Hush Money

  “Yeah, well, that’s okay. I guess it looked pretty bad from your perspective.”

  From my perspective, I still can’t figure out what’s going on. You being subhuman slime in league with Marco makes more sense than you being here, in my room.

  “I’ve been a complete idiot where Marco’s concerned. I should have cut ties with him a long time ago, but I…”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Okay.” I tried to let it be okay, but it really wasn’t. I really wanted to understand what was going on with him. “What you said at Kat’s party, about Marco…”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said he makes you do things you didn’t think you’d do, or something like that. Was that about the thing with my dad? What Marco’s making you do to keep quiet about that?”

  “Joss…What I came by to tell you is that you don’t need to worry about that, okay? Marco’s not going to say anything to anyone about your dad or Jill.”

  “Because of what you’re doing for him. What is it? I know he doesn’t want you to tell me—”

  “Fuck him. Excuse me.”

  “—but I want to know.”

  Dylan sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you because Marco said so, it’s just…” He shook his head. “Okay, you might as well know what a miscreant I’ve been. Marco and I, and Jeff and now Eric…we….” He made a frustrated noise and then pushed on quickly, “We’re criminals. We vandalize, we joyride, and mostly we steal stuff, some of which we play around with and then throw away, some we fence for cash… It sounds bad—it is bad. I know it is. It just seemed like it was little stuff, you know? No big deal.”

  So Dylan was reluctant to tell me about his petty crime career, why? Because he didn’t want me to think badly of him? Or maybe he was just ashamed of himself. Which he should be. As the daughter of an independent merchant, it was kind of hard not to be pissed off at that attitude.

  “No big deal,” I repeated, making sure there was some judgment in my tone. “But it doesn’t seem like anymore?”

  “No, not anymore.”

  “What’s he making you do?”

  “Rob a bank.”

  “Rob a—” I jumped up, totally forgetting where we were. Dylan caught my hand, his eyes going wide, and I clamped my other hand over my mouth. He pulled me back down next to him, but he didn’t look at me.

  “It’s just a grocery store bank.”

  “Oh well, if that’s all…” I snarked.

  “Yeah, I know.

  “Then, yeah, do they have an it’s-only-a-grocery-store-bank-larceny charge?”

  “I know, okay?”

  Oh, I was such a bitch. Whose crazy family was the reason Dylan was becoming a bank robber? Yep. Mine. And I was giving him a hard time about it. But why shouldn’t I? This was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

  “You cannot do that. You just can’t. And not for me. That’s just stupid.”

  “Joss…”

  “I said no.”

  He laughed a little. “You are so not the boss of me.”

  “Dylan, seriously. Please. Don’t do that. I’ll talk to Marco again and we can—” He stiffened next to me and I remembered the way he’d looked when he’d come in swinging at Marco. Maybe best not to stay on that subject. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “It’s practically done already. It’s not a crazy plan, either. There are some other Talents involved, besides Marco. I actually think it’s going to work. And it’s not like I’ve never committed a crime before, so there’s no reason for you to worry about my immortal soul or anything. Just…let it go.”

  I went over what he said in my head a few times, and kept hearing the same thing.

  “Did you just say Marco is a Talent?”

  “Yeah, has that not been covered yet?”

  “Um, no.”

  “That’s pretty much the only reason I had a hard time believing what you said about him blackmailing Talents. It’s just too many kinds of messed up, you know? Even for him.”

  “Yeah.” Yeah, it was messed up. But too messed up for Marco? No, not really. “So…what can he do?”

  “He’s strong. Like pick up a truck and hold it over his head strong.”

  “Oh.” I thought about Dylan growing up with a best friend who could easily kill him if he ever got ticked off. It kind of explained a lot about how Dylan was always trying to be charming and likable, and smoothing things over. And I thought about how I had held him back from throwing the first punch today. Idiot.

  “You know, there’s a lot of stuff I’m not proud of. Seems like the more I think about stuff I’ve done, how I’ve acted, the more there is.”

  I wasn’t sure I was up to hearing any more of Dylan’s true confessions. Part of me wanted him to keep talking, was eager to hear any scrap he wanted to reveal about himself, good or bad. But a voice in the back of my mind was freaking out about what it seemed Dylan was willing to do for me. Me. And I was also scared about the sense of connection I was feeling, the urge to reach out and take his hand. I needed to bring us back to the subject at hand.

  “So the grocery store thing, that’s it, right? You and Marco are done, even, it’s all over?”

  “Yeah,” he said, but he’d hesitated.

  I punched him in the arm, pretty hard. “You. Are a lousy liar, do you know that?”

  “Ow, and volume, and I know now, okay? Geez.” He rubbed his arm.

  “Don’t be a baby.” Part of me couldn’t believe I was feeling this comfortable with him right now. “What else?”

  “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I just had to agree that when he needed me again, I would do one more thing for him.”

  “And if it’s Murder One?”

  “It’s not going to be Murder One.”

  I ignored him. “And then that’s not going to be enough, you still won’t be even. Then it’s going to be just one more thing, and one more after that, and you are never going to get away from him.” Just like Dobbs was never going to stop, just like Jill was never going to be trustworthy, especially when she had people like Dylan to pay the price for her mistakes, just like Dad was never going to be stable. Someday, something was going to get back to him and send him back to the hospital—or worse. None of it was ever going to stop, ever.

  To my horror, a sob rose up in my throat, and I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep it in. But then there was another one right behind it. My mind was in that same loop it had been in before Dylan showed up, only now with more information.

  “Hey,” he said gently, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. “You don’t have to cry about it.”

  Somehow, though, that just made it worse, and I really did have to cry about it. It was horrible, and trying not to only seemed to make it worse. My shoulders started to shake as I tried to just be quiet about it. What if Dad heard me? I should get Dylan back out the window right now.

  He turned toward me, pulling me in so my head rested on his shoulder. And instead of pushing him away, I latched onto his jacket and cried harder. Which was stupid because he was so warm and he felt really good. I never cried; I never even let anyone know I was upset, and this was just so wrong. But in a rational world, Dylan shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone sneaking into my room or promising to commit grand larceny on my behalf. And it was partly that overwhelming sense of unreality that was making me crazy. How was I ever going to get all this impossible stuff worked out if the Laws of the Universe kept changing all the time?

  I was never going to get anything worked out. Ever.

  When I pushed away from Dylan, he didn’t try to hold on to me. I retreated to the table beside my bed for a handful of tissues to mop my face. I felt more than heard him come up behind me, and then he put his hands on my shoulders.

  “It’s ok, you know.”

  “Sure.”

  “If it ma
kes you feel any better, your dad almost made me cry earlier.”

  I snorted. “It really doesn’t.”

  “Sorry.”

  I could easily have leaned back against him. I wondered what he’d think of that, or what he’d do. I wondered what was going on between us.

  “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

  “Mr. Dobbs drove me home today.” Now why did I say that?

  “Mr. Dobbs the guidance counselor?”

  And then I was pouring out another story to him, with background details and everything, about how Dobbs was always harassing me, like he was trying to get me to slip up and say something.

  “About your sister.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I lied automatically.

  “And these pictures…”

  “He thinks that because I was there for both incidents, that I must have had something to do with it. And even if he can’t prove it, I can’t have that kind of attention directed towards me. Not with my family stuff.”

  “Yeah, I see what you’re saying. So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know what I can do. Just keep doing what I’ve been doing, denying, deflecting. I guess it’s not such a big deal. I just hate that guy and it’s just one more thing.”

  “I’ll get the pictures.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll get the pictures.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll go to his house, get the pictures.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I steal stuff. It’s one of my specialties.”

  I dropped my head into my hands.

  “It’s stupid, Dylan. He’s probably got copies on his computer—”

  “That’s ok. I know a guy.”

  “So you propose to involve more people in crime on my account?” I turned to face him, but he was already backing away toward the window.

  “I’m not proposing anything. I’m just doing.”

  “No.”

  “Did I mention how you’re not the boss of me?” he grinned.

  * * *

  Dylan

  “Just put your foot here, then when you can reach that limb, grab it. Didn’t you ever climb a tree before?”

  “Unlike you and your friends, this life of crime is new to me. And not my choice, I’ll remind you.” Rob pushed his glasses up and put his foot in my hands. “Why am I doing this again?”

  “Because I asked you to and I’m the guy who’s covering your bacon on Thursday. So you’re happy to do me this favor.”

  Rob grunted as he pulled himself up onto the branch. A few well-placed steps and he was over the fence and wrapped around the tree trunk looking down. I vaulted up, using the fence, swung into the tree, and dropped down into Dobbs’ yard.

  “And I thought you were the cool one.”

  “I am the cool one.” And then I just felt bad. “Look, if this is such a big problem for you, then just tell me how to find what I’m looking for and go home.”

  “Yeah, ’cause it’s that simple.” He dropped down next to me. “Lead on.”

  I started across the yard toward the house, but I had only taken a few steps when he grabbed the back of jacket and hauled me back. “Vanish,” he hissed.

  I did, and Rob moved me around like a picket sign until he was satisfied.

  “Look up there. At the edge of the house. See that red light? That’s a camera. Who’s got camera surveillance for their front yard?”

  “Mr. Dobbs, apparently.”

  “Who’s Mr.—Mr. Dobbs, the guidance counselor? What the hell are we doing here?”

  “I heard they caught you chewing gum in the library, so we’re here to erase it from your permanent record so you can still get into Harvard.”

  Rob punched me. “MIT, you moron. Let’s just get it over with, whatever it is.”

  Mr. Dobbs had a big, older house with a basement, and I had decided that one of the basement windows was the way to go. Just as I’d hoped, it wasn’t hard to force one enough to squeeze through and drop down into the house.

  We found Dobb’s computer in a home-office type area he’d set up in what was supposed to be the dining room. I started rummaging in the desk while Rob went at the computer. I hadn’t seen him do his thing before, and I’ll admit I kind of forgot what I was doing while I watched. He didn’t fumble for the power switch and wait for it to boot up. He just put his hand on the box and lights came on, stuff started whirring inside, and stuff started flashing across the screen.

  “How can you read that?” I whispered.

  “Not. Reading.”

  It sounded like talking was difficult for him, so I shrugged and went back to the drawers. I found the pictures Joss was talking about, and I could see the similarities in the two scenes. I had wondered who had been doing the heavy lifting at Kat’s house. Since Sunday, I’d had it fixed in my mind that Jill having a Talent explained a lot about Joss. But if Joss had a Talent…

  That was some serious power. Was it seriously wrong how completely hot I thought that was?

  Rob snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Maxwell, wake up! Check this out.” He was holding his hand out flat, about an inch over the computer, and there was this faint, pale light in the space between. “On the screen, moron.”

  To be honest, there were just a lot of words on the screen, and some graphics, and I had a lot in my head right then. “Could you just…sum it up?”

  Rob looked at me like he was concerned I couldn’t read. “Fine. It basically indicates that Mr. Dobbs, the mild-mannered guidance counselor we all know and love, is…a NIAC agent. The two paychecks kind of explains the size of this house, come to think of it.”

  “Wait, wait, what now?”

  “It would be quieter if you could read it yourself? These are emails,” there was some slight movement of his hand, and the words began to scroll, “weekly reports from Dobbs to NIAC with interviews he’s conducted, observations, and basically anything he finds suspicious with his intentions to follow up on it.”

  I started cussing.

  “Is that really necessary right now? I think he’s making some of this stuff up, just to show he’s doing stuff and make himself seem more important, to be honest.” For some reason, Rob didn’t seem very concerned. He must not have found his name in an email yet.

  “Ok, so Dobbs is NIAC. What else is there?” Because sneaking into an annoying guidance counselor’s house was one thing, but this was something else, and I was getting nervous. Rob seemed to be fine as long as he was communing with the machine.

  “There are some files here.” He read off some names, a bunch of which were kids I knew, but no one from our crew. They could be Talents, or it could be bullshit. Curiosity was getting the better of me. I wondered if Rob could copy the files.

  “Open Joss’s but don’t look at it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “I can’t show it to you without looking at it. All this stuff we’re looking at’s encrypted. I’m translating it as we go.”

  “How do you do that?” He looked at me like how the hell should I know? How do you disappear? Touché. “Ok, fine, but ponder your slow and painful death if I think you’ve talked about any of this.”

  “Is this why we’re here? Because Dobbs has dirt on your girlfriend?”

  “She’s not my—never mind.”

  “I think that’s nice.”

  “What’s in the damned file?”

  “Not much. Mostly speculation about some fire…Oh yeah, I remember that. Huh.”

  I read it over his shoulder. He was right. There wasn’t much there. Still, he’d documented a ton of meetings with Joss and details about how he’d grilled her and what her responses were. I would have loved to have choked him with one of his ridiculous Looney Tunes neckties just then.

  “Get rid of it. All of it. You can do that, right? Get rid of all the Talent files?”

  “Well, yeah, but…” r />
  “Then do it!”

  “Look, I can’t just go in and excise the Talent files and not touch anything else. It would be too obvious that someone came in and did something.”

  “It’s going to be just as obvious if I have to throw the thing out the window. Only louder.”

  “Hang on, hang on. I didn’t know you were so hot-headed. I can take care of this, make it look like a malfunction or a virus caused massive and irretrievable data loss.”

  “Fine. Do that.”

  “But we don’t know if there are copies. We don’t know if this stuff has already gone to NIAC.”

  “And if we did know that, what would we do about it? We’ve been here too long already, but we’ve found out more than we came for. So let’s just take what we have and get lost. ’K?”

  “Yeah. Fair enough.”

  While Rob took a few more minutes to do his thing, I finished going through the desk. I found a few more envelopes with photos, but they didn’t have anything to do with Joss, me, or Rob. I felt bad leaving them there, but one envelope he could write off as misplaced and hopefully go crazy looking for it. If all of them went missing, he would definitely know we’d been there.

  “That’s it!” Rob said as everything shut down. “Please let’s get out of here.”

  That was more than cool with me. We thought it was best to go back out the way we’d come in, even though getting up through the window was a little tricky for Rob. I ended up standing him on my shoulders and practically launching him through.

  Finally we were off the property. Joss’s pictures were stiff in my jacket, and I thought about going across the street, climbing up to her window, and presenting them to her. But we had already been incredibly lucky, and NIAC agent or not, I was more scared of Mr. Marshall than Mr. Dobbs. Plus, I had dragged Rob along on this, and it turned out I needed his help more than I’d thought I would. The least I could do was walk home with him.

  It’s a good thing I did, too, because getting him back into the house and back in his room was where we ran into trouble. Not too bad, though. I just had to cover him as his mom walked by on her way back from raiding the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” Rob whispered. “Um, sorry about that.”