yolo (9 page)

Brandon groaned. Emily was enjoying not being the person who was saying no for once. She'd felt like everybody's mom all day. Playing devil's advocate to make Brandon miserable was actually sort of fun.

“And this is their first time doing it,” Emily reminded Brandon. “These guys we'd be picking up from have no idea what Liz and Chestnut are supposed to look like. It'd be super easy to pass ourselves off. You can be Chestnut and I'll be Liz.”

“Yeah!” said Ana.

“Oh, give me a break,” Brandon said. “How do you know they haven't seen pictures of Liz and Chestnut? And what about passwords or secret handshakes or some sort of code to let them know they've got the right people?”

“We'll just play stupid if they suspect anything,” said Emily, and as she did, she wondered if she was teasing anymore. There was something about outsmarting small-time criminals that appealed to her. She was always just the uptight girl who paid attention to details to get good grades and for no other reason. Besides her GPA, what did she have to show for her fastidious nature and deliberate powers of observation? Nothing but a reputation for being uptight—a stone-cold bitch who needed to “loosen up” and “lighten up.” What if she could prove once and for all that she was capable of marshaling these things everyone else saw as personality flaws to be
assets. What if they could rip off some drug dealers and, at the same time, keep Liz and Chestnut from dragging poor little Artie into a life of danger from the drug cartel.

“And how, exactly, would we ‘play stupid'?” demanded Brandon. “I mean, if they ask us for the password or something, are you just going to say, ‘Oh! I'm sorry, we're not actually Liz and Chestnut after all!'? Because trust me, these guys will have guns with real bullets in them.”

“Just don't tell them who you are first,” said Ana.

“What?” Brandon was incredulous. “How do you think they're going to let us in if we don't pretend to be Liz and Chestnut?”

Ana shrugged. “I dunno. Just knock on the door and see how it goes. You can just ask for directions or something.”

“Ask for directions? Like we're lost at a
random warehouse
?” Brandon ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “This is a bad, bad idea.”

“No worse an idea than holding up a convenience store with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb,” Emily said.

“What? That is not even
close
to the same thing.”

“Sure it is,” said Ana. “Close enough.”

“Argh!” Brandon threw himself back against his seat.

“What's the address?” Emily asked. She was feeling like a superhero now.

“You can't be serious!” Brandon was getting really upset.

“Oh, c'mon, Mister You Only Live Once,” Emily said. “Think of all the good we'd be doing.”

“By stealing a shipment of cocaine?” Brandon's voice was jumping octaves now.

“Exactly,” said Emily. “We'll go dump it in a river or flush it down a toilet or something. And
then
we'll have done a really good thing for humanity—not to mention Artie and Liz and Chestnut.”

Brandon considered this. “You mean you wouldn't go try to sell it yourself?”

Ana started laughing. “Oh my God. Are you
loco
? Can you imagine this little white girl as a drug dealer?”

“Hey!” Emily said. “I
could
sell drugs. I'd probably be really good at it, actually. I have an attention to detail that makes me uniquely suited for avoiding capture while performing an illegal activity. However, no, I would never sell drugs.”

“So . . . what's the point?” Ana asked. “I mean, if we showed up with that bag at the party, we'd probably be the most popular people on the planet.”

“Not. An. Option.” Emily used her no-nonsense voice. “The point is that we're having our
Thelma & Louise
day today.”

“Our what?” Ana blinked at Emily like she was speaking Korean.

“Um, you
do
remember that
Thelma & Louise
does not end particularly well,” Brandon said.

“I have one word for you,” Emily said.

“What's that?” Brandon asked.

“YOLO.”

“I was afraid of that,” Brandon said with a sigh.

“You in?” Emily asked.

“Is there any way to stop you?” he asked.

“Probably not.” Emily grinned into the mirror. “You gonna be my Chestnut?”

“Fine. But I'm dialing nine-one-one on my phone before we walk in and if anything even smells wrong, I'm hitting the call button.”

“That's your exit,” said Ana, pointing at the next off-ramp. “It's right around the corner.”

Emily's heart was racing as she pulled off the highway, but there was a smile on her face. This
definitely
wasn't on the itinerary, but maybe that was a little bit okay.

The warehouse looked like it was about a mile long, and when Emily pulled into the parking lot, she wasn't exactly sure where to go. She drove slowly along the front of the building until they came to the far end and saw a door up three metal stairs. Appropriately, the door was painted powder white.

“Are we sure about this?” Brandon asked.

“Of course not,” said Ana. “That's what makes it exciting!” She jumped out of the car, ran around to the driver's side, and pulled open Emily's door.

“What are you doing?” Emily hissed. “I wanted a few more minutes to go over details.”

“Nah, just go for it,” Ana said. “Gotta do it before you think too much about it.” She pulled open Brandon's door too. “C'mon, you two. Quick! Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

Emily knew Ana was right, and it was too late to turn back now. If there were cameras or a window anywhere, they'd already been seen. She jumped out of the car and handed the keys to Ana. “You and Pickles are driving the getaway car. Be ready.”

Ana winked. “
¡Estaremos listos!”

Emily laughed. “You ready, Chestnut?” Brandon looked like he might be sick to his stomach. She grabbed his arm and pulled him up the stairs. “C'mon. What's the worst that can happen?”

“We'll be shot and killed?” he asked.

“Oh, please.” Emily reached out to knock, but before her knuckles hit the door, it swung open.

To call the two men who stood in the doorway “large” would be to tragically understate the situation. Emily remembered how her dad had taken her to see some of the New York Jets defensive linemen who were making an appearance at the mall. She'd always thought of her father as a big muscular guy. He was six foot two, and naturally fit. To her he was basically He-Man—until she'd seen him next to those massive football players. And these guys in front of her now were even bigger. But as she stared up at them in their mirrored wraparound sunglasses, she almost started laughing because they were like caricatures of what a drug dealer's bodyguards were supposed to look like. They wore black T-shirts that strained against their massive muscles, faded blue jeans that came straight out of the early 90s, and both of them had shaved heads that seemed fused directly onto their shoulders, with no visible neck.

“Yeah?” one of them asked.

Emily swallowed her nervous laughter into a smile. She had to keep her cool and act like this was totally her element. Despite the ridiculous looks, these two could snap both her and
Brandon in half with one hand. “Here for the pickup,” she said.

The guy who had greeted them glanced back at the mountain of a man standing behind him. Emily was still holding onto Brandon's arm, and she felt it tense up under her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was reaching into his front pocket, no doubt going for his phone to hit the call button like he promised he would. She quickly dug her fingernails into his arm.

“Ouch!” Brandon yelped. The guy turned back around.

“Oops!” giggled Emily, doing her best imitation of a carefree laugh. “Stepped on Chestnut's toe!” Inside her head, she heard a voice shouting
MAYDAY
,
MAYDAY
, but she tried to ignore it. They were already this far in. Nothing to do now but keep going.

“You're Chestnut?” The first guy asked. Emily began to wonder if the second one even possessed the power of speech. His neck, she thought, might be entirely made of muscle with no leftover space for vocal chords.

“Yep!” chirped Emily. “And I'm Liz.” She thrust her hand out toward the guy who was talking to them. He looked down at it for a moment. “C'mon!” she teased him. “Don't leave me hangin'.”

Slowly, the man reached out and took her hand with his gigantic meaty paw. Emily felt as if her arm was about to be swallowed by a hippo. As he shook her hand, the guy sized her up.

“I'm Ruff,” he said, “and this is Scrappy. Ya'll are younger
than I expected.” He turned back to his silent partner. “Thought he wasn't using kids anymore.”

Silent Scrappy shrugged.

“Let's go.” Ruff dropped her hand and turned to lead the way into the warehouse.

Emily pulled Brandon along behind her, and they followed Ruff and Scrappy into the darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, she saw rows and rows of boxes stacked to the ceiling on forklift pallets. There were aisles between the rows, and Scrappy led them to the very back row, then turned right and walked halfway down the length of the warehouse. As they walked, Emily felt her heart pounding, but also noticed that the warehouse seemed to be incredibly clean. She'd expected it to be dusty, or smell like old mildew like the laundry room in her aunt Mildred's basement, but it wasn't like she was up-to-date on the cleanliness rules of drug hideouts.

Just when Emily was beginning to wonder if they were being taken to their deaths, Scrappy stopped at a big plate-glass window in the back wall of the warehouse, where there appeared to be a bunch of offices. He rapped on the glass, and there was a buzz as the auto-lock on the door popped open. Scrappy held the door open and Ruff directed them into what looked to be a small office, complete with a desk and three folding chairs. A tiny man with long dark hair pulled into a ponytail was leaning against the desk. He had a beard with a white stripe down the center, and a thin pink scar stretched a broad arc across his left cheek.

Ruff indicated the folding chairs, and Emily and Brandon both took a seat. “This is Big Dog.”

Emily could only stare. He was no taller than she was. In fact, if she'd been wearing the heels she'd packed for the party, she'd have a good three or four inches on him.

The tiny man smiled and hoisted himself onto the desk to sit. This effectively made him taller then they were while sitting in the folding chairs, but not by much. He leaned forward, his hands on either side of his legs. Emily noticed a gold pinky ring with a black onyx on his left hand.

“You must be Liz and Chestnut,” he said with a smile. Emily was startled by his British accent. “I take it you've met my associates?”

“Yes, sir.” Brandon answered, and Emily was both surprised and relieved to hear his voice.

“Excellent.” Big Dog nodded at Scrappy, who lumbered through a door behind the desk and returned with a black rolling suitcase which he parked next to the desk. “Thank you, Scrappy. Now then, perhaps the two of you would join me for a cup of tea while we get to know one another for a moment?”

Even though he'd asked a question, something about the way he said this denoted that there was only one correct answer, and that was “Yes. Certainly.” This was exactly what Emily said. Under any other circumstance, she might have giggled at this scene. Something about Big Dog's proper accent and demeanor, the way he called Scrappy and Ruff his
“associates”—it was all sort of surreal. Still, there was something about this man that made Emily's blood run cold. She couldn't shake the feeling that even though he was pouring her a proper cup of perfectly brewed English tea in a bone china tea set with a lovely floral print, he'd just as easily snap his fingers and have Scrappy tear her limb from limb. The effect was chilling, and she could tell that Brandon felt it too by the way his cup clattered against his saucer when he sat it down after taking a sip.

Big Dog held the pinky finger with the ring very delicately away from this cup as he sipped the steaming tea and considered Brandon and Emily. “Well, Chestnut, you and Liz come very highly recommended.”

Emily felt Brandon go tense. “Uh, yes . . . well, thank you. We're . . . pleased to have the opportunity to work with you.” Emily kept her smile firmly in place.

“I must admit,” said Big Dog, “that when I heard you were a team who'd met in high school I was under the impression that you were no longer . . .
in
high school.” Emily saw his eyes narrow, and she decided to go for broke.

“Oh, you
charmer
.” She giggled at Big Dog, sliding her hand over Brandon's and intertwining their fingers. “You're too kind. My mother always told me to just say thank you when I received a compliment, so I'll simply say ‘thank you.' ”

Something about this seemed to please Big Dog, and he nodded slowly. “You must've been young when you had your son. How old is he again now?”

“Artie?” asked Emily. “Oh, he's just turned five. Yes, I was only fifteen.” She slid her fingers from Brandon's hand up his arm and ruffled the hair at the back of his head. “He couldn't keep his hands off me.”

“Do you have a picture of Artie?” Big Dog asked, his smile suddenly as cold as steel.

“A picture?” Emily tried to keep her voice from squeaking, but her throat was suddenly dry, and she quickly took a sip of her tea.

“I'd so love to see the little fellow.” Big Dog calmly raised his cup to his lips and took a sip, but his eyes never left Emily's.