile of bombs, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose my dinner. I guess that's at least one sign that the old Patsy is still around—I'm scared shitless, shaking, and close to puking.

“Can I help you?”

The perfume lady blocking my path holds a glittering jar of pink liquid in my face like a threat, and I hold up a hand.

“No thanks. Just browsing.”

I keep walking, and she follows me. She's like the Disney version of my mom, thin and overdone with teeth so white they're almost blue.

“And what are we browsing for today?”

“A faster way out of this store.”

She stops following me after that, but I don't feel any better. It was ridiculous, to think I could ever fit in on the marble floors of Frills 2. I should go hide out in the Jerky Haus. At least it smells better.

I've got thirty minutes left to kill and two cards loaded with cash, so I decide to do something I never had the guts to do before. I head for the jewelry store, march up to the counter, and ask to have my nose pierced.

I'm the only one in the store, and the mall's pretty quiet, despite the posters promising extra mall police armed to protect the safety of “our valued guests.” The girl looks around nervously. She's got multiple earrings in each ear, a nose ring, and a lip ring.

“I'm not supposed to do that,” she says.

“I'll tip you twenty bucks.” She nibbles her pierced lip. “Fine. I'll tip you fifty bucks.”

She grins. “Damn. Can't pass that up. Promise you won't tell anybody?”