Hush Money by Susan Bischoff
I grabbed him by the shoulder and walked us over behind a row of pallets stacked high with boxes so I could phase back. As soon as I felt the shift I turned on him.
“That’s bullshit—you’ve always looked out for me. We always looked out for each other. But right now, you’re only out for yourself. If this was just gonna be a few cases of beer, we’d get it from Casey’s, and then we’d go down to the river and drink it. Old man Casey loses a few cases of beer he wouldn’t sell us, but it’s not going to ruin him or anything and it’s nothing to the amount of crap his own employees steal from him. No big deal. But you’re talking about a truck, disabling security, all this crap. It’s not shoplifting anymore, it’s honest to God robbery.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
“Because we can.”
I looked into his face, into that meanness in his eyes that had been growing steadily, and let myself process that. Really think about what it meant. It wasn’t going to stop here. It was just going to keep getting worse. And so was Marco. He just kept getting meaner and less like someone I wanted to be around.
That was it. The decision was made. I couldn’t stand by him anymore. My gratitude and my patience were all used up.
Friendship over.
“I’m not doing this.”
He smiled at me. Actually smiled. “Oh, yes you are.”
“No, I’m not. I’m—”
“You’re going to do this for me, and anything else I tell you to—”
“Or what? You’ll tell my secret? Turn me in?”
“Maybe. Eventually. But before that, I’ll tell Joss’s.”
That got my attention. At first, I didn’t even know what he was talking about, and it was just the threat itself. Then I thought about Joss and secrets and I remembered. How was I always underestimating what he was capable of?
“The fuck you will!”
“She already freaks out if you try to talk to her—or even look at her funny. Imagine what it’s going to do to her when everyone knows her dad’s batshit crazy. That they had to put him away for it.” He chuckled. “Then everyone’s gonna be looking at her funny. Which is just what the freaky bitch deserves.”
“Look, you can’t do that, ok? That’s too fucked up—even for you.” It wasn’t just about Joss, either. What if this got out and damaged her dad’s reputation? What would that do to their business? They didn’t have anything else. And while I didn’t agree that Joss “freaks out” when people look at her, it was true that she didn’t want anyone to notice her. I kinda thought she could handle it if it came down to it, but then, I just didn’t want her to have to.
“It’s really not. So here’s the deal: you and I go on like this conversation never happened. You do what I tell you to do until this thing is done, and quit giving me shit about it. And I’ll keep my mouth shut about your girlfriend’s crazy dad. Deal?”
I didn’t answer him. He knew the answer.
“Now get me out of here. I’ve got stuff to do.”
Chapter 8
Joss
Tuesday was family dinner night. Dad closed the store around six, and we were usually eating by seven. Part of what Jilly used to like about it was that meant she could stay up a little later on Tuesdays. Now that it was all old hat, she had been campaigning that family dinner night become family pizza night. Yeah, good luck with that.
“Jill, stop playing with those peas and eat them or no TV tonight,” Dad said. Wouldn’t be family dinner night if he didn’t, I guess.
Whining followed.
“I had a visit from Pete Connolly today,” Dad announced, out of nowhere. This explained Dad’s slightly elevated level of agitation. In a family where everyone is on hyper-alert for things to go horribly wrong, subtleties are often easy to spot. Mr. Connolly was one of Dad’s cop buddies—or one of the cops who frequented the shop, whom Dad kissed up to but secretly loathed as part of the “police state this country has become” or whatever. So what we were about to hear was going to be cop-shop gossip. Dad never was one for idle gossip, so this was probably going to suck. “He’s pissed off because he went out on a call last night where a cop was injured, and they’ve put out a gag order on everyone and are keeping it out of the media.”
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“Dumbass kid blew it. Phil Meeks. You know him, Joss?”
“He’s in a few of my classes, average grades, hangs out with some other trailer park kids, mostly.”
“Not for long. Dumbass kid. Lives with his mom and her boyfriend—I got the impression it wasn’t the first time Connolly had been there. Anyway, this time they get there, the boyfriend was belligerent, big surprise, arguing with them, lying, and the woman yanks one of those moving water picture things off the wall—pretty hefty—and cracks the boyfriend in the side of the head with it. Right in front of the cops, so now they’ve got to take her in for assault. She resists, they’re trying to restrain her, and then all hell breaks loose.
“Seems the kid, Phil, had been watching all of this go down. They knew he was there, but he’s not a big kid, not threatening at all, and he was staying well out of their way. Next thing you know, Connolly says it was like a science fiction movie. Streaks of red light, things bursting into flame…They all got the hell out of there and the damn thing burned to the ground.
“I read about a mobile home fire in the paper today,” Mom said. “The article didn’t give much detail, but it said the place was a total loss, no one was hurt, and the cause of the fire was ‘under investigation’.”
“According to Connolly, one of the cops got hit in the arm, burned through his clothes and down into his skin. He’s in the hospital, but no one’s allowed to talk about it. No doubt because they have to wait and see what the Feds want to do about the kid. Connolly’s pissed that they didn’t even take him into custody, but how’re they going to hold a kid with laser vision? They’re not equipped.”
Laser vision? Phil?
Mom shook her head. “So they just left him running loose?”
Dad and I both glared at her.
“Now, don’t you two look at me like that. Clearly, this boy is dangerous.” There’s no point in arguing with any of Mom’s statements marked ‘clearly’. “Do they know where Phil is now? How long does Mr. Connolly think it will be before the agents arrive?”
“This is what’s really pissing him off. He was told that no one would be here until this weekend, and the cops are supposed to ‘just keep an eye on the kid’ until then. He’s staying with a friend’s family in the park right now, and we’ll see what happens if and when his mom gets released. I think they may try to hold her without bail just to ensure he stays local.”
Mom shook her head.
“Goes without saying, Joss, that I want you to stay in this weekend,” Dad said.
I was about to roll my eyes at him, like duh, where would I go on the weekend? Then I remembered Kat’s party. Well, if he told me I couldn’t go, I guess I wouldn’t be too upset about it.
“Um, Dad, and I say this totally hearing what you’re saying, but my—that is…there’s this party Friday night that—”
“A party?! Joan, did you know anything about this?” Dad’s color was up. I was wishing I’d just told Kat they said no without even asking. And at the same time, it was suddenly becoming really important to me that they say yes. And what was that all about?
“No, honey, I didn’t. Joss, tell us about this party. Whose party is it?”
“Um, well, it’s not a big deal, I mean—”
“Jilly-bug, go watch TV,” Dad said.
Jill looked down at the peas on her plate and back at us. Then she took off.
My mom gave me her I asked you a question look.
“Kat Dawson’s birthday party. She…I only started talking to her because I was struggling in Chem, and I know that being below average attracts attention, so I asked her some questions. And I guess she felt like that was grounds for invit
“Well, Gene, she does have a point. A girl can stand out by being a loner as much as by being popular.”
“You know why we discourage her about getting too friendly at that school.”
“I know, darling. And Joss knows too. I think she’s done wonderfully well at following your guidance so far. If she wants to go to this party, or if she just wants to not have to explain why she didn’t go, I think we should trust her. How do you feel about that, Jocelyn?”
Sometimes I wonder if my mom had some kind of shrink training in the past, or if it was just being exposed to so many around my dad when I was little.
“I, um, think it could be ok. I mean, I’m old enough where it would be kind of weird for me to try to explain that I wasn’t allowed to go to a birthday party. Other kids do that stuff all the time. But it’s not that I want to, it’s—like mom said—it’s hard to explain why if I don’t go. I mean, if I say I just don’t want to, then that’s a dig on Kat, and I don’t want her—or her friends—getting mad at me, because that just gets them talking about you, you know? Plus, there’s going to be so many other kids there, it will be just like at school: easy for me to blend into the background.”
“Gene, I think Joss has clearly shown that she’s trustworthy enough to go to this party.”
Clearly.
* * *
Joss
“It’s too bad you couldn’t stay for dinner last night.”
I glanced around to see if anyone was taking notice of the fact that Kat was pulling me along the hall with her. Of course they weren’t. Kids get really wrapped up in their own stuff so that even someone like me hanging around someone like Kat doesn’t penetrate. Which was good.
“It was family dinner night.”
“Oh yeah? That’s cute. So after you left, we worked out our whole plan to get Marco, the dick.”
“About that…Kat, it’s just not a good idea.”
“You haven’t even heard the plan yet.”
“I don’t need to. Your logic is completely flawed. I mean, I guess if Marco were a textbook bully, like you said, then maybe. But he’s not how you said and there’s no way he’s going to back down because of whatever public humiliation you guys come up with. If anything, it’s only going to make him mad, and you’re just going to make things worse.”
“I’m telling you, this is a solid plan, Joss. You’ve got to stop worrying.”
Yeah, right. We stopped at Kat’s locker and I let my head bang against the wall as she spun her combination.
“So, here’s what we came up with. It turns out—”
“No,” I interrupted, firmly. “I don’t want any part of this—not even being in on it.”
“Really? You don’t even want to know? ’cause it’s kinda juicy gossip.”
“No. Really.”
Kat shrugged as she pulled out her backpack. “Suit yourself. And so ungrateful,” she said airily, smiling, “since it’s really all for you.”
That again. “Yeah, about that…”
“What the hell is this?”
For a second I thought she was talking to me. Like the fact that I might actually say something about how she’d used me, and twisted the truth into a pretzel, to get her friends in on her game was somehow shocking to her. But she was spilling the contents of a manila envelope into her hand.
On the top of the stack was a type-written letter, business style, and the addressee was National Institutes for Ability Control followed by the address of NIAC’s main office in DC. I got as far as To Whom It May Concern before Kat shifted the letter to the bottom of the pile. Under that was a picture of Krista. Not a portrait, a candid shot where she wasn’t looking at the camera. As I looked closer, it seemed blurry and like she wasn’t aware of being photographed.
Then I saw it.
“Jesus.”
“What?” Kat asked.
I just put my finger on the part of the picture where Krista’s arm, extended toward a glass on the table near her, was just a little too long and too thin in the lower half. Just a little. It was obvious she was reaching for the glass, and yet as I looked more carefully at the picture, it also wasn’t obvious because she wasn’t leaning in that direction at all. It was just that slightly too-long arm extended toward the glass.
“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
“What’s next?” I snapped.
The next photo showed Krista standing in front of a closet, reaching for something up high. Her body seemed longer and thinner than it should have been, the elements of the room strangely short and chunky by comparison. Out of proportion to what my brain wanted to see.
Kat started leafing through the stack. There were only a few, more of the same kinds of moments. Moments when Krista assumed no one was looking.
“Do you think these were…manipulated?”
I thought about what a good athlete Krista was, and how much easier it must be to get to that tennis ball on time if you could get your racket just a little closer while your body caught up. I thought about how it must help in the last moments of a sprint if you could make your legs just a little bit longer.
Jesus. Out loud I said, “No, I don’t. Kat, you have got to pay him off.”
Kat flipped back to the letter and we scanned through it. An anonymous citizen, claiming to do his part and obey the law, blah blah. Part of me was seething with rage over the letter, the law, Krista’s carelessness—But I shoved it down because that didn’t do any good, and I had plenty of pure freak-out to keep my brain occupied anyway.
“No way. See, this is exactly what I’m saying. Look how cowardly this is. Pictures through a window, anonymous letter. What if he’s done this before, Joss? If I give in to him, he’s just going to keep doing it again and again, and who knows how many people will get hurt. I have to stand up to him. I just have to.”
“But—” Phil Meeks was walking down the hall on his way out of the building, no doubt. I had this wild urge to grab him and shake him until he agreed to get out of town. But I was rooted to the spot. My association with Kat, which seemed by turns both voluntary and involuntary, was risky enough—too risky since she was bent on being an idiot. I just couldn’t risk more than one clueless blockhead at a time. When I’d seen him in Math I couldn’t believe he was still around. Didn’t he think what he did would get him reported? Didn’t he think they were coming for him? Why didn’t he just tie a bow around his neck while he waited?
I half expected NIAC agents—possibly in riot gear or something—to come storming in after him at any moment.
“Hey.” I just about jumped out of my skin as someone banged into the lockers behind me. I whirled around and looked up to find Dylan towering over me. I automatically took a step back, bumping into Kat. It was like dancing in a crowded club. I assume. She covered for me by shutting her locker and, you know, talking.
“Hey, Dylan. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Um, yeah… your note said: Come by my locker after school—gotta ask you something.”
What the hell, they’re passing notes? Damn, voice in my head needs to cool it.
“Well, who knew if you actually would?”
“Kat, does anyone ever tell you ‘no’?”
No.
“Actually no,” she grinned, tossing curls like there was no tomorrow. “So I’ll just tell you: you’re coming to my party Friday night. My house. Seven o’clock. And tell your…posse or whatever.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah,” she said in the tone of Duh. “Everyone’s coming.”
“Yeah, all right. Thanks.”
“Oh, hang on, I made maps.” She s
“So, ‘everyone’ mean you’re going too, Joss?”
But I hadn’t remembered how to talk yet.
“Of course she is,” Kat covered, rummaging. I had this strange feeling of Kat-love sweep over me just then.
“Do you…need a ride?”
“I, um…I’m actually going home with Kat after school on Friday. To help her set up and stuff.” Kat elbowed me in the kidney and I had to not yelp. She’d best not be laughing.
“Oh, well, cool. I guess I’ll see you there then.”
My heart was pounding away this whole time. The conversation we’d had in the store was longer, more personal even, kinda. But this was the second time Dylan had talked to me in the same month. And yeah, he was just killing time while Kat looked for her maps—as if Kat didn’t know exactly where they were. I felt a lot of my Kat-love evaporate.
“Sure.”
Kat finally found her flyers and handed one to Dylan. They bantered a little more, and I was stuck standing between them like an idiot, saying nothing, studying the creases in the sleeves of Dylan’s leather jacket. He finally said bye, so I had to look up and say bye, and he was smiling at us, which must have been for Kat, and I almost stuttered over my whole syllable. Man, I was in a bad way and needed to stuff this stupid crush thing before I made a total ass out of myself.
He turned and walked down the hall, which I was really busy watching until Kat shoved me so hard from behind that I stumbled forward.
“You big dork!”
“What?”
“My mom will be taking us to the store for last minute snacks and whatever when she picks us up on Friday.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t believe you did that. He was totally going to take you to the party!”
“He asked if I needed a ride. That is so not the same thing.”
“Yes. It is.”
“No, it’s not. Dylan likes my dad’s store. And he’s probably been in there enough Friday nights—like every other guy in this town with nothing better to do—to know that it’s usually both my parents in store on Fridays.”