The Fixes (13 page)

133.

Jordan talks. The others listen.

“Allen Headley had a few too many Manhattans with his homeboys at the Cactus Club last October,” Jordan tells them. “Then he climbed in that vintage Vette over there and tried to drive the thing home.”

He shakes his head. “Allen failed. Miserably. He put dents in, like, four cars on the way up the hill. Then, about a mile from here, he ran down a poor cleaning lady named Grace Ferreira as she was getting off work. Ran a stop sign and
POW,
”—he claps his hands—“hit her, knocked her across the block. Broken hip, broken ribs,
a serious
concussion.”

“Maria, our maid,” Paige says. “Grace was her cousin. Maria left us to take care of her after that. She said Grace was lucky she wasn't killed.”

“Allen Headley's a big-shot lawyer. He's tight with the mayor. And this town is so messed up he didn't spend one night in jail for what he did. Got off totally clean.”

“That slimy motherfucker,” Haley says.

“No criminal record. No fine. Not even an article in the goddamn
Capilano Herald
. As far as the world knows, Allen Headley didn't do jack shit that night.”

Eric listens. Thinks about his dad and his frat buddies that night in San Francisco.

Eric sees the parallel.

“This asshole needs fixing,” Haley announces from the backseat. “So what're you thinking, Jordan?”

Jordan glances into the rearview mirror. Meets her eyes, then Paige's. Then he looks over at Eric.

“Headley loves that Corvette of his,” he tells them. “Paid a shitload to get it repaired. As far as I'm concerned, he didn't pay enough.”

134.

Jordan might not have his bomb set up, but he has an arsenal of incendiary devices in the back of his Bimmer.

“Molotov cocktails for everyone,” he says. “Tonight the Corvette burns.”

Eric reaches for a bottle. The air smells like gasoline, dizzying, overwhelming. Eric's nervous again. He's feeling that electric adrenaline, that high. He's torn between puking and freaking
raging
on that Corvette, and it's not so much that he's pissed at Allen Headley for doing what he did—

(even though he
is
pissed, when he actually thinks about it)

    —it's more like this is justice.

       This job needs doing.

                  And goddamn if it doesn't feel
good
.

135.

Jordan reaches for Eric's hand, stops him.

“Not here,” he says. “We'll take it up to Fincher's Bluff and burn it there. The cops will never find it.”

(Fincher's Bluff is at the end of a logging road on the other side of the mountain, about as far away from Capilano as you can get. Kids go up there to get drunk, throw bonfires, shoot guns. Really
get away from it all
.)

Eric draws back, still feeling the warmth where Jordan touched his skin. “Um, okay, but how do we get the car out of the driveway? Do you happen to have the keys?”

“Keys?” Jordan says. “Nope.” He reaches into the trunk again. Pulls out a pair of pliers and a long-handled screwdriver. He smiles. “YouTube.”

136.

“That Corvette's a two-seater,” Jordan tells the others. “So who's coming with me?”

Haley, Eric, and Paige all swap looks. Shrug. Raise eyebrows. Eric feels the adrenaline. He's bouncing on his heels.

He's thinking,
Fuck being a Connelly Man.

“I'll do it,” he tells Jordan, before Haley or Paige can talk first. “I'm coming with you.”

137.

So Haley goes to work on Allen Headley's gate.

In seconds, the gate swings wide.

Haley does a curtsy and joins Paige at Jordan's BMW. “It's on you now, boys,” she says. “Let's see what you got.”

“Follow us to Fincher's Bluff,” Jordan tells them. “But don't get caught, right?”

Haley rolls her eyes. “
You
don't get caught. We'll be fine.”

The neighborhood is dead quiet. No cars. No movement. There's a light on above Allen Headley's front door, but otherwise, his cheesy villa is dark. The Corvette sits in the middle of the driveway, chrome glinting in the dim light.

It's 2:43 in the morning. Jordan claps Eric on the back. “Let's do this.”

138.

The Corvette is locked.

(Duh.)

“Doesn't look like there's an alarm, though,” Jordan says, peering through the windshield. Then he grins. “Guess we'll find out.”

He wraps his fist in his hoodie. Looks back at Eric and winks. Then he punches the driver's-side window out.

(
SMASH
)

It sounds like an explosion. Like you could hear the window shattering all the way across town. Somewhere in the distance, a dog starts to bark. Eric feels his heart pounding, his palms sweating. Looks up at Allen Headley's villa again, but the villa remains dark.

Jordan has the driver's-side door open. He's bent down under the steering wheel, whole body contorted, his feet kind of kicking out. Eric can hear him muttering to himself. Can hear plastic cracking.

Eric wonders what else Jordan learned on YouTube, but he doesn't have much time to dwell on that notion, because the Corvette's engine is RUMBLING to life, throaty and loud

and

at precisely the same time

a light BLINKS on in

Allen Headley's

second-floor

window.

(
Shit
.)

139.

Jordan doesn't see the light at first.

And when Eric shows him, Jordan doesn't seem to care. “That raises the stakes, huh?” he tells Eric. “I guess we'd better bail.”

“Yeah,” Eric says, watching the light. “Bailing sounds like a great idea.”

Then Jordan steps back from the driver's seat. Gestures to the door. “Well, go on then.”

“What,” Eric says. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” Jordan smiles, and his eyes are alive, luminous and hypnotic. “Let's see what you got, E.
Drive it like you stole it
.”

140.

The Corvette drives differently than Eric's mom's G-Wagen.

It's lighter.

It's lower.

It's lightning-freaking-faster.

The engine howls as Eric steps on the gas. The tires spin and chirp and the car launches forward, careens down the driveway toward the road fast—too fast—Jordan laughing in the passenger seat.

Eric eases off the gas pedal. Tries the steering wheel.

The Vette is
nimble
. It corners like it's on rails.

Eric hits the road, feels the Vette jostle over the gutter. Then he's turning down the dark street, toward Haley and Paige in Jordan's Bimmer, and the Bimmer's engine is purring and its headlights are bright, and Eric knows the girls are just waiting for him to pass them, waiting for him to lead them to Fincher's Bluff to start the
real
show,

the
real
Fix,

and Jordan's laughing, and Eric's laughing, too, because he's scared shitless, yes, but because this is freaking
fun
, too, like more fun than he's ever had in his life, and

even when

                      
Allen Headley shows up on the street behind them—

(in his bathrobe)

                              
—chasing Eric and Jordan like they just stole his dog, Eric doesn't stop laughing.

(Not even when he hears the sirens.)

141.

They don't sound like much, at first.

(The sirens.)

They sound like the wind whistling through the smashed driver's-side window as Eric steers the car fast through the suburbs and across the mountain toward the highway to Fincher's Bluff.

They sound like Jordan laughing, or Eric's heart pounding in his eardrums. They sound like they're coming from somewhere
far
away.

It isn't until Eric sees the lights in the Vette's rearview mirror that he kind of starts to get worried.

142.

“Shit,” Eric says, his eyes ping-ponging between the rearview mirror and the road. “Dude, what do we do now?”

Jordan twists in his seat. Sees the police lights, flashing red and blue behind them. Two cars back there, now. Both of them gaining ground.

But Jordan doesn't seem to care. “Only one thing we can do, E,” he says. “Lose them.”

Lose them
, Eric thinks.
Yeah, okay.

(Easier said than done.)

143.

This isn't
Grand Theft Auto
; Eric doesn't lose those cop cars.

They multiply like rabbits in the rearview mirror. Block off the road a half mile from the highway, nowhere near Fincher's Bluff.

(Haley and Paige must have ditched—must be long gone, thank god.)

Eric sees the roadblock. Doesn't slow down. Grits his teeth and aims the Corvette straight down the middle of it, between the two police cars. Sees the cops tense behind their cruisers, lit up in his high beams.

Screw it
, he thinks.

“E.”
Jordan's saying something. Eric can hardly hear him over the sound of the wind and the growl of the motor.
“Eric!”

Eric glances across the car. Jordan's shaking his head. “We're not going to make it, E. You gotta stop the car.”

Eric takes his foot off the gas. Hesitates. “You want to
give up
?”

“Never.”
Jordan gestures to the streets on either side of the car. “How fast can you run?”

144.

Eric's never been much of a runner.

That doesn't stop him.

He slams on the brakes. The Corvette squeals to a stop. Jordan reaches for his door handle. Eric reaches for his.

“If they
do
get you, don't sweat it,” Jordan says. “A trial would show the world Allen Headley never got what he deserved.”

Eric freezes. “Wait, a
trial
?”

Jordan gives Eric a look. “Using our connections and wealth to avoid paying the consequences for our actions? That would make us hypocrites, E.”

Then he smiles, and shoves open the door.

CAPILANO POLICE DEPARTMENT – INCIDENT REPORT

NARRATIVE
: Received report of a vehicle theft in progress in the Hollyburn neighborhood of Capilano, approximately 0300hrs July 18, 2016. Officers Grouse and myself proceeded to the 1200 block of Jefferson Avenue, where we found the complainant outside his house in a state of agitation. Complainant advised that unknown parties had just stolen his 1967 Chevrolet Corvette.

Acting on the complainant's information, we proceeded east on Jefferson Avenue to 12th Street, then south on 12th, where we observed a vintage Chevrolet Corvette driving erratically and at a high rate of speed. Attempts to instruct the driver to stop the vehicle were unsuccessful, and we continued pursuit with other Capilano PD units for approximately ten minutes, whereupon the driver stopped the vehicle at the intersection of Taylor Way and Inglewood Avenue. At this time, the driver and his passenger exited the vehicle and proceeded to run in opposite directions down Inglewood Avenue.

Officer Grouse and myself took pursuit of the driver, whom we identified as a tall white male in a black hooded sweatshirt, age unknown. We pursued the driver for approximately five minutes, until the presence of other officers directly ahead of the driver forced him to conclude the pursuit.

We apprehended the driver and advised him of his rights. The driver appeared calm as we escorted him to our squad car. He did not respond to questions on the way to the booking station.

Suspect was booked into Capilano PD headquarters at approximately 0430hrs, July 18, 2016.

145.

Jail is boring.

After the excitement wears off and the adrenaline dissipates, Eric finds himself in an empty holding cell in the Capilano PD headquarters. The fluorescent lights overhead burn bright, even though it's the middle of the night. He has fingerprint ink on his hands, and the officers who booked him took his shoelaces and the drawstring on his hoodie. The police station is quiet.

Eric sits in the empty holding cell and waits. He's pretty sure the police didn't get Jordan. After all, he's not here. And they probably didn't get Haley and Paige, either. They only got Eric.

Which sucks.

There's a pay phone down the hall from the holding cell. The guard who locked Eric in asked him if he wanted to call anyone. But Eric doesn't have Jordan's lawyer's phone number. And he sure as hell isn't calling his parents. So Eric just sits there in the too-bright holding cell and waits for the criminal justice system to process his ass.

(Why?)

Because Eric thought about it.

And Eric decided Jordan was right.

146.

Don't commit the crime if you can't do the time, right?

I mean, it's a horrific cliché, but how hypocritical would Eric be if he tried to skirt the system the same way Allen Headley did?

(A: Very.)

More to the point, how could I expect you to respect such a hypocritical protagonist?

(A: I couldn't.)

Eric got himself into this mess. He's going to deal with the consequences.

(Why?)

Because that's what people with real integrity do.
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