The bouncers spotted Rachel and Ema walking toward the door. I don't think too many women came here as patrons, especially on their own. Rachel and Ema both stopped in front of the door. I could hear the conversation through my cell phone.
The bouncer on the right said, "Hello, ladies, is there something I can do for you?"
"We would like to see someone about work," Rachel said.
"What kind of work?"
"Dancing, waitressing, whatever."
The bouncer on the left said, "The boss will love you. But her"--he pointed at Ema--"I mean, no way."
I wanted to punch that guy in the face.
The bouncer on the right slapped the other bouncer's arm. "Dude, that's just rude."
"Huh?"
"Yeah," Rachel said, "that's rude."
"I think she's pretty," Right Bouncer said, smiling at Ema. "You got a sweet face, sugar."
"Thank you," Ema said.
"And I bet you know how to shake it on the dance floor, am I right?"
"As rain," Ema said as they both started to enter the club. "When I get my booty shaking, worlds collide."
Back in the car, I was just smiling, thinking, God, I love that girl, when the driver's side window shattered. Shards of glass rained down on me. I barely had time to react when two hands reached in, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me through the window headfirst. Remnants of the window scraped my sides, ripping my clothes and digging into my skin.
It was Derrick the bouncer. He had white tape across his nose. He looked very angry. "Well, well, well. Look who's come back to say hello."
He flung me across the street. My head crashed into the side of a car, causing a dent. I tried to regroup, but dizziness overwhelmed me. I needed a second to catch my breath, but I wasn't getting one.
Derrick kicked me in the face.
I tried to roll away, but he was on me now. A punch in the jaw made my teeth rattle. There was a knee to the ribs and then another blow, I don't even know from where, struck me in the back of the head, jarring my brain. My eyes started rolling back as the next punch landed. And then there was blackness.
When I woke up, I was being dragged through an alley by Derrick. He had one hand on the scruff of my collar. The other was holding a cell phone.
Pain flooded in, making my eyes well up with tears. My first thoughts were about Rachel and Ema. They had no backup now. Did they know that? I doubted it. If they had seen Derrick attack me, they would have screamed or done something. No, they had gone inside the club. Alone. Without anyone on the other end of the phone.
Derrick spoke into his cell phone. "Bringing him in, Buddy Ray," he said.
"Nah, no reason for that." I could hear Buddy Ray's soft voice through the phone. "We have Ash back."
"So what should I do with him?"
"Where are you?"
"Back alley."
"Any witnesses?"
Derrick said, "Nope."
"Then take care of him there," Buddy Ray said.
Take care of him?
Fear can be like a splash of cold water in the face. I debated what my next move would be. I could pretend that I was still out for a few more seconds, surprise attack him. Derrick suddenly stopped moving. He dropped me like I was a bag of laundry. I kept my eyes closed, playing possum.
"Open your eyes, kid."
When I didn't, Derrick kicked me hard in the ribs with the toe of his boot. A bolt of agony surged across my chest. My eyes flew open now. I looked up, and I was staring into the barrel of a gun.
No choice.
I dived for the gun, but Derrick was ready. Using all his weight and leverage, he hit me with a powerful side kick flush in the center of the chest. My heart stopped. That was what it felt like, like all my internal organs--heart, lungs, whatever--had shut down. I collapsed back to the ground, unable to move. Another kick to the back of my head closed my eyes. Bright lights swirled in front of my eyes. I didn't move. I don't even think I breathed. I just lay there, helpless, swimming toward unconsciousness.
Until I heard the gunshot.
chapter 23
SO THIS WAS DEATH.
I longed for my parents. I remembered a night two years ago when we were stationed with the Al-Hajaya tribe of Bedouins in the harsh desert of Jordan. We slept in goathair tents that protected us from the harsh conditions in the vast wasteland. I stirred slowly one morning, hearing the braying of nearby animals, my eyes blinking open to see my parents staring down at me. Mom and Dad stood together, both sporting dorky parental smiles--you know the ones, all dewy-eyed and goofy and embarrassing as a smile can be--and now I would pretty much give anything to see those dorky smiles. I'm remembering that moment so clearly now and I'm wondering--if this is indeed death-- will I see my father's dorky parental smile when I open my eyes?
But wait. If I were dead, why did I still ache from the beating Derrick gave me? My head felt as though someone had surgically implanted a jackhammer into my skull and left it running on high. Do you feel that in death? I doubted it.
I slowly opened my eyes and yes, I did indeed see a face. But it was not my father's.
It was Derrick's.
His eyes were open, unblinking, staring at nothing. A neat, perfectly circular bullet hole sat in the middle of his forehead, still leaking a little blood. There was no doubt about it. Derrick was dead.
I tried not to panic. I didn't move. I kept my head still while my eyes darted about my surroundings.
Dead Derrick and I were in the back of a van.
"Nice to see you awake, Mickey."
I looked past Derrick toward the man who spoke. The first thing I noticed about him was the tattoo on his face.
"Recognize me?" he said.
"You're Antoine LeMaire."
Something flickered on his face--doubt maybe--but then he smiled at me. "In the flesh."
I tried to fight through the pain, tried to figure my next move. Could I go for the van door behind me? Suppose it was locked. I was debating what to do when Antoine said, "If I wanted you dead, I'd have let Derrick shoot you."
"You," I said, trying to sit up a little. "You killed him?"
"Yes."
I wasn't sure what to say. "Thank you" didn't really seem to fit. I remembered Candy's words about Antoine and this van.
"Someone told me," I said, "that once people get into this van, they're gone forever."
Antoine smiled. He had a nice smile, straight teeth and almost toothpaste-commercial white. He was either lightskinned black or darker Latino, I couldn't tell which. "Well," he said, "I guess that's mostly true." He gestured toward Derrick's dead body. "Especially in his case."
"And in mine?"
"No, Mickey. Or at least, I hope not."
"Where's Ashley?" I asked him.
"I don't know," he said. "I was looking for her too, remember?"
"So you could sell her into white slavery?"
"Ah," Antoine said, and the smile was back. "You've heard the rumors."
"Are you telling me they're not true?"
"You don't recognize me, do you, Mickey?"
"I saw you on that videotape."
"Not from that."
I hesitated. There was something familiar about him, something distant, but the more I tried to see it, the more it stayed out of reach. "What then?"
He sighed, rolled up his shirtsleeve, and pointed to his forearm. I squinted at it, and my world, already reeling, took another major hit. I started shaking my head, lost yet again, but there it was:
The same butterfly tattoo.
"You . . . you're one of them?"
"Wouldn't 'one of us' be more accurate?"
"I don't get it."
"I think you do, Mickey."
And just like that, I realized that he was right. Without warning or even much thought, the pieces started to fall into place. The Abeona Shelter. Abeona was the goddess who protected children. From the days of Elizabeth Sobek in the 1940s, through my father's work, up until right no
w with Ashley, that was what they did--rescued, protected, and sheltered the young.
"Buddy Ray is the evil one," I said.
He nodded.
"He starts the girls dancing at this club," I said, "and then, well, it gets worse."
"Much worse," Antoine said. "You have no idea how depraved he can be. Ashley's mom . . . her life was not a good one. She ended up down here, dancing and more for Buddy Ray. Ashley was the only thing in her life that mattered. She protected her daughter as best she could, tried to find her a better way of life."
"But?" I said.
"But she died. Women like her . . . they don't last long. And when she died, Ashley had no one. Buddy Ray said that she owed him money. He told Ashley that she'd have to pay off the debts."
"What about Ashley's dad?"
"She never knew him. It wouldn't have mattered. Buddy Ray thinks the girls belong to him. He uses threats and violence. He holds the girls prisoner. If they don't escape, they eventually end up like Ashley's mom. But if Buddy catches them trying to run . . ."
He just left the thought in the air.
I felt my mouth go dry, but it was suddenly so clear. "So you rescue them," I said. "You pretend to kidnap girls like Ashley and sell them into white slavery. But actually, you're doing the opposite. You're trying to save them."
Antoine said nothing. He didn't have to.
"You relocate them, like you did with Ashley. First to some place close and then you move them out to someplace more permanent. But something went wrong. Ashley's picture showed up in the paper. Buddy Ray or one of his people saw it."
"That's one theory."
"You have another?" I asked.
"A teacher at your school," he said, "might work for Buddy Ray."
"Who?"
He didn't reply. I tried to put it together. "Even Ashley doesn't know your role, does she?"
"No. We grabbed her and kept her in the dark. We gave her an identity and explained what would happen next. She's responsible for herself after that."
"So when she ran scared, you didn't know where she was. You went looking for her too."
"That's right."
"You tried her locker, but that was empty. Then you beat up Dr. Kent to see what he knew."
"No, that was Buddy Ray and Derrick. They figured that since she was using that name, Kent might know something. I got there in time to save him. When his wife came home, she only spotted me. That's why she identified me to the police."
Antoine paused and studied me for a minute. "Do you feel all right, Mickey?"
I didn't know the answer. "I guess."
"Because you have work to do."
"Me?"
"I can't save Ashley. It would blow my cover. You need to do it. If you call the cops, Buddy Ray will slice her throat and make sure the body is never found. If you go to your uncle Myron--"
"Wait, how do you know my uncle?"
"I don't. But you can't go to him for help. There was a reason your father never told him about the Abeona Shelter."
I took a sharp intake of breath when he mentioned Dad. "You knew my father, didn't you?"
Antoine LeMaire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I knew you too. But you were very small. And you knew me as Juan."
My mouth dropped open. "My dad," I said. "He wrote you that resignation letter."
"That's right."
"He wanted out of the Abeona Shelter."
Juan's gaze flicked to the right. "Yes. For you."
For me. My father made that choice for me--and how did that work out? He died, the man I loved like no other . . . he died for me. So I could be spared any discomfort or an abnormal upbringing. For that, my father came back to the United States and died.
And what about my mother? She must have realized the truth--that her husband died because of her son. No wonder she ran away from me. No wonder she ran to a needle instead.
A pain so unbearable, a pain that made Derrick's beating seem like a light tap on the shoulder, started clawing inside me. I looked up at Juan.
"Bat Lady said that my dad's still alive," I said, my vision blurring with tears. "But he's not, is he?"
Juan's voice was almost too tender. "I don't know, Mickey."
I nodded, unable to speak.
"Do you want to help us?"
I blinked the tears away and met his eye. I wondered what my dad would want, but maybe that wasn't even important anymore.
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I want to help."
chapter 24
I WAS IN THE ALLEY by the same side exit where Candy had led me to safety. The cell phone was against my ear. Rachel and Ema were stalling by slowly filling out job applications, but their excuses were wearing thin.
"Oops, tee-hee," Rachel said, putting on a breathy bimbo voice. "I spelled my name wrong again. Can I get another form?"
"Sure, sweetcakes," a rough male voice said. "Why don't you use a pencil this time? So you can erase."
"Wow, what a good idea!" Rachel squealed.
"How about you?" the rough voice said.
"No, no, I'm good," Ema said. "I've been able to spell my name since I was twelve."
Another voice--this one female and older, almost matronly--said, "Okay, forget the forms. It's time for your audition."
Now I heard the men in the room snicker. I didn't like that snicker. I didn't like it at all. I reached my hand out to open the fire door.
There was no handle, nothing to grab on to. It probably just opened from the inside.
"Yeah," another guy said. "It's time to see you girls dance. You go first, Bambi."
Rachel said, "Me?"
I tried to dig into the sides of the door with my fingers, hoping to pry it open. No go.
"Enough stalling." This voice was like a gate slamming shut. "Now."
Oh man.
The older female voice said, "Calm down, Max. Bambi, it's okay. Really. But I think you should show us how you dance now."
Ema said, "Uh, it's getting kinda yellow in here."
Yellow. The code word.
I wasn't sure what to do. Sure, we had talked about a code word--but not really what to do if Rachel or Ema actually, uh, said it. I had to get them out, that much was clear, but how? If I called the cops, well, Juan/Antoine had warned me where that might lead. Do I just run through the front entrance myself? Would that work? Wouldn't that also set Buddy Ray off?
I started prying at the door again. It wouldn't give.
"Tee-hee," Rachel started up again, "okay, sure, let's do the audition. But first I have to go tinkle."
I stopped. Tinkle?
That was what one of the guys said too: "Tinkle?"
"Tee-hee. Like go to the little girls' room? Tinkle? You know, silly."
"Or as our friend Buck says," Ema added, clearly for my benefit, "we have to go wee-wee."
"Oh," a male voice said.
Then another: "The dressing room is over on the left. You might as well change into one of the, um, costumes while you're there, Bambi."
"You too, Tawny."
Tawny and Bambi. How imaginative.
I waited by the door, not sure what to do. I heard some movement and then more commotion. Hopefully they'd find a way to get alone so they could talk to me.
A few seconds later, Ema said, "Mickey?"
"Where are you?" I said.
"In the dressing room," Ema said. "Which, judging by what I'm seeing, should be called the undressing room. We haven't seen Candy yet. You still in the car?"
"No." There was no time to go into detail on my meeting with Antoine/Juan. "I'm outside in the alley by the fire door. Ask one of the girls where it is and then let's just get out of here."
"Okay." I heard conversation. Then Ema came back on. "I think we know how to get . . ." She stopped.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
"Hello?"
Then Ema's voice came back on the line. "I think I found Candy."
"It doesn't matter," I said. "It's gett
ing too dangerous. You two need to get out."
"Just hang tight," Ema said. "Oh, and put the mute back on."
I wanted to ask more questions, but if she wanted the mute back on, there had to be a good reason. I could hear voices again, but I couldn't really make anything out. I stood alone in the alley, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. I tried to think of something to do, but there was really no option here.
I had to wait, no matter how helpless I felt.
Ema wasn't talking anymore. Rachel wasn't talking anymore. I could only hear background noises. I didn't know what to make of that. Suppose something happened. Suppose they couldn't talk. Was I just supposed to stand here doing nothing for . . . well, for how long? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? I remembered Buddy Ray's face, the joy he took in hurting me. I thought about the fear in Candy's eyes when we hurried past the "dungeon."
How could I have let them go in there on their own?
Time passed. I don't know how much. It might have been ten minutes, but it was probably more like two or three. And then, just when I thought that I might jump out of my skin from worry, the fire door opened.
It was Ema.
"Get in," she said quickly.
"What? No. You get out."
She stepped aside and now I could see Rachel and Candy standing there with her.
"Get in," Ema said again.
There was no time to argue. Suddenly I was back inside that blue room with the throw pillows. The heavy fire door closed behind me. I glanced at both Ema and Rachel, who signaled that they were fine. I turned to Candy. She looked different now, though I couldn't put my finger on what exactly had changed. She looked thinner somehow, more drawn, paler. There was a quake running through her face. Her lower lip trembled.
"Where's Ashley?" I asked her.
Candy shrugged without conviction. "How would I know?"
"Because you e-mailed her," I said.
Candy looked left, then right. "Uh, I don't know what you're talking about."
But she did. No question about that now. "You e-mailed her that you were in trouble. That's why she came back here, right?"
Candy said nothing. The quake in her face got more pronounced. I put my hands on her shoulders and started shaking her. "Tell me where she is."
Candy started sobbing.
"Where is Ashley?" I demanded, my voice a little louder.
Rachel said, "Mickey . . ."
I looked at her. She shook her head. I nodded. She was right. I was being too rough. Ema moved closer, sort of pushing me away from her. Rachel took Candy in her arms and stroked her hair.
Rachel's voice was soft and comforting. "You e-mailed Ashley that you were in trouble."