The Juvie Three (20 page)

The third car howls past, barreling after the linen truck.

“Gecko, why aren't you stopping?” Roxanne shrills. “That's a policeman back there!”

“Hang on,” Gecko orders grimly. He wrenches the wheel, and the truck jounces across the sidewalk, plows over the muddy leaves of a vacant lot, and shudders onto the pavement of the next street over. The cop hesitates, then goes the long way around, screeching through two right turns.

For a moment, Gecko thinks he's in the clear. Then the cruiser reappears in the mirror, far back, but gaining. Gecko presses the pedal as far as it will go, coaxing a little more speed, but not much. A panel truck is not built for racing. The cruiser grows larger in the mirror. The wail of the siren swirls all around them, filling the van.

“Lose him!” Terence pleads.

Gecko looks around wildly. He doesn't know the Bronx. How is he supposed to elude a cop on his home turf, driving a faster vehicle?

The truck bounces over a rise, and he sees it. Just ahead, the road follows a small bridge over a shadowed gully. If he can get down into the hollow before his pursuer reaches the rise, he just might be able to disappear, tricking the cop into “following” him across the bridge.

He steers for the span, but at the last second he cuts the lights and threads the needle between the barrier at the side of the road and the bridge rail.

In the back, Arjay, Terence, Roxanne, and Healy are tossed around like Ping-Pong balls as the truck lurches down the embankment. Wildly, Gecko pumps at the brake in an attempt to slow their descent. Nothing helps. He has made this move with no idea of where they're going, or how they can ever get out.

Desperately, he squints into the gloom, grappling for the tiniest bit of night sight. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a concentrated beam of light shines directly in front of him, illuminating the bottom of the gully, lined with a double row of shiny tracks.

The realization almost knocks him off his seat.
This isn't a ditch! It's a railway line! And that light is
—

CHAPTER THIRTY

Fueled by pure panic, Gecko yanks on the wheel just as the locomotive explodes out of the darkness. The steering mechanism screeches its protest as they skid toward a collision with the speeding train. At the last second, the tires bite into the earth, and the truck makes the sharp turn, moving along beside the rattling freight cars, avoiding disaster by no more than a few inches.

Arjay peels himself off the wall of the payload and peers over Gecko's shoulder. “What was that? Where are we?”

“We're driving beside a train,” Gecko says faintly. “I'm pretty sure we lost that cop.”

“And
I'm
pretty sure I need to change my underwear!” Terence seethes. “You trying to kill us, dog?”

Roxanne's voice is barely a whisper. “What do we do now?”

Gecko has absolutely no idea. He's not even certain the truck has enough guts to get them back up the embankment to the street.

They parallel the train for a few minutes until it passes. Then they continue on slowly, looking for a spot that's a little less steep.

The ascent is slow and messy. The spinning tires kick up so much mud that Gecko has to run the windshield wipers just to see. At long last, the white van that descended into the hollow emerges a filthy brown one.

Gecko leans out the window. The Ajax Linen Service logo is completely obliterated by grime. “The cops'll never recognize us now.”

“Not unless we get pulled over for Driving While Disgusting,” Terence agrees.

“Even so, stay off the main roads,” Arjay advises. “By now, the whole police force must know about us.”

Healy speaks up. “Would somebody mind telling me what's going on?”

As they start off, moving cautiously south toward Manhattan, Arjay begins the long story.

“Your name is Douglas Healy, and you're the founder of an alternative halfway house.…”

Gecko concentrates on the road and their surroundings, but keeps an ear open for any sign that the group leader's memory is coming back.

The initial indicators are all bad. “I don't recognize you,” he tells them. “I remember Gecko from Yorkville, but the rest is a blank. I've never even heard of Douglas Healy, and that's
me
!”

“Keep an open mind,” Roxanne pleads. “Sooner or later something has to ring a bell.”

On the slow serpentine trip, Gecko sees a number of police cars and makes a point of veering down side streets to avoid a close encounter. Their vehicle may look different covered in mud, but it's still a panel truck. Surely by now, Bronx County Psychiatric has taken a head count and realized that they're short one John Doe.

Behind him, Arjay is feeding Healy his own life story from the personal file on his computer. Gecko recites along mentally as he drives—Healy's childhood in New York; his arrest for assault at the age of fifteen—a fight that broke out while he was selling fireworks across state lines with an older cousin: thirty-two months in juvie, followed by a comeback in which he put himself through college and returned to Manhattan to work as an accountant. Next, the death of his parents just a few months apart, leaving him with no living relatives. And most important of all, his decision to pool his modest inheritance with a Garfield grant to found a program to help juvenile offenders get their lives back on track—just as young Douglas Healy had.

The group leader listens with a look on his face like he's watching a movie of the week—it's an interesting story, but that's all. No recognition.

“I want to believe you—I
do
believe you. But I don't remember it. Not one word.”

“Come on, Mr. Healy,” urges Terence. “
Please
think harder!”

The truck rattles over the bridge to Manhattan, and Gecko heads downtown along Second Avenue. “Where should we let you off?” he calls over his shoulder to Roxanne.

“I'm staying with you.”

“No way,” Arjay tells her. “Who knows what they'll stick on our rap sheet after tonight.”

“I'm not leaving until this gets settled one way or the other,” she says stoutly. “I want to see what happens to you—
all
of you.”

“We can't let you get mixed up in this!” Gecko interjects.

“You want to throw her out of a moving truck?” asks Terence. “Let her be.”

Second Avenue is slow and plodding, but not for Gecko, who weaves in and out, slipping through improbably narrow spaces. Buildings and storefronts gradually become familiar as they approach their own neighborhood. They've done it—Healy is out; their escape is complete. Another brilliant getaway for Gecko Fosse. But this time there's little to celebrate.

With a skillful tap on the accelerator, he twists the linen truck out of the traffic flow and backs into a line of parked vehicles. “We're here.”

Arjay peers out the front. The sign reads
AJAX LINEN SERVICE
. “This is where we boosted the truck!”

Gecko shifts into park and separates the “hot” wires. The engine dies.

The five of them—Gecko, Arjay, Terence, Roxanne, and Healy—climb out and bustle down the avenue. The group leader has no coat, and hugs himself against the biting wind.

Gecko sneaks a glance at him, searching for even the slightest sign of recognition in his any-color eyes. No, Healy is rubbernecking like a tourist—even when they turn down Ninety-seventh Street toward their building.

“Hey, Mr. Healy,” Terence ventures, “this is where we chucked that rye bread and pegged Ms. Vaughn.”

Healy's dismay multiplies when Gecko ushers him up the cement steps. “This is—home?”

Arjay tries to insert his key, and the front door swings wide. “Open sesame,” he says sarcastically. “Lock's busted for a change. Lucky we've got nothing worth stealing.”

They start up the dingy stairs.

“Yeah, people really
do
live like this,” Terence informs Roxanne. “It's not just on
America's Most Wanted.
”

“I've been in walk-ups before,” she defends herself.

“We're busy, man,” Arjay hisses to Terence. “Lose the sociology lecture.”

The truth is they've run out of planning. Not one of them honestly expected to make it this far. Now what? When do they give up on Healy's memory and ask him to flat-out lie for them?

Arjay opens the door, ushering the others in ahead of him. Gecko reaches for the light switch.

And then all hell breaks loose.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Something hard swings past Gecko's face. He hears the crash of impact, breaking glass, but the cry of pain comes from Arjay. Before Gecko can react, he is shoved from behind. His face collides with the wall, and he tastes blood.

The scream that follows is unmistakable. Roxanne.

“Rox!” He tries to leap at the unseen attacker, but a punch slams into his stomach, doubling him over.

The lights flash on to reveal a terrifying scene in the apartment. Two intruders restrain the struggling Arjay, who is bleeding badly from his cheek. Another grapples with Healy in the galley kitchen. Still another stands threateningly over Gecko, while keeping an eye on Roxanne, who is sprawled on the living room floor.

Gecko is about to make another run at his opponent when he catches sight of the fifth and final intruder. DeAndre has Terence in a headlock, the blade of a large knife pressed against his captive's throat.

“I'll cut him, yo.”

Considering the wildness of the moment, his voice is dull and flat. Not a threat, but a statement of fact. Terence doesn't speak, but his eyes are full of horror.

DeAndre pans the apartment, taking in Healy and Roxanne. “Who's this, your grandpa? And your sister. Real Hallmark.”

“What do you want?” Arjay sputters.

DeAndre shuffles forward with Terence, never relaxing the deadly position of the knife. “We're taking the yo for a little heart-to-heart. It's got nothing to do with you, so just mind your own business while we walk out of here.”

Healy, the only adult present, can keep silent no longer. “Now, wait one minute!”

“Step off, old man!” DeAndre thunders. “I got no beef with you—yet. On the couch—everybody! It's all over soon, so long as nobody does anything stupid.”

Arjay hesitates, but with the blade at Terence's jugular, they have little choice. The big boy allows his captors to hustle him into the living room. Warily, Healy and Gecko follow. Terence shoots them a look of frenzied pleading.

Terence, you idiot!
Gecko wails inwardly.
Why'd you have to do this to yourself? To all of us!

He has never been a Florian fan—their partnership has always been a forced affair, fed by necessity, not any kind of friendship. Yet Terence's own words resonate in an endless loop in his brain:
You watch out for your dogs…

“Nice and easy,” DeAndre approves. “Relax, watch a little TV. Don't mind us, we're just leaving.” He continues to shove Terence in the direction of the door.

Gecko reaches for the TV remote, sitting on the set next to Healy's old bowling award. The decision is made in a fraction of a second, the reaction time of any good getaway driver. Gecko snatches up the trophy, watching in satisfaction as the bowler breaks off yet again. Before anyone has a chance to see the exposed metal spike, the missile is airborne, flung with all his strength at the razor-cut boy.

The point buries itself in DeAndre's forearm. A howled curse, and the knife clatters to the floor.

It's the break Terence has been waiting for, and he doesn't squander it. Just a blur, he's gone—not toward the door, which is blocked by DeAndre's henchmen, but into the large bedroom. In a flash, the window is open, and he's scrambling onto the fire escape.

For a heartbeat the world stands still, as combatants on both sides process this latest development. Then there's a mad stampede after Terence. DeAndre stoops to pick up his fallen knife. Healy lunges for it, sending it spinning out of reach with a desperate kick. His legs slide out from under him, and he goes down beside the wreckage of the trophy.
DOUGLAS HEALY
—2
ND PLACE
. This thing is
his
?

Arjay throws off his captors as easily as he might shrug out of a jacket and joins the race for the window. DeAndre gets there first, with Gecko hot on his heels. Arjay fights one against four to clamber onto the wrought-iron landing. Healy picks himself off the floor and brings up the rear.

Roxanne grabs his arm. “You're not ready for this! You just got out of the hospital!”

Healy shoots her a helpless look and climbs over the sill. His sneakers come down on the slats of the fire escape, creating a deep percussive gonging.

He pulls up short.
I've heard that sound before!

He takes in his surroundings, pop-eyed with discovery.

I've been in this place before!

Once the dam has been breached, nothing can hold back the flood of memory. It's a deluge.

Roxanne stares in horror from the bedroom. Healy's expression might be that of someone whose head is being crushed inside a vise. The danger forgotten, she's out the window and at his side. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I'm—” He teeters on the landing, unsure of the very gravity that connects him to the planet. “I think I'm—who broke my bowling trophy?”

He's interrupted by a cry from below as DeAndre vaults over the railing and drops onto the fleeing Terence. The two crash to the stairs, fists already flying in full-on combat. A moment later, Gecko is in the middle of it, pounding and being pounded. Arjay's tree-trunk arms wade into the fray. It's a full-fledged brawl, a brutal wrestling match perched thirty feet off the ground.

Punches rain on Gecko like hammer blows. They're outnumbered five to three against tougher, street-hardened competition. DeAndre has Terence against the steps, forcing him under the rail to a devastating drop.