Compromised (15 page)

“A
re you kids here for the program?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says. She looks around the empty library. “We're early.”

The librarian smiles and peers over a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses. She has spiky purple hair and nose piercings. She turns to Klondike. “You're not from the high school. Shouldn't you be at Jackpot Elementary now?” she asks him.

“Tallywhacker,” he croaks, and taps her on the shoulder.

She bites her lower lip and says, “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I push Klondike behind me. “He's a cousin from out of town. He has my teacher's permission to be here. He just says stuff.”

The librarian hesitates, her hand resting on the phone.

I put on what I like to think of as Dad's make-an-insurance-claim face—stoic with a touch of angst. It's like I can physically see Dad and copy his expression perfectly. And that makes me kind of uneasy.

She slips her hand off the phone and points toward a table. “Go ahead and help yourself to juice and muffins before the presentation begins. It'll be a busy morning.”

I don't exhale until I'm way out of her range.

“Score. Food,” Nicole whispers. “Who'd have thought?”

The three of us head to the food table. “The muffins look real good. Asswipe,” Klondike says in that guttural voice.

“Jesus,” Nicole groans. We turn back and see the librarian staring at us. She half smiles and goes back to working on her computer.

Nicole licks her fingers and grabs a second muffin. “I think we should come to the library more often.”

I roll my eyes.

Klondike is on his third muffin before I even finish my first. “Let's not try to look
too
hungry,” I say. “I'm going to
find some maps.” Maybe I'll look for a botany book, too. Maybe I'll look for the flower. Aunt Sarah's flower. I tuck the envelope with the flower in my jeans pocket. It's my favorite letter.

I scarf down the last bite of muffin and shove a second up my sweater sleeve. I look at the coat rack in the front hall of the library. There's a heavy black coat hanging by the door. Maybe, I think. Maybe. I just hope it's not the librarian's.

I find a highway map of the western states and trace Highway 93 to Twin Falls; then from Twin Falls, we can take Highway 84 to Boise.

It doesn't look too far away. Maybe we can get there today. Maybe today we can find Aunt Sarah.

I tuck the map under my arm and head to the photocopy machine.

A bus pulls up and a bunch of teenagers spills into the library, ruining the comfortable silence. They rush to eat the muffins and juice, stuffing the food in their faces. They probably aren't even hungry.

I look back and see Klondike's body tense up. I try to wave Nicole down, but she's filling up on another glass of juice. It dribbles down her chin a little. The acid in the
juice has to be a killer on a cut lip. I look from Nicole to Klondike to where Klondike is looking.

“Oh God,” I whisper. My feet feel like they're stuck in drying tar.

Klon is jerking his head and muttering something.

“No!” I push through the crowd of students, but it's too late.

Klondike coughs, spattering muffin everywhere. “Tallywhacker, asswipes,” he croaks in his strange voice. “Stay away,” he says. “Just stay away.”

“That's her! She's the one who burned Martin! These are the street kids who attacked us.” I can't believe those kids are in high school. I mean who gets up early in the morning to go out and beat up homeless kids before school? What happened to sleeping in as late as possible? It's like we're stuck in some kind of vortex. Everyone whirls around us.

Klondike's body comes alive in a burst of movement. Nicole drops her juice and starts to back toward the main entrance, her face pasty white.

The librarian moves toward us. “What's going on?”

“Those kids are the ones who burned Greer. Some homeless druggies who tried to kill us,” Cobra says. His eyes are nothing but hate. I look down and see his heavy
boots and cringe, rubbing my sore back. “They stole Martin's wallet, too.”

My stomach clenches thinking about the stupid wallet I kicked into the puddle.

“What's wrong with him?” somebody says, pointing at Klondike.

“Jesus, look at his face.”

“Is that what reeks? Is that the stench?”

“Oh my God. They're homeless. So gross. I mean, totally gross. Like gonorrhea gross,” somebody says in a lilting singsong voice.

“Somebody has to do
something
about them. I mean they're, like, um—like gonna hurt us or something.”

Everybody starts to talk at once. It's like you can see all their brains turn into one group-think mass. Their neurons pulse rationalized conformity.

The librarian and I lock eyes for a second before I pull Klondike out of the crowd and run toward the door. Nicole's waiting for us outside, the beautiful black coat in her arms. “What took you so fucking long?” Nicole asks, tossing me the coat.

I hesitate for just a second, then shrug it on. I need a coat.

We run.

A bunch of students runs after us, but halfheartedly. They're probably afraid they'll end up like Martin. Or like Klondike.

After a few blocks, Klondike grips his side and stops running. Nicole and I slow down and walk with him. I take off the coat and hand it to Nicole. “Why don't you take it? I'll wear mine and Klon can have yours.”

“What? So you can be clean from any sort of association with stolen goods? What the fuck?”

“It's just…It's different stealing from a big corporation. But this is probably that librarian's…” My voice fades.

“What? You thought living on the streets would be like living in that posh little house of yours in Reno?”

“It's just. It's not what I imagined would be happening, you know? It's not supposed to be this way.”

“Not everything in this fucking world is black and white, right and wrong, Jeopardy.” Nicole shakes her head. “It's about loyalty, okay? Haven't you ever heard the code?”

“Code?”

“We”—she sweeps her arm around to point us out—“we are together. We as a group come first—before birth, before family, before God. None of us are going to be like
that leech Sammy Gravano.
We
come first—as a group. And when you worry about a fucking coat or wallet or what's right and wrong, it's like we can't trust you.”

“What?” I say. “We're
not
the mob. We're three runaways with no money chasing a box of my dead mom's things.” I mutter, “We're. Not. The. Mob. And
somebody
better worry about what's right and wrong or—”

Nicole clenches her jaw. “There's no such thing as cosmic karma or whatever you're thinking. Remember Capone? He got away with it all. He died of a fucking heart attack. You just don't get it.” Nicole huffs and repeats, “Before birth, before family. Before God. It's the code.”

Klon squints and croaks. “Cappy,” he says, “nothing comes before God. Asswipe,” he squeaks. “Stop fighting.”

I sigh. We're like a bad joke. A preacher, a capo, and a scientist are going on a road trip….

Klondike croaks and mutters things under his breath, only coughing a couple of times. “Tallywhacker, asswipe.”

“Let's drop it,” I say. “I'll wear the coat.”

“Fine.” Nicole walks ahead. “Just remember we stick together. That doesn't just mean walking down Highway Eighty or wherever the fuck we are. It means more than that.”

“Okay. I get it.”

Klondike jerks his head to the side and does his hop-skip, keeping up with Nicole's and my pace. He croaks and says, “Sorry about your mama.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Me, too,” Nicole says.

“It doesn't matter,” I say. Probably a bit snippy.

Nicole shrugs. “I'm just saying I'm sorry. Can't you even take an apology? Jesus.”

“Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Cappy,” Klon says. “Everything's okay now. We're together.”

I ruffle his hair, then shudder thinking about the state
my
knickers are in. Gross. Klondike stops to look at a dead bird in the road. He pulls on one of the feathers and tucks it into his pocket.

“Cappy,” Nicole says. “I like that.”

“Better than Capone,” Klon says. “More girly.”

I'm starting to get used to the kid.

I turn back to see the black silhouette of the librarian against the sun, her purple hair a splash of color against the desert backdrop.

“N
ice work, Jeopardy. Your first act of thievery.” Nicole beams with pride, as if she were responsible for my accidentally stealing a map. “Where are we?”

“Here. Jackpot, Nevada.”

“Where are we going?”

“His name is Martin Greer.”

“Who?”

“The kid I hurt.”

“So?” Nicole bites her lower lip.

“It's just. His name is Martin Greer. It was better when he didn't have a name, you know.”

Nicole shrugs. “So what are we gonna do?” she asks again.

I pause. “I think I'm going to turn myself in.”

Klondike and Nicole gawk. “Turn yourself in for what?” Nicole asks.

“That kid. Martin. He could be really hurt. And I need to go and explain what happened.”

And my throat hurts.

“Did you just walk off the stupid bus or something?” Nicole kicks at some gravel. “Have you taken a look at us? And they'll believe the nice local boy was going to rape me? This isn't
Law and Order
. This is real, Jeopardy. And you'll be in the system forever.”

Sometimes I worry finding Aunt Sarah is more science fiction than science. And all of this is for nothing. “Why are you such a skeptic?” I ask. “The system can't fail everyone.”

Nicole glares at me. “Yeah, you really trusted it. You were in it, what, a month? Two months? And you decided to split.” She turns to Klondike. “How long were you in?”

Klondike taps my shoulder. “Everything burned because of me and the demons. And Pa—tallywhacker, asswipe—” Klondike turns his head toward the sun and lets out a long, low croak. “The wicked flee when no man persueth. So I ran. And keep running. Because of the demons inside of me.”

We're in the parking lot of the last restaurant on the edge of town. There are several trucks parked side by side in the front of the restaurant. People scarf down hot turkey sandwiches, spaghetti, chicken pot pie—diner food at its finest. And Klondike thinks he's possessed.

I sigh. “You don't have demons, Klon,” I say.

Klon shakes his head. “I bring bad luck. I bring the Devil wherever I go.” He looks away from us. “I'll go alone now. Asswipe. For the wages of sin is death. I am a sinner.
Tallywhacker. I have demons.”

I look at Klon standing before us in his rags and want to tell him everything's going to be okay.

Does everybody need to know the truth about things? I've always thought so, but now I wonder. Will it help me to know the truth about Mom?

What is her truth? What is anybody's?

I hate these vague questions with no answers. No hypothesis. No procedure. Just variables that are out of my control.

I'm trying to order things in my mind when Nicole says, “Klon, people treated you like shit. You aren't the sinner. They are. You didn't deserve that burn, so something amazing will happen to you one day—one of your miracles. That's what Jeopardy's karma is all about.”

How come she seems to make things so clear? Breathe,
I think. Just work out a new procedure to find Aunt Sarah. I need to stick to the purpose: Find Aunt Sarah. That's the purpose. That won't change.

“Are we gonna hitch?” Nicole asks.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” I lean in and whisper. “We kind of stand out, you know.” I say in a louder voice, “Klon. You're coming with us. We stick together. That's the code, right?”

Nicole nods. Proud. Her stupid Mafia code, but it makes more sense than anything I seem to come up with: before family, before God. Our moms and dads aren't getting any parent-of-the-year awards. They're even too screwed up for Dr. Phil. It's like we've thrown every genetic quirk into a vial and
ka-boom
—major dysfunctional offspring.

Klondike shivers. I cup his hand in mine. “You aren't evil, Klon. You're the best person I've ever known. We're going to find my aunt Sarah and Cappy's dad. And we're all going to be okay.” That sounds about as cheesy as they come. Geez.

But Klondike seems happy about it.

“A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.” He wipes a tear from his eye and taps my shoulder. “So what are we gonna do?” he asks.

I wish I could call Dad. He'd know what to do. Well, he used to. Until he gave me away to the State of Nevada.

An image of Martin Greer lying in a hospital bed flashes into my mind. I erase it. If I hadn't stopped him, Nicole would be really hurt. And probably Klon and me, too. The rules have changed. I need to change with them.

We watch big trucks pull into the parking lot, gravel popping off mud flaps with profiles of naked ladies on them. I wipe my nose and still smell the burn of flesh.

Klondike sits on his heels and croaks.

“I'm not sure what we should do,” I finally say. “I'm—”

“Scared?” Nicole asks.

“Yeah.” I rub my hands together.

“Welcome to my life,” she says. She sits next to Klondike. “You know, though, this is turning into a very cool road trip.”

“This is
not
a road trip,” I say.

“Not exactly, but kind of.”

“Not at all,” I say. “Road trips are supposed to be fun.”

Nicole smirks. “I bet this is the most fun you've ever had. I mean, really. When have you ever just lived like this—taking one moment at a time?”

Every single day with my dad, I think. And I hate it. Why is everybody's definition of fun spontaneity? Why isn't it okay to want predictable? Normal? Normal would be fun.

“So? What's your big plan, Jeopardy?” Nicole asks.

That's the problem. Every plan I put into place falls apart. Nothing is under control—especially Nicole and Klon. They're the two most erratic variables in this whole mess. I just need to keep the purpose the same. The hypothesis and procedure can change. There are many roads to get to the same destination.

God. I'm starting to sound like Dad during his motivational speaker days—
Eight Steps to a Better You.
All for a nominal fee, of course. (Cash only, please.) Focus, I think. Just focus.

Everything starts to unfold in my mind, make sense.

The method will work. It has to.

“So?” Nicole throws a rock, skipping it across the pavement. She's irritating—that all-knowing attitude.

“We need to get out of Jackpot. That's my big plan of the day,” I say. The gravel has started to dig its way into my butt, and I shift positions trying to find some comfort on the craggy rocks.

“Well, remember the rules. One: No names. Two: We don't fall asleep, and three: We stick together, okay?” Nicole stands up and brushes dust off her pants. “That's why a code is good. It makes things clear.”

I sigh. For someone who never seems to follow any rules, she sure sticks steadfast to the ones she makes. I survey the trucks, looking for Idaho plates. There's one with a tarp tied down over something lumpy. The license plate holder
says
TWIN FALLS—BOISE—JEEP CHEVROLET
. “That's our ride,” I say. “We need to get under that tarp.”

“How do you know?” Nicole asks.

“It's an Idaho plate. The license plate holder says Twin Falls. If they bought their truck in Twin Falls, maybe they live there, too. So I imagine they're heading back to Idaho as soon as they scarf down their hash browns and watery coffee.” I turn to Klondike. “You okay with this?”

Klondike nods and taps his fingers to his head, coughing weakly. Then he goes back to croaking, cradling his side. Nicole crosses her arms in front of her. “And if I'm not?”

“You have a better plan?”

“No,” she says.

I point to the truck. “Then get under the tarp.”

Nicole bites her lower lip. “Let's go for a ride.”