Nickel Plated Read online

  The middle one said, “Got any money, trash can?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s going to be a problem.”

  The one on the right still hadn’t spoken. That meant he was either the muscle or had about as much interest in this as I did.

  The other two were smiling like they’d just heard the funniest joke in the world, but he had a face of stone.

  The one on the left said, “We’re taking that bike. Get off of it.”

  I dropped the bike and with the same motion pushed it forward as I hopped it up. It turned sideways, and the frame and front wheel hit their bikes, knocking their rides backwards and heads forward. Rhino says that when you hit someone, you roll your body so that your body is in the blow, not just your arm. I pushed my right fist hard into the face of the one in the middle. I felt bones shift in his nose and saw blood instantly. He kept himself busy holding his nose like he thought it might fall off. Maybe it would.

  The one on the right was backing up, either to make space to attack me or to leave.

  I grabbed the one on the left by the ear and started pulling down and towards me. Another rule from the gym: if you’re going to put pressure on something, do it quickly. He was taller than me, and with my arm extended, my bike almost tripped me up. The kid was slapping at my wrists while I turned his ear. “You know,” I said, “it only takes about five pounds of pressure for me to tear this ear off of your head. Do you want to spend the rest of your life turning your head to have a conversation?”

  I gave the kid with the nose a look. He was just staring at the pavement under his feet, though, and the kid from the right was gone.

  I let go of the ear, and he grabbed at it to make sure I hadn’t taken a souvenir. I said, “Go home.” He rubbed the ear a couple of times, and I could see he was near to crying. Stupid bullies, hunting in packs only made you safer if you beat up on kids who wouldn’t fight back.

  I turned back to the kid with the bloody nose. He let go of the nose, clenched his fists, and dropped the bike. Internally I sighed, listening to Rhino talk in his thick accent: “Throw uppercuts from your waist; turn when you hit.” Externally I turned that nose from a bike ramp to a ski lift. He actually fell down to cry. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no hero, but kids today, they’ve got no stones. I left him lying on the pavement while Lefty just stared at him. I went back to my bridge. Things had changed.

  I laid the bike on the guardrail and walked on down to troubled turf. Before there had been a hair band and a purpose, but now there was the thought that maybe the abductor had been back. No such luck. Looking over the guardrail it was apparent that I’d expected too much out of my town. Instead of one boot print, there were about a thousand waffle-print cop shoe prints, and trust me, after the last few days, I knew shoes. Stupid bastards. I walked to the creek and back. Any clues they hadn’t taken they’d run over.

  I hauled the bike up and rode home. I still had that iron taste in my mouth of being almost there, but I pushed it aside. Almost there could wait, and hopefully Shelby could too. I rode home. Definitely sweatshirt weather, and the fact that the sun was slowly leaving the sky didn’t help much either. I swear it gets colder by the day, if not by the hour. I parked the bike in the garage and pulled it right back out—I’d forgotten the post office. I rode into the black.

  Chapter 7

  The post office, like most public buildings, undergoes a change after nightfall. For the post office that means creeps and aliens, guys who look like us but are as at home with us normals as we are with our pets. They dog that line of civilian and participant, and we watch as they feast or flounder. Most of the time they flounder, occasionally ascend a clock tower and make war on people who can’t fight back. If that’s success, I don’t want it. I’ll take living over that. I’ll take anything.

  It was cold and dark but not empty. If there’s a creepy building to be in, it’s a post office after hours. The building is wall-to-wall weirdoes. I don’t know if it’s a planned thing or not, but they built it, so they come. Usually I avoid this scene as much as possible, but when I’m working a case it gets tough. Missing one day wasn’t the end of the world, but it sure made me stressed. This was the closest I got to public, and it never was comfortable.

  I ride solo, by choice and by measure; I make myself as available as the world requests. Unfortunately, I also have to make a buck. I parked my bike in the rack and took a deep breath to steel myself. It didn’t work, so I tried again. No good. I left the bike and went inside.

  The lights they run at night aren’t the same ones they have on during the day. They aren’t quite emergency lights, like in a hospital or a school, but they’re not much better. They make for long shadows. The merchandise—the boxes and knock-off beanbag toys—was all locked up. Really the only thing the building was good for was mailing a letter, buying stamps, and checking a post office box.

  I crossed the tile floor, my feet making loud clicks as I went. There were a couple of ghouls doing the same thing I was; they needed a secret place to get mail, secrets important enough to them to bear them privately. I moved past a man in a flannel shirt, and he offered me a wide grin. I gave nothing back. My usual show of acting like it was normal for a kid like me to be in the post office at night was broken; I wouldn’t have fooled a blind man. I was rattled. Maybe it was the fight in the afternoon, maybe it was Shelby. Whatever it was, I wasn’t right. I unlocked my box and took the lone envelope. No return address. I folded it and pushed it into my pocket next to my pager. I walked out as quickly as I could and took the chain off of my bike.

  The freak from inside was waiting on me in a truck with the windows rolled down. He snaked his head out of the passenger window and said, “What are you doing out so late?”

  “Checking my dad’s mail for him. He’s laid up right now.”

  I’d established myself: there was a parent, and I would be missed.

  “You need a ride? You can throw your bike in the truck.”

  “No, I live close. Thanks though.”

  I would be missed soon.

  “Alright.”

  He backed out, and I felt relieved—he was going the opposite way. I rolled out of the parking lot, my heart thudding in my chest. Then the wind carried the noise of a truck behind me. Crap. I gave a look over my shoulder—same truck, with the headlights off. I passed over a small hill, the truck quieted, and I started moving as fast as I could, using the back side of the hill to carry my momentum.

  I steered myself down the first road I came to, took a quick right turn, and drove up the driveway of a black house. They had a stack of cut wood on the side of the house, and I dove behind it. I let my bike lay in front of the wood in a spot where there was no light. The truck drove by, circled back, and disappeared. I picked up the bike and rode home.

  My hands shook on the grips, and my breath was weak. I had research to do, but it wasn’t in me. I parked the bike and went inside. I didn’t even check the envelope; I just sat on the couch. That’s where I woke in the morning, fully dressed, fists clenched. I’d missed three pages in the night. The first one was from Gary—the others would have to wait.

  Chapter 8

  I plugged in line one and called Gary. He answered on the third ring. “Nickel?”

  Gary knew better than that. “Not on this line.”

  “Can you call my cell?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Now. I need to talk now.”

  Crap. “All right. Give me a half hour.”

  I hung up the phone and looked at the pager to see who else had decided to brighten my day. Arrow and a number I didn’t recognize. They’d have to wait. I ate some crackers and went to the garage; a shower and new clothes would have to wait too. I reevaluated and went back inside, brushed my teeth, came back out, got on the bike, and got going. I was at the gas station in ten minutes.

  I gave a quick look around. There were a couple of civilians getting gas and a bored-looking black girl reading some magaz
ine in the little booth. Nobody seemed the least bit interested in the kid with the disheveled clothes who needed a shower. I dropped a quarter in and called Gary.

  “Nic…”

  “Knock it off.”

  He was flustered. Gary was never flustered. I was starting to feel a little penned in myself.

  “Sorry. I’m stressed.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I almost got caught.”

  “How?”

  “A kid I sell to got busted and rolled on me…he only had a half ounce, and he rolled on me. Can you believe that?”

  I could, point of fact. I had no problem believing it at all. “Were you holding?”

  “No, but I’ve got almost two ounces at home. They searched my locker. The principal was going to call the cops!”

  “Anything in your car?”

  “No. I did everything you said to do.”

  “Where’s your supply?”

  “In the woods. Like I said, I did everything you said to do.”

  “Good, that’s good.”

  “It’s not good, dude. I need money! Seriously, I extended myself pretty far on my last buy, and I need to make a car payment.”

  “That’s sloppy.”

  “Look, I know that, okay? I screwed up, but at least I didn’t screw up big-time. I just can’t sell for a little bit. I got to let this heat die a little.”

  “Your principal didn’t believe you?”

  “He didn’t believe a word I had to say. He was looking at me like he wanted to eat me, and when they searched my locker and didn’t find anything, he got pissed, dude, like seriously angry. He’s going to be out for me for a while.”

  Not good.

  “How much time you going to take off?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Anybody else you trust?”

  “Like, trust trust? No.”

  “You sure? Think hard.”

  “Look, Nic…I don’t need to think hard, alright? The friends I have, I have them because of money and because of weed. They know it, and I know it. I’m even okay with it, but not one of those kids would be worth a thing to me in a storm. You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had, and we’ve never even met.”

  I didn’t think it would be appropriate to remind him that the only bonds we had were weed and money too.

  “Take a month off, no more, no less. If the heat’s not off by then, we’ll need to reevaluate whether a sales position is still viable for you. I’ll throw fifteen hundred in the box tonight; grab it in the morning. Will that settle you for a month?”

  “That would be amazing, dude. You’d really do that?”

  “No problem. Get things squared up, get your stash back, and get selling. We’ll need to make up lost ground, but that’s okay.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  I hung up, breathing hard. Was Gary rolling over on me? Could he connect to me if he tried hard enough? The answer to the first was no, and to the second? I didn’t want to think about that, not even on a nice day with the sun on my face. I gave another look around the gas station and went home. I pedaled slowly, like I didn’t have a care in the world. I was worried about Gary; even the thought of him faltering made my world go gray. He’d taken time and energy to set up, and I’m not sure I had the time or energy to do it again. I parked the bike and went inside. I thought about lunch and took a shower.

  When I got out, I dried off and dressed. I ate a PB&J and went outside, turned on the water, and sat on the stoop. I thought about Gary and pushed the thought away. I needed to worry about Shelby. I remembered I had phone calls to make. Looking at the garden, I could see some work that needed doing outside. I went in to call Arrow; I could harvest pot later.

  I called her on the two line. I couldn’t remember if I’d called her on that number before or not. She said, “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “I need to talk.”

  “You want to meet at the park?”

  “Sure. Same time?”

  “That’s good for me.”

  She hung up. My type of girl, a fast learner. I looked at the pager and called the other number I’d missed while I was sleeping. No answer, no machine. I hoped it wasn’t too important. I went in the garage and got my gardening supplies and a bucket. The rest of the afternoon was spent trimming pot and carrying it to the basement to dry. I was going to have a storage issue if Gary didn’t get his poop in a group with a quickness. When I was done working, I needed another shower. I felt like I’d been climbing pine trees, and I smelled like I was trying to relive the sixties all by myself. It was time to go, so I left.

  Chapter 9

  Arrow was waiting for me when I got to the bench. Eyepatch was right where he was supposed to be, and everything looked good. I left my bike at the rack and walked over to her. She was wearing a little skirt and a short-sleeved hoodie. If she was trying to look incognito, it wasn’t working. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if a girl who looked like that could go incognito. I sat next to her, and she said, “Any luck?”

  “I almost got my butt kicked in Four Oaks yesterday.”

  She pulled air in through her teeth. “Tommy Van Andel?”

  “I didn’t get a name.” I didn’t mention that I had almost gotten an ear.

  “Yeah, it was Tommy. I was wondering how he got the cast on his nose.”

  “Parting gift.”

  “I bet he’s sorry he ran into you.”

  “So I did good.”

  “He’s a little punk; he had it coming.”

  “He pretty much mailed me a letter and asked me to do it.”

  “Why were you in Four Oaks?”

  “I was just looking around, trying to get a focus on who would be in a good position to take your sister.”

  “And?”

  “My line of thinking was upset by your neighborhood thugs.”

  She grimaced. “Sorry, I should have said something. It was the last thing on my mind.”

  “It’s alright. They know better for next time.”

  “You never know. Tommy’s not a fast learner.”

  “I can just teach him twice. I don’t mind.”

  I gave her a smile; she gave me a weak one back.

  “The cops found one of Shelby’s shoes,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “In the woods by the bridge.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  “Of course.”

  She stood and smoothed the skirt down her legs like it was the most natural thing in the world; I did my best to catch all of it. When I waved as we walked by Eyepatch, Arrow gave me a look and did the same. I hoped she might get a reaction, but nothing happened. Bummer. I got the bike, unwrapping the chain in front of her—letting her see a secret, even if just a small one. I pedaled, she walked, and we were there in less than ten minutes.

  I dismounted at the bridge and did the same show of wrapping the bike to look like it was locked. To her credit, Arrow didn’t ask why. She held out a hand after she hopped over the ledge, and she held onto it as I jumped the guardrail and then continued to as we slid down together. When we hit bottom, she finally let go and darn near broke my heart. I vowed to never wash it again.

  We went to the stream. “There’s where I found the hair band,” I said. “Right next to it was a big boot print. I did some work on that, but it was a common tread, nothing there. So how far down did they say they found the shoe?”

  She led me along the water, the light peeking in through the trees. It was beautiful, and I was also pretty sure it was where an eleven-year-old girl had been taken and possibly killed. It kind of wrecked all that natural beauty, to be honest with you. We stopped after about a five-minute walk when we hit the police tape. There were footprints everywhere, both dog and people. It was immediately apparent they’d brought an army back here. Any evidence they missed was destroyed tenfold.

  I walked over to the tape and tried to look busy, but when I turned to Arrow, she had her
arms folded and I could tell my Sam Spade impersonation held no water. “How far do these woods go?” I asked her.

  “If we keep at it, we’ll find ourselves on blacktop in about five minutes. If we go back the way we came, it’ll be a lot longer.”

  “If he took your sister, could he have come in this way and then walked through the woods out to the road?”

  “I guess.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  “Let’s go.”

  We didn’t talk while we moved, just walked at an honest pace by the water and next to the trees. There had been a lot of foot traffic recently, and the soft earth at the edge of the creek bore the abuse of all the shoes. Cop prints were everywhere. I kept my eyes and ears open. I was looking for anything, but all I saw was flora and Arrow. Natural beauty in both cases. I could hear the road before we got there, and I followed Arrow up an incline to a bridge not unlike the one I’d parked my bike on. We watched a Dodge van pass in front of us, and then we walked onto the road.

  It wasn’t much to look at. The difference was that this road didn’t act as an inlet to a neighborhood. This was country enough to have some time to stop—with a little luck, time enough to throw a girl into a van. For the first time, it occurred to me that Shelby could have been taken by a pair. It would have made the work even easier to have one of them in the woods, the other waiting in a van or pretending to change a flat. I figured what they did, if it was a pair of them, was lure Shelby into the woods and then drugged her. From there whoever did it could carry her through the woods and to a waiting vehicle. It would have been easy. I shuddered and looked back into the woods. I could see it all running over and over in my head, like a little newsreel.

  Arrow dragged me out of it, sounding like the young girl she was for the first time since I’d met her. “Nickel,” she said, “we need to find her.”

  Her eyes were wet, and I stuck a matchstick in my teeth. Things were coming together for me, slowly but surely. There was something here, and I just needed to get my guts all the way through it. I needed time, and it was at a premium; I’d spent too much time not finding Shelby already. Still, there was nothing I could think to do right now but turn to Arrow, let the matchstick dance in my mouth a little bit, and ask, “Want to get some dinner?”