King of Forgotten Clubs (2 page)

Actual smoke started to billow from the kitchen. Someone shouted. I climbed on top of the nearest table. From there, I could see the diners beginning to stand up and stare at the kitchen, debating whether to leave. A cook emerged from the smoke, coughing.

Not much time left. I pushed open the sliding panel that allowed access to the tank.

The blond running girl stumbled into my peripheral vision. Her perfectly straight hair had begun to frizz. Her arms were stiff at her sides. I stepped off the table, intent on her pale face.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was across the room.

“Hey.” I reached for her arm. She flinched. I pulled my hand back. “It’s just some grease on the stove. It’ll clear up in a minute.”

Her eyes met mine. I got a brief impression of darkness and panic before she turned away.

A woman near the fish tank let out an almighty shriek. I turned just in time to see her batting a desperately flailing fish from her hair.

A fish. From the tank. That I forgot to close.

Oops. I had to admit, though, jumping that far is an impressive feat for a fish.

I turned back to the girl, but she was already gone. “Wait!”
 

Her black dress flared out behind her. I pushed through the side door to follow her. The alley it led out to was narrow and on a different side of the building from the door I’d entered. I wished I’d studied the layout of the area a little better.

I caught sight of the girl hopping on one foot for some reason then making a sharp left toward the warehouses. A heel smacked me in the face, the pointy bit nicking my forehead. That explained the jumping. She’d taken off her shoe.

“You could’ve blinded me!” I shouted.
 

She slipped out of sight. I ran after her. Now it was personal.

A second heel skidded along the ground. A clutch thudded into a Dumpster. That girl had more ammunition on her than a movie mobster.

“Stop… running… from… me.”
 

The alley dead-ended. Finally. The girl pressed her hands against the wall. She couldn’t possibly be thinking of climbing it, could she? I stopped running and doubled over, gasping for air. I really needed to work out more.

The girl swung around to face me. “What do you want? I haven’t got any money.”

I was pretty sure that was a lie, but I ignored it. “Who are you?”

“What does it matter?”

“I need to know.” I couldn’t keep thinking of her as the running girl, especially since she’d stopped running.

She pursed her lips. “Irma.”

I knew she was lying. “Look,
Irma
. You can’t jump through my window in the middle of the night and expect me not to have questions. I covered for you.”

“That was you?”

Great, just great. The most memorable part of my night didn’t even register as a blip on hers. “Yes, it was me! Can we skip to the part where you explain who you are and why the police want you dead?”

Irma locked her jaw and folded her arms over her chest. “No.”

“Dammit, Irma.” I took a step toward her. “I don’t like not knowing things.”

She raked a scornful glance over me. “Pretty boy like you, I’m sure you’ll find some way to cope.”

“I’m sure I will.” I took another step forward.

She tilted her head back. “You’re awfully tall.”

Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but I’d take it. “Maybe you’re just short.”

“No, that’s not it.”

Then, of all the crazy things to do, she kicked my left shin.

My legs buckled. “Irm—”

She deftly swept my feet out from under me. The next thing I saw were the clouds scuttling by overhead.

“You know what they say about tall people.” Her laugh drifted back to me as she darted away.

No, I hadn’t known what they said. But I had a feeling I’d just learned.

Exhibit E: I piss Annabelle off some more.

I dragged my feet the entire way back to the sushi place.
 

Annabelle was waiting for me, her hair blackened with soot. “What happened?”

“I didn’t get it,” I said, searching the ground for the clutch Irma had tossed, hoping it might contain some clue to her identity. I’d looked everywhere. So far, nothing.

Annabelle’s eyes flashed fire. “You ditched the job and left me, you mean.”

Uh-oh. “I stopped to help a girl having an asthma attack, is all.”

“What girl?”

“Irma.” I probably should’ve scrapped the truth completely and used a more realistic name.

The fury pouring off Annabelle was palpable. “So you blew me off for Irma-the-blond-with-bad-lungs and couldn’t even call me?”

“I lost my phone,” I lied. I should’ve thought about calling. Smooth move, Higgins.

“We’re done here.”

My lungs constricted. “Annabelle.” I caught her arm. “It isn’t like that. Look.” Annabelle was right. I needed to trust her. “Irma’s a fugitive or something. She jumped through my window last night then disappeared. Then she shows up at a fancy sushi place? I had to talk to her. And here’s the thing—I don’t think she’s running. I think she’s scheming something. I just need to figure out what, and I can head her off and find her again.”

Annabelle studied a spot past my shoulder. “I get it completely.”

I got the sinking feeling that I’d just said something terribly wrong.

“Some girl that shows up in your bedroom is obviously more important than the girlfriend you just broke up with yesterday.”

“That’s not what I was trying to say.”

“Isn’t it?”

I took a step back. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Annabelle had pulled out a machete and started hacking.

“We broke up yesterday, Pak.
Yesterday
.” Her voice broke. “I thought that maybe that would matter to you. That I might matter to you.”

“You do.”

She pushed me away. “Forget it, Pak. I shouldn’t have come here at all.”

“I’m glad you did.” It was a weak acknowledgement of what I really felt. The words I should’ve said were,
I need you
.

She shook her head as she walked away.

And so the great Pak Higgins screwed things up again, proving that some humans don’t strive for a better life at all. Some of us just try to get by without stabbing ourselves in the eye.

And some of us can’t even manage that.

I sat on a bench, notebook and pen in hand, halfheartedly trying to figure out where Irma would show up next. I didn’t know what to do about Annabelle. I missed her. I didn’t know how to be around her without making a mess of everything. And I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that Irma needed me.

I doodled in my notebook. Soccer. The bad part of town. A fancy restaurant. My pants.

I knew where she’d be.

“Smile.” I clicked the camera button on my phone.

Irma didn’t smile. “How did you get here?” she whispered.

I sat down next to her in the sand. The crowd passing on the boardwalk didn’t give us a second glance. “Walked. Like everyone else. Venice Beach isn’t exactly hard to get to.”

She bristled. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“I didn’t. Now I’ll take my pants back.” I held out my hand.

Her face turned stoplight red. Understandable, seeing as how she was wearing them. “No.”

“Later, then. How about we pass the time with some questions? Who are you trying to contact?”

“You can have your stupid pants back.” She began tugging at the hem.

“I don’t want them back. Stop it. I just want answers.”

“What is it you want to hear? That I’m in trouble and need someone to save me? Because I don’t. I’ve got it under control.”

“You don’t know where your contact is. You’re throwing open doors, hoping you’ll find the right one before the lion eats you.”

“You don’t even know I have a contact!” She stood up. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

I tried to think of something clever and pithy, something that would instantly win her over to my side. All that came out was, “Because I need someone to help me.”

We watched each other from across a foot-wide gap of air.

She sat back down. “My contact’s name is Vince. I don’t know where he is. Just places he might be.”

“Could they have gotten to him?”

She slid a strand of hair between her teeth. I tried not to find it sexy. “Yes.”

“You’re only putting yourself at risk by looking. You need a new plan.”

“I know. It’s just… This is the only one I’ve got.”

She was more like me than anyone I’d ever met. We both clung to broken things because we were afraid of what would happen when we let go. I wrapped my hand around hers. “We’ll figure it out.”

She still didn’t look at me. “And you? What are you running from?”

I cringed. I’d been hoping to avoid the question. “Myself. My family. I don’t know.”

I leaned back on the sand. She sprawled out beside me. The smell of laundry detergent and peppermint washed over me.

“It’s like, running is just what I do. Because I know how to run. I trained for cross country for a month once, because… it doesn’t matter why. Anyway, I know how to run. What I can’t figure out is how to stop. So I just keep running.”

“I think…” Irma studied me. “I think you’ve been trying out that medical marijuana.”

I laughed. Irma’s golden hair spilled across the sand. If I stayed on that beach with her for one more second, I’d end up doing something I would regret.

“You know what we need?” I asked.

“Better parents?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Stir-fry. Everything is better with stir-fry.” And maybe some good advice. Well, passable advice, anyway. Or at least, occasionally not destructive advice.

“Where are you taking me?” Irma’s smile showed dimples. The sight was a bit disconcerting. I had never pictured her with dimples.

“Just this place. It’s not much farther. They don’t usually do takeout stir-fry, but I know people.” I decided to keep from her just how well I knew those particular people for another minute.

Irma hooked her arm through mine. “You seem like the type that would know people. Are they dangerous?”

“Depends. Are you working on any schemes for high school popularity or boyfriend stealing?”

She flushed. “No.”

“Then you should be fine. But stay close to me, just in case.” Not that she could get much closer. Her arm kept brushing mine, sending shockwaves of heat through my system.

“I can do that.”

On second thought, maybe I should have told her to stay farther away.

Irma took a moment to realize I’d stopped walking.

“We’re here,” I said.

She spun in a circle. “Where? Is it in an alley? Oh, is it all swank and modern?”

“Not exactly.” I fought back a smile.

It still took her a moment to register. “You brought me to a
gas station
?”

The sheer amount of horror in her expression was worth the walk. “The best gas-station-slash-pizza-joint in the city.”

Irma was speechless. I pulled her toward the bright red Cheesey’s sign. Actually, it was missing the
C
. We walked through the front door.

Irma took in the single table next to the trash can with wide eyes. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Entirely.”

Sam didn’t even look up from the textbook he had propped open on the counter. “Pak.”

“I’ll take the usual. Plus one extra.”

The door to the back burst open. “Pak!” Birdie hurtled through it. Her hair was black for the day, and she had some sort of fake beauty mark on her cheek. “Did you see—” She stopped short, staring at Irma.

“Umm, this is—”

“Rachel.” Irma stuck out her hand.

I wasn’t sure how to keep up with the name changes. “Right, Rachel. This is Birdie. And that’s Sam.” I gestured vaguely.

“So nice to meet you,” Irma-Rachel said. “From the way Pak was talking, I was expecting hardened criminals.” Did she sound disappointed?

Birdie smiled at her, then shot a glare at me. “Those charges were dropped. So lovely to meet you, girl I’ve never seen before.”

What?
I mouthed at Birdie. I needed a primer on Things Those of the Female Persuasion Find Offensive.

“So,” Irma-Rachel said, “can we get our stir-fry?”

Based on the color that hit Birdie’s cheeks, I was pretty sure that was offensive.

“We don’t serve stir-fry,” Birdie said.

“And you still don’t work here,” Sam said. “I’ll get it.”

Birdie looked as if she was trying to decide who to murder first. “Did you see Annabelle today?” she asked a little too loudly for a sane person. “I thought she was going to see you.”

“Umm, I guess. For a minute or two.”

Her wrath settled squarely on me. “And where did you meet Rachel?”

I was beginning to see the connection. “I’m helping her work on a project. For school.”

“In July?”

“Summer classes?” It was a pathetic lie, but I was desperate.

“I flunked math,” Rachel offered. “He’s tutoring me.”

Wrong choice.

And Birdie, of course, noticed immediately. “Because we all know what a genius Pak is at math.”

Sam walked out of the back with a takeout box.
Thank the food gods.
“I’ll add it to your tab,” he said as he handed me the box.
 

I tried not to look too eager to bolt for the door. I really did hate how much I liked Sam and the endless tab he never asked me to pay.

“See you later,” I called as I dragged Irma-Rachel through the door. Birdie would probably be speed-dialing Annabelle before it clicked in the latch.

Annabelle. The thought hit me like a sucker punch. She’d be furious. She’d be… hurt. And somehow that was worse.

Exhibit F: I test the strength of glass walls.

We sat in our cardboard corner, surrounded by notecards and takeout.

“I’ve been on the defensive this whole time,” Irma said. “Maybe what I need to do is plan an attack.”

I studied the way she swept her hair back, the flicker of her eyelashes. What was it about that girl that was so fascinating? “It would help if you told me what’s going on.” I shoveled a forkful of food into my mouth.