I place the mug between us and look up at him. “Here’s what we’re sitting on, Pirate,” I explain. “You crashed two of his cars and dumped his shit. I attacked him. Worse comes to worst, you can come up with the funds to repay him and get him off your ass. Your family is rich.”
“They’re not rich.”
“They could come after the people closest to us,” I continue, ignoring him. I’m not splitting hairs right now. “In which case, you’ll just pay up. I can’t. I have a knife to my throat. That puts us on uneven ground, so I don’t trust you.”
In one swift movement, he twists the laptop around, showing me the screen.
I watch, seeing the two of us at the pond last night, none of the audio catching what really happened. Just showing us, looking like criminals, for the entire world to see.
On the other half of the screen is a data feed with his name, personal information, and charges he’s under arrest for.
It looks just like the ones I see flit across the officer’s screen every time I’m in the back of a squad car.
I take another sip. He could have gotten out of the warrant, but the video changes things. It makes Green Street look stupid. That could be bad for Shelburne Falls. “So, you’re stuck now,” I say.
But he just shakes his head. “I was never going to let that motherfucker get away with it. But if it puts your mind at ease, yeah, I’m in the same boat you are.” Taking my plate, he spins around and puts the dishes into the sink. “We have until Grudge Night to get rid of him.”
“Why Grudge Night?”
“Because I start classes the next week, and it gives me just enough time to clear my name, in case the administration revokes my acceptance for having a warrant out.”
Guess he’s not traveling far for school if he can drag this out until the last minute. Grudge Night celebrates the end of summer and the anticipation for the football festivities to come. The parties, the Prisoner Exchange, Rivalry Week… It’s a high school thing, but I never cared much about it even when I was in high school.
“And if we succeed, what do I do?” I ask him.
He turns, clearing away the rest of the dishes. “What do you mean?”
“My foster brothers also work for him,” I point out. “What will they do when I take away their cash cow? I still won’t be completely safe.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not here to solve your whole life.” He tosses balled-up napkins into the bin. “Some of this mess you got yourself into, you can get yourself out. You did steal his car in the first place, after all.”
“You tried to buy me.”
“I was trying to get the charm back,” he spits out. “That’s it.”
And he takes off the apron, leaving him in his jeans as he sets it on the counter. He busies himself with something on his phone, tapping away, his thumbs moving like lightning strikes.
So very important, he is, isn’t he?
“Why don’t you look at me?” I ask.
The words come out softer than I intended, but he hears me. He pauses, his thumbs suspended above the screen, and it takes him a minute, but he raises his blue eyes, meeting mine.
They’re actually quite striking. His eyes. They’re an azure shade, like aqua with a purple light in it that’s there one second and gone the next.
But the eyes themselves are almond-shaped.
And then I notice other things. The long nose, the high cheekbones, the thick, dark lashes, the brow…
I hide my surprise. God, he must love being him. Passes for white but he probably gets to check that little box that lets him apply for college money that should go to other American Indian students who actually need it.
I clear my throat, looking away. “I don’t know where he gets the drugs or how they come to us, but he does collect his money in person.”
“When?”
I can’t stop my sneer. “He’s too smart for habitual. It’s always different.” I glance up at him again. “But he just collected, so it’s going to be at least a week. Get me a camera, I can plant it, and then we wait.”
He folds his arms over his chest. “You can get through the garage unseen?”
“No, but I know someone who won’t be noticed.”
He laughs. “I’m not using a thirteen-year-old.”
Since when? They certainly use Tommy Dietrich for a laugh when they need.
“She’s a lonely kid, and I’m guessing it’s your family’s fault,” I retort. “Not much happens in this town without the knowledge of the Trent-Caruthers empire. That kid is treated like shit. Give her something to do.”
He stands there, staring at me.
“Give me my phone.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll call her.”