The Collector (5 page)

Chapter Eight

What the Eff?

Charlie is unusually quiet as I drive back to her house. For the first time since I met her, I hate the silence. I need her to talk, to say something. Anything.

Then I wonder if she needs the same from me.

I glance over at her. She’s staring out the passenger window, watching houses blur past us. The sky is overcast, making her sucks-to-be-a-teenager pimples less visible. I open my mouth, then close it. Then I open it again. “Want to listen to music?”

Charlie glances over at me like she forgot I was driving this tank. I turn on the stereo and flip through radio channels until I find a Nirvana song. It seems right. Dark, haunting, tortured…something we can lose ourselves in.

“You like?” I ask, turning it up.

She nods at first. Then she decides to be honest, scrunching her nose up and shaking her head with a barely there smile. I flip to a Beyoncé song and pause.

Another small head shake.

“What’s your favorite station?” I ask. “Maybe there’s something that’ll get us in the mood for tonight.”

Charlie laughs and lets her head fall back. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Nope. So you might as well pick out a party dress.” I nod toward the radio. “And a party song.”

Charlie studies me for a moment, then reaches for the radio and flips it off.

“This is my favorite.”

“Off?” I ask.

Charlie rolls down the window. She lays her head on the open window frame. “I like the sound the world makes.”

I shrug, roll my window down, and listen when we come to a red light. I hear a mockingbird singing and a man raking leaves. I hear a dog barking and a plane flying overhead. There’s even a low rumble of a lawn mower in the distance, and I somehow hear that, too. Personally, I’d take Nirvana. But as I watch Charlie listen to her favorite station, I realize she has something most never will—peace.

I pull up in front of her house, and Charlie opens the car door. I grab her arm before she can get out. “Pick you up at nine?”

She puts a hand on top of her head like she’s thinking. Then she says, “My grandma will want me home by midnight.”

Score! “Cool. See you tonight.”

“I can hardly wait.” Charlie rolls her eyes, grabs her backpack, and heads for the front door.

I’ve got to get this chick more excited about tonight. She needs to be in the right frame of mind to do things she never would before. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and watch Charlie let herself in her house.

And then I have it.

I back out of the driveway and head to Peachville Mall, where one sexy red dress awaits my credit card.

…

James Dean meets me at the entrance of Neiman Marcus. He’s about to give me a big excited welcome when he realizes it’s me. He does the thing where he acts like our confrontation never happened, and I’m totally down with that. Whatever gets us to not have a conversation.

I grab the red dress in size anorexia and head to the counter. The cashier behind the register asks if anyone helped me out today. I shoot a glance at James Dean, who is busy avoiding eye contact, and say, “Nope.”

She nods and tells me it’ll be $140.89, and I hand over my limitless Amex Black. The cashier raises an eyebrow and takes the card from me like it’s made of explosives. She turns it around in her hands, and I have an urge to throw my arms up and scream, “Pow!” Some people say the Amex Black card is a myth. Those people are also referred to as
poor
. Even thinking the word makes me itch.

Cashier Lady puts the dress in a garment bag and hands it over with the receipt. “I don’t need a receipt,” I say. “It doesn’t matter.” I like the look on people’s face when I say this. It’s a mixture of envy and detestation and makes me feel like a gangsta, like Biggie Smalls.

I’m heading out the door when curiosity stops me. I swivel around the garment bag slung over my shoulder, and flip on James Dean’s soul light. I’d like to see if it’s time to bring him in.

But wait one effin’ minute. I inspect his soul light…and I see glittery pink seals atop the other ones.
What the hell?
No one, and I mean no one, would seal souls with sparkly pink seals.

I take a step closer, but of course they’re still there. What’s more, I can see soul light filtering through the pink seals. It’s like these new seals are breaking down the old ones.

My eyes fall to my feet as if they’ll help kick-start my brain. I can’t think of a single thing that can destroy our seals. We sure don’t have the ability to do it ourselves. So where did this come from? What changed?

James Dean is crossing and uncrossing his arms. I’m no doubt making him nervous. I steal one last glance at those pink seals and leave the store. Then I locate the bench Charlie and I sat on only yesterday.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone destroy
my
work. Why did that chump even get those pink seals? For being
good
? If that’s the case—and this isn’t an isolated incident—this could be the reason my numbers have slipped. It’s not like I sealed any fewer souls before my assignment.

My assignment.

Charlie.

I raise my head and pull in a quick breath.
It’s her.
This is the reason Boss Man wants her, the reason he’s had Peachville on his radar. He’s been searching for her. I’m positive. Charlie was here with me yesterday. She must have done something to that guy. Did she do it on purpose? Has she been playing
me
this entire time?

Oh, crap, does she know who I am? Or what I’m here for?

No way.

The dress bag lies across my lap. It doesn’t feel good in my hands anymore. I want to toss it in the closest garbage can, but I need to continue as if nothing has changed. Because it hasn’t. Charlie’s soul must still be collected. Once that’s done, I’ll get promoted, and my numbers will go back to normal.

Now that I’ve got the big, dramatic mystery that is Charlie figured out, I’m feeling good. I’ve got the upper hand again, and I’m sure from here on out, everything will be hunky-freakin’-dory.

Chapter Nine

Consequences

Max is going through my overnight bag when I get back to Wink Hotel. My favorite part about this is that he doesn’t stop when I walk in the room.

“Hey,” he says. He pulls out my black Hugo Boss dress shirt, then holds it up to his nose and sniffs loudly.

“Dude. Stop.” I pull the shirt from his hands and toss it on the bed.

“I just love your scent,” he says in his chick voice.

“You and everyone else, my friend.” I drop down onto one of the queen-sized beds, sticking my hands beneath my head and crossing my ankles. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to pay my favorite collector a visit. That allowed?”

Max pulls out my shoes and holds them up to his own to see if my feet are bigger. I crumple up the Boss shirt and throw it at his face. “Stop being creepy, Max.”

“What? I’m looking for something to network in. I got to get laid, man. I mean, by someone other than your mama.”

I jump from the bed and fly across the room, my hands balled into fists.

“I’m screwing with you, dude.” Max raises his hands in defeat. “Sorry, bad joke.”

“Max, I swear I’ll break your cuff off if you ever mention my mother again.”

“You wouldn’t. You love me too much.” He gives me his car-salesman grin, and I cross the room and drop back on the bed. “Besides, who needs this damn cuff, am I right?”

For a fleeting second, I consider telling him what I know—the story of where our cuffs came from. But I won’t shatter the trust between Boss Man and me.

“So, how you doing with the girl?” he asks.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “How’d you know?”

“Are you kidding? Everyone knows. You’re the talk of the town, pretty boy.”

The fact that everyone knows about my assignment drives me crazy. Now it feels like there’s this huge spotlight on my back, and everyone’s allowed to watch.

I fill Max in on almost everything, including the part about the pink seals. But I decide not to spill about the collector outside Charlie’s house—mostly because I don’t want to sound paranoid. When I’m done talking, Max’s face goes slack. He pushes my overnight bag onto the floor and sits on the opposite bed. “I didn’t know that’s why Boss Man sent you to collect her. You really think she has the ability to cancel out our seals?”

I nod.

“What are you going to do?”

I place a hand on my forehead. The truth is I don’t really know what I’m going to do. I’ve proven to myself that I can push Charlie to sin. And I’ve already sealed her soul once. But how am I going to do it enough times to collect her in less than ten days? The weight of this assignment suddenly feels like it’s sitting on my chest, like a fat walrus just hanging out.

“Honestly? I’m not really sure,” I say. “But I’ve been thinking. Out of us six collectors, I’ve always been the top performer. I’ve brought Boss Man more souls in two years than others have in ten.” I look at Max. “No offense to the other collectors.”

He shrugs. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing.”

I laugh. Leave it to Max to make anything into a joke. “Anyway, I’m thinking Boss Man will spot me a few extra days if that’s what I need.”

The goofy grin on Max’s face falls. He runs a hand through his hair and turns toward me. “You’re not seriously thinking about asking for an extension.”

I shrug and pull my lips together as if to say.
Why not?

“Dante, Boss Man will have a conniption fit if you don’t bring this girl in. He doesn’t want to chance a Judgment Day. It’s why he’s stuck you on her. So you gotta figure something out.”

“Like what?” I need him to have the answer, because right now, I feel clueless. Max is right; if Charlie died before being collected for hell, she’d go to Judgment Day, and she’d be a shoo-in for heaven.

Max rubs his chin and then the sides of his face, which aren’t as perfectly shaven as usual. “The Assistant gave me something.”

My heart stops beating for the second time in my life. Nothing good comes from Boss Man’s assistant. Whenever he’s too worked up to deal with something himself, he passes it off on her. And she does whatever’s necessary to get the job done.

Max stands up and reaches into his navy-blue sports coat. I feel my skin prick with sweat in anticipation. When he pulls his hand back out, he’s holding rolled-up pieces of paper. My muscles relax, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

It’s only paper. How bad can it be?

Max hands me the parchment. A red ribbon is tied around it. For a moment, I enjoy this simple pleasure, my fingers touching the silky red ribbon.
Such a great shade of red.

I unroll the document and glance at Max. His face is contorted in an
I share your pain
kind of way. I glance down and read the first words that catch my eye. I realize I’m not breathing again. I’m not doing anything besides staring at the jumble of letters that open their nasty mouths and scream

SOUL CONTRACT.

I drop the contract in my lap. It’s useless. Someone like Charlie would never agree to an exchange. “Did you read this?” I ask him.

He pulls his mouth up on one side. That’s a
yes
.

“I didn’t know we used these anymore,” I say.

“Apparently we do,” he says gently.

“Have you ever—”

“No.” Max shakes his head. “Never.”

I stand up, and the contract drops to the floor. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t show her this. I’d have to expose myself. I’d have to expose all of us.” As I say this aloud, I wonder if it matters…if she already knows who we are. “She’ll freak out. She’ll think I’m lying. It’ll push her away.” I cross the room and stop in front of the hotel room window. “There are a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea.”

“I’m right there with you,” Max agrees. “But what can you do about it?”

“I’ll bring her in on time. The right way. There’s no way I’m risking our asses for this girl.” I turn from the window. “Besides, even if I needed to use it, it’d never work. This girl is so damn
happy
. She wouldn’t sell her soul for anything I could give her.”

“Well, if you didn’t like that, this is going to feel like a swift kick to the nuts.” Max fidgets with his jacket collar. “When the Assistant gave me the contract, she told me there’d be—how’d she put it—Donkey Dick–Sized Consequences if the girl wasn’t brought in on time.”

“Well, isn’t that just freaking wonderful. Consequences. There will be consequences.” Every time I say
consequences
, Max winces and nods. “Glad to hear the Assistant still has her sense of humor.”

So now my promotion—and who knows what else—is riding on this assignment. This is turning out to be a grand ole time. It’s not that I mind the added pressure. I thrive under pressure. No. I thrive under normal conditions. Under pressure, I blow people’s minds. Besides, what’s the worst they’d do? Deny my promotion?

I let that sink in—the realization that I could lose my only chance to escape the worst place anyone could imagine. Max is biting his fingernails. “Max?”

“Yeah,” he says way too loud.

“I’m going to bring this girl in. I don’t need the contract.”

Max smiles with his entire face. “There’s the guy who trained me, you sexy son-of-a-bitch. I knew you could do this. I told the Assistant, I said, ‘Do you even
know
who you’re dealing with here? Pfft. Pfft.’”

“You definitely didn’t say that.”

“Nope. I sure as hell didn’t. That woman would’ve cut my junk off. And I need my junk. Especially tonight. What with all the Peachville honeys I’m trottin’ with.” He pops his collar and struts toward the door, trying to make his usual dramatic exit.

“Max Turner, born a lady-killer, died a lady-killer…and damn it if he isn’t
still
lining ’em up and knocking ’em down.”

Max freezes at the door, his hand on the silver knob. He throws me a small smile over his shoulder. “I wasn’t always like this, Dante. People change when shit happens.”

He walks out the door, and I wonder what he meant by that. The only Max I’ve ever known is the guy he is now, so I don’t buy what he’s selling.

I reach inside my pocket and fumble for a second, fingering lint. Then I feel it—my penny. I pull it out and roll it between my thumb and pointer. The date and the word
Liberty
are misaligned. It’s called doubled die, and it happened over half a century ago in 1955, when workers at the Philadelphia Mint screwed up. Their error made this penny worth several hundred dollars. But for me, it’s not about the value.

It’s a lifeline to my past.

Shoving the penny back into my pocket, I pick the soul contract up off the floor. I don’t need to read the fine print. Like every other collector, I’ve heard the stories. And I’m sure I’m right about Charlie. That she’d never agree to it.

Which means exactly one thing: I’ve got to play this night like a P-I-M-P.