Nickel Plated Read online

  I was lucky—I’d thrown it on top of the washer when I checked my pockets. I never check my pockets. Never. I read the number, plugged in line six, and dialed. Got that fail noise and then the “this number has been disconnected” bit. I hung up, cleared the line. I’d read about this. I went to the computer.

  I was pretty sure I’d read on a pedo board about a year or so ago that one of the new tricks in the game was to set up a contact number that ran a disconnected or call failed message. Only what that message really is, is a lobby. You know, like when you call customer support, and a recorded voice starts asking for codes and addresses? “Press one for English,” that kind of stuff. This was the same thing.

  It doesn’t matter what those messages say, it’s how you respond. The gas company wants you to pay your bill, so they don’t have automated systems that make it harder than necessary to do so. But if you wanted to make it so that it was impossible to use a number unless you used a code, then you’d set up a system like this. The one I read about had a lockout. You fail once on a line, the line is dead to the system—that disconnected message becomes real. I ran upstairs to my computer and tried to find mention of a coded system on the perv forums but got nothing. I left the office and went outside.

  I needed to call Arrow, but it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. There were just too many possible rejections there, and I didn’t see myself dealing well with any of them. But if Shelby had overheard anything about their plans for her, she might be able to give me some idea of what to do. I couldn’t imagine Shelby was up to talking—I was sure she was still hospitalized, or if not hospitalized surely spending a lot of time talking, between the head-shrinkers and detectives. I stared off for a little while, just letting it all come together in my head. Finally broke. I grabbed a jacket and walked to a pay phone to call Arrow.

  It was getting cold out, winter sending out tendrils of its coming storm. Winter doesn’t bother me, and neither do summer or spring. Fall weather, though, weather like this, I hate it. If spring is birth, summer is life, and winter is death, then the fall is dying. The world fades around you, exploding with red and orange colors before wasting to nothing. The snow I can deal with, but watching the world around me die and get swept up terrifies me in ways that I can’t explain. Maybe it’s a fear that spring will never come, that things will just be desolate forever. The world acts so insulated, so sure that there will be a spring, that life will be warm and good. Go to any city, find a women’s shelter. Ask around about that. You’ll get blank eyes and broken hearts. Go deeper, find a center for children recovering from sexual abuse. Ask those children if they think everything will ever be okay again. I already know the answer. Want to guess?

  I walked to the gas station by Arrow’s house before calling. I’m stubborn like that sometimes. She answered, and I said, “Can you talk?”

  “Nic…yes. When?”

  “Now, I’m at the gas station.”

  “Alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I hung up and thought about leaving. What if the police were watching the house? I decided it was worth the risk to see her. I sat on the curb by the phone and drew my sweatshirt around me. I was staring at the ground and didn’t even hear her roll up to me. All I knew was that one second I was sitting, and the next I was getting tackled. I lifted my head up, hoping that it would be Arrow who had done the tackling, and I was pleased to see through a shock of red-tinged blonde hair that it was. I put my elbow down to lift myself up, and she stood and wrapped her bike chain like I’d taught her. She turned to me when she was finished with tears in her eyes and said, “Nickel, thank you so much. You saved her. You saved Shelby.”

  She wrapped me in a hug, and I could feel the fire in my cheeks. I wanted to push her back, say something cool like, “All in a day’s work, babe,” and then stick a matchstick in my mouth and just fire off questions. Instead I just let her hold me. When she let me go, it was far too soon. I could feel her heat come off of me like a veil. She was smiling; I gave her one back—a real one. It felt good. I said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “The park?”

  “Too soon.”

  “We tried to get your bike back, but the cops took it. They don’t believe Shelby.”

  “About what?”

  “About her being alone. They won’t tell us why they don’t believe her, but one of them said something about straps being cut. Did you have to cut her free?”

  “Yeah. She was strapped pretty tight to a chair.”

  “I think they figure there was a third guy in the kidnapping that got cold feet and decided to let her go. Did you know they found a body in the house? They left it out of the paper as a secret, so if another person does come forward they can tell if they’re lying or not. Shelby told them that they killed him in front of her, said that they’d kill her too if she tried to get away. She told them she woke up and she was free, and she just ran.”

  “Did Eyepatch say anything?”

  “All I heard was that he told the cops that he saw two men shooting at a little girl, and that wouldn’t stand in his park. You know Eyepatch sits there like a guardian? The cops told us he’s been waiting for this to happen every day. It’s like he knew you guys would need help.”

  She was right, he had known. Not for what or when, but eventually. He’d been right. Luckily for us.

  Eyepatch had been a curiosity before, just “the man who would not wave,” but now that I knew a little bit, I wanted to know everything about him, like if the lawyer story was true, and if he’d ever done anything like that before. And why hadn’t he ever scared me? I’d never even felt slightly odd about what he chose to do with his time. There wasn’t an adult in the world who didn’t make me at least a little wary, but with Eyepatch, nothing. Was there some internal survivor radar or something in me that could let me detect people who’d been through things like me?

  “How’s Shelby?”

  “She’s okay. They didn’t do…anything to her.”

  “Does she know why they took her?”

  “The cops think they were going to sell her and were holding out for more money. The guy who lived at that house, Hank, he’s been doing this for years. I guess they’ve been looking for him forever. If I hadn’t called you…”

  She didn’t need to finish it. We both knew: Shelby would be gone, maybe dead, certainly wishing she was if she weren’t.

  “Can you talk to Shelby for me?”

  “About what?”

  I told her about the card and the loaded number, about needing a password. I told her it wasn’t over for me, not yet. I didn’t tell her how dirty it was going to get.

  “What should I say?”

  “Ask if she heard them talking on the phone, and if she did, ask if they would start off conversations with a code word. If they were using keys to punch a number in, then this is done, we’ll never find them. If they were verbally being allowed into the system, then maybe I can work some magic and get a meet.”

  “I’ll ask her. It’s hard, though—there’s always somebody around.”

  “Just do your best. How are your parents?”

  “They’re okay. My mom laid off the booze, at least for a while, and my dad’s been sleeping on the couch. He apologized to me, but I’m still angry with him for cheating on my mom. I’m never going to be like that when I grow up. No matter what.”

  I believed her.

  “Tell Shelby that I’m glad to hear she’s doing okay.”

  “Nickel, she says you’re the bravest person she’s ever met in her life. You saved her. She says you weren’t even scared when they were shooting at you guys. She can’t wait to thank you in person.”

  “She’s wrong. I was terrified.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She gave me another hug, shorter than the last. Kissed me on the cheek, an explosion. “I’ll talk to her and I’ll call you, tonight probably. Don’t be a stranger—just because it’s not work doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”<
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  “I know. I will.”

  We were back at the gas station. I watched her unwrap her bike and mount it. Watched her ride off, blonde and fire-streaked hair in the wind behind her. Beautiful Arrow. When she was gone I left, colder than I’d been before. Cold to the bone.

  I stopped on the way home, bought some breakfast cereal. I ate three bowls of Captain Crunch when I got back to the house—after, the roof of my mouth felt like I’d been chewing nails. I was washing the bowl and loading the dishwasher when my pager buzzed. I rinsed my hand and read it. Arrow. I dried off with a towel and called her back.

  “Here’s the short version.”

  “Alright.”

  “They always said bark. Like on a tree.”

  “Alright.”

  I hung up. I knew she’d understand. I finished loading the dishwasher, but my heart wasn’t in it. When I was done, I put my jacket back on and walked to the gas station. Man, I miss my bike—everything takes so much longer without it. I took the business card from my pocket and considered it. Put two thick breath mints in my mouth and picked up the receiver. Dropped two quarters in the slot and dialed. The little spiel started, and I said, “Bark.”

  The spiel stopped. A few seconds later a man answered. “Can I help you?”

  “I got your number from an acquaintance. He said you can get things.”

  “I am in the business, but the nature of supply and demand can make such work difficult. What are you looking to acquire?”

  “A girl. White, between seven and ten years old. Not too big.”

  “That’s pretty specific. You know these things can be expensive?”

  “Yes. Money is not an issue. I also have something that might interest you.”

  “Oh?”

  “A boy. Twelve years old. He’s conditioned.”

  “Very interesting. For the girl, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Flat, cash, obviously. I make no guarantees of the hardiness of my stock. You play at your own risk.”

  I could not wait to meet this guy. My hands were shaking. “What do I get for the boy?”

  “If he’s clean, between fifty and a hundred.”

  “When can I make a play on the merchandise?”

  “I’ll need to be sure of inventory. Call me tomorrow, this number, same time.”

  Before I could respond, he’d hung up. I wasn’t scared; I was too busy making a plan. The wheels were spinning faster and faster, but I wasn’t missing a thing. I walked home. I wasn’t cold now; I had work to do. I was ready to get back into combat.

  Chapter 41

  Before I built the fake electrical box at the school, I put a similar one in a yard about a block from my house. I’ve used it a couple of times, but it sits empty most of the time. The couple who lives there has done some really nice landscaping around it, which is all the more impressive because they can’t even really see it unless they’re outside. It’s not as nice as the one I built for the school, but it was my first try and it’s held up really well, especially considering the weather. I called the woman with the money.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s a friend.”

  “Okay…”

  “I can make it work, but I need the merch clean. No deposit either.”

  “Not possible.”

  “I am not putting good money towards bad. Put feelers out; is there anyone in this state that would give real tender for scratch? I know you don’t want to mess with Chicago, or you’d already be there. You came to me for a reason—the normal channels weren’t getting the results you wanted, and you want to see if I can pass phonies to a bunch of kids, make the money look like it’s coming from everywhere. I can make a flood, make it so you can put some fake bucks into whatever your real plan is, but you need to trust me.”

  Silence. She took a break. I was good with that, and I waited.

  “Where’s the drop?”

  I gave her an address, instructions, told her about the other box. She didn’t laugh, just tucked it in tight. I thought we were done when she said, “You know, if you do me wrong on this, it’s going to be a mess.”

  “Lady, I don’t know what you heard about me, but this won’t go sour because of me. Put it this way: I know I’m not playing, and so do you. I don’t need to pull a scam for the same reason that I don’t need this job in the first place. This is about making a little by being careful, not trying to score on some ugly bucks and messing up my name.”

  It must have reassured her, or maybe she was just sick of hearing my gums flap, because when I stopped talking she was gone. I unplugged my phone and leaned back in the chair. Waited around the house and killed time for a couple of hours. Went to the garage, got the little cart I bought for gardening, and went for a walk. I know in movies, money changes hands in nice-looking attaché cases. That’s nice for a small chunk of change, I guess, but when you’re doing money like this, you need space. I checked the box after I was sure no one was watching. Tightly wrapped parcels of saran wrap, bound thick with packing tape. She either didn’t trust the ink, or didn’t trust me to get the money today. With counterfeiters, the problem is either the product or greed; usually the both wrapped up together made for a messy little package. She better hope this money looked as good as that first hundred she showed me, or this was going to go over poorly. I wheeled it home and trucked it in the house, took the wraps off, and gave it a look. Not bad—not real, but it would work. If I lived, she’d get paid, I’d get paid, and some nasty people would go to where they needed to be that much faster. I went to my room and lay down. I slept better than I thought I would.

  Chapter 42

  I spent most of the day just trying not to think about what I had to do. There was a solid little plan in my head, but making it all work would take some effort. It sat in my subconscious the way things like that always do. You can’t make yourself not think about something. The UPS man interrupted my bad thoughts and sharpened my day, one big package and one little one—my bike had arrived! If he thought it was weird that I was home from school, he didn’t show it. I dragged the thing to the garage, opened up the box holding my beautiful bike, and got to making it look less pretty.

  The first thing was to take it apart. The first time I did it I was nervous I’d lose a part or bend something I wasn’t supposed to. I’m not nervous about anything like that anymore. I turned on the little stereo I keep out there, turned it up loud. Dillinger Four, Midwestern Songs of the Americas. Album’s older than I am, but it’s perfect. I sang along while I broke down the bike and hung it in pieces from the rafters. I used coat hangers instead of string. When the bike was stripped and spread across the garage, I hooked up my airbrush gun and turned on the compressor. I could feel the thrum of the vibrations in my chest, just as I’d felt the bass from the Dillinger album.

  The Gary Fisher is a beautiful bike, and I’m sure there are people out there who would think I should get strung up and stung to death by bees or something for messing with it, but those people aren’t taking into account the uselessness of a tool you can’t operate publicly. If I ride around on a five-thousand-dollar mountain bike, all I’m going to see are eyes staring after me. Everywhere I go I’ll be at risk to have it stolen, and that trick with the wrapped chain won’t be worth a fistful of pennies.

  The Dura-Coat went on really easy, just like the last two times I did this. The paint is only part of the camouflage though—mag wheels and a cheap seat don’t hurt either. The mags I’d ordered with the bike, and the seat I’d pick up over the next couple of weeks. When the frame was covered in the matte black and all the other little pieces were dusted, I shut off the compressor and cleaned the airbrush with water. It looked like some half-bit dad had bought some used hunk of junk on the cheap and gave it a quick toss with Krylon to make it cool. Perfect. I left the bike to dry in pieces and went back inside. Almost time to walk to the gas station and make a call.

  I ate a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter out of a jar in the cupboard. I’d cleaned, tha
t was a start, but I seriously needed to go buy some food. I sat at the table with all the funny money spread on it. Totally ridiculous—it looked like a prop from a rap video. If I’d been wearing a sweat suit, had a gold chain and Arrow pinned to my lap, the scene would have been perfect. I stood and tossed the jar of peanut butter in the garbage. It had that oil on top that you’re supposed to stir in, and now it had more oil than peanut butter left. I grabbed my hoodie and threw it on, left on foot to call a bad guy.

  I dumped three quarters in the phone and dialed the number on the card. I did just like the last time, said “Bark” and the line clicked over. I remembered the breath mints at the last second and tossed three of them in as the man spoke. Wintergreen filled my mouth, and I let him talk.

  “Can I help you?”

  “We spoke last night about an order.”

  “Yes. You are in Grand Rapids?”

  He said this like I was supposed to be surprised that he could find me; I could hear the smug smile in his voice. Of course I knew he could find me from a phone number, otherwise why would I call from a pay phone? It was an empty threat, just like any I could make; I knew his number was a disposable cell phone.

  “Around there.”

  “I can meet you south of town at the rest stop by mile marker 115.”

  “When?”

  “Two days.”

  I let impatience sneak into my voice. “Why so long?”

  “We have to look into your character. Some men we were dealing with in your area recently got sloppy; I need to know that you don’t take those kinds of risks.”

  Look into my character? I was looking to buy a child, not raise one. Either way, it was just more posturing. He couldn’t touch me from where he was; if that were possible, I’d be dealing with him right now. “What time?”

  “Eleven p.m. Come alone, and bring the money and your merchandise.”