Minders

  Bucky said, “You’ll figure it out when you need to.” Then he let out a long exhale and put his face directly in Ford’s. His breath smelled like jelly beans. “Listen to me close, because this is important. ‘Get the tiger by the toe, when he hollers let him go.’ Going head to head with a tiger, you’re always going to get mauled.”

  Sadie felt the gravelly sensation in Ford’s mind again now, like someone pan-sifting rocks for gold. Sadness. Ford blinked. “What are you talking about, Bucky?”

  Bucky stepped away, his eyes looking everywhere except at Ford: the sky, the ceiling, the theater. He jammed his hands in his pockets and rattled the beans around while he talked. “Your damn brother who always had to be a damn knight slaying the damn monster, of course. Swashbuckling into the tiger’s den, stealing his treasures, planning to ambush him. No matter what I said, he didn’t listen.” He walked to the edge of the stage then back to the center, counting the steps under his breath as he spoke. “I put that file in your office so that you’d read it and be content—six, no, seven, damn, start over.” He was getting increasingly agitated, pacing faster, losing count. “Stop rattling cages. Stop asking questions. Stop—three, no, five, START OVER.” He paused in the middle of the stage and faced Ford. “That’s what your brother would have wanted. Tried to do at least that.” He shrugged. “Guess I owe you an apology.”

  Ford was like someone who keeps coughing to clear his throat but can’t quite get it, groping for knowledge just out of reach. “For what?

  “I was trying to trick you into giving up.” Bucky put up a hand. “The Serenity Services file is legit. Real deal. Case closed. Only it’s also wrong. James didn’t use drugs. James was murdered. And they’ll kill you too if you don’t stop asking questions. James did what he did, however idiotic, to save you. There’s no way he’d want you following in his footsteps, Citizen Ford.”

  “James was murdered,” Ford repeated. James was murdered. His mind became still and flat, and for a moment that thought was the only thing inside of it.

  Then Sadie watched as an avalanche of questions and furies and memories swept in chaotically. He didn’t know how to feel, she sensed, what to think, what to ask. He should be glad, he told himself, he hadn’t been wrong about his brother, everything he believed wasn’t a lie. Plum had said it too, but Plum could say anything. Bucky—who is at least 50 percent crazy, Sadie put in—seemed sure.

  “Who did it?” Ford managed to stammer.

  Bucky leaned back on the heels of his boots. “Short answer is, he killed himself by needing to play the action hero. Longer answer is, the Pharmacist did, because James more or less dared him to.” He put his hands on Ford’s shoulders and shook him, fading in and out from normal to caricature in Ford’s eyes. “Do you understand now?”

  “Why did he dare the Pharmacist?”

  “Going to set everyone free.” Bucky laughed, a strange high laugh. “I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. I tried and tried. Now I’m warning you. If you don’t stop what you’re doing and start asking all the wrong questions, you’re going to end up with an overdose of lead like your brother. So cut it out.”

  The inside of Ford’s mind felt like it was doing cartwheels, as though it was performing distracting tricks to keep him from having to acknowledge that the crazy but trustworthy Bucky of the past might simply be crazy. “All the wrong questions? Which are those?”

  “Any but the ones you’re thinking of asking. Who-what-where-why-when, kiss those goodbye. They’ll get you nowhere or get you killed.”

  “What’s left?” Ford asked, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  Bucky smiled happily. “That will be part of your adventure! Although you only need one. The right wrong question, asked enough times, could shake things up and make something fall out.”

  Ford’s thoughts became all about wanting to punch something, as if that would quell the confusion he was feeling.

  You’re better than that, Sadie heard herself telling him. And I’m going to find a way to make you understand that.

  While being ruthless, she reminded herself.

  Breathing hard, Ford said, “The right wrong question. And that would be?”

  “The one that makes people wrongly give the right answer. The one they don’t mean to give you.” Bucky snapped as though he’d just remembered something. “Also, you need to stop avoiding the Roaches’ visits. In fact, you should embrace them.”

  Ford’s mind transmitted the faintest scent of bleach, and Sadie felt him tense. “How did you know I’ve been avoiding their visits?”

  Bucky ignored that, pacing the stage with his hands in his pockets. “Dress up for the Roaches, Citizen Ford. Entertain them, smile your biggest smile. Welcome them into your home. They’re your allies. It’s when they stop coming around you should be worried. It means they don’t need to watch—”

  He broke off abruptly, pulling both hands from his pockets. There were nine white beans in one and five red in the other. He looked from them to Ford and whispered, “You’re four years younger than James, right? Eighteen?”

  “No, nineteen,” Ford whispered back.

  “Show me your ID,” Bucky said. When it took Ford a moment to get his wallet out of his pants, Bucky tapped his foot impatiently. “Come on, come on.”

  Bucky jammed the beans into his pockets and took the ID. A few seconds later he was shoving it back at Ford like it was scalding him.

  “Bucky, what are you—”

  He grabbed Ford by the shoulders. “Forget all about me. I mean it. Never think of me again. Do not keep me in mind. Everything I’ve said sounds nuts because it is nuts.” He put his arms in the air, opened his eyes wide, and let his tongue loll out. “Invisible overlords! Tiger toes! Coming for you, ooga booga.”

  Ford took a step backward. “Are you okay?”

  “Scary pizza,” Bucky said, flicking his fingers.

  “Um, Buck—” Ford said, taking another step backward.

  Bucky stomped once, and the floor beneath Ford dropped away.

  The fall was short and went straight into a large black canvas bag.

  Ford’s mind registered Damn, and then, How long is this going to take?

  You seem very calm, Sadie said to him. Does this kind of thing happen to you a lot?

  Bucky’s voice came from outside the bag. “Comfy in there, Ford?”

  Ford, more frustrated and confused than angry, said, “Trapdoor?”

  “Yep. Rigged for large animals in magic acts.”

  “Hence the fur in my mouth.” Ford cleared his throat. “Why, Bucky? We’re on the same side.”

  “No such thing as sides where the Pharmacist is concerned,” Bucky said. “Don’t trust anyone, Citizen Ford, not even me.”

  “If you let me out I’ll leave here and never come back, I promise,” Ford said. Although I might strangle you first, he added to himself.

  Bucky laughed. “Cheers, Citizen F, very thoughtful. The problem is, I need to get you out of here, but I don’t want you to know where here is. So this is my offer: If you are a pain in the ass I will drop you on your head until you pass out. Otherwise, we can be pals. Which way do you want to do it?”

  What charming friends you have, Mr. Winter, Sadie thought.

  “Pals.” Ford coughed, and Sadie was surprised to feel a suppressed but unmistakable ripple of laughter from him.

  CHAPTER 15

  On Tuesday Ford came straight home from work, brushed his hair, put on the blue checked button-down shirt from his date with Cali, and joined his mother on the couch five minutes before the Roque Community Health Evaluator arrived. Lulu was out on a four-hour session with a special counselor, so it was just the two of them, mother and son, no buffer.

  Sadie had been worried about what the mother-son relationship might be like in the wake of the cigarette fire and Ford’s cruel words, but it felt exactly, heartbreakingly, the same. They could each be kind to Lulu, shower her with open warmth, but they were frozen
toward each other. Sitting side by side on the couch the distance seemed even greater, as if their physical proximity magnified rather than reduced their emotional rift.

  Ford was still unsure how much to believe of what Bucky had said, but he’d decided to take his words about the RCHE seriously and make a good impression. Sadie hoped that would also ease tensions with his mother.

  Five minutes after six, Rondy Torch arrived in her green RCHE polo shirt and khakis. She was in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length dark hair that flipped on the ends, big brown eyes, dark brown skin, and a bright, warm smile.

  His mother greeted her by her first name, as though they were friends, and, taking her arm, led her toward the couch. “Rondy, this is my son Ford.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Ford,” Rondy said. Sadie felt Ford looking into every cranny to find a hint of reproach or scolding in her voice, but he found none. But she could tell from the slate of hovering silver dots in his mind, lined up like an army battalion awaiting orders, that he was still on the defensive.

  Rondy leaned forward and said, “I heard about the incident this weekend. Are you okay, Vera?”

  Ford’s mother wrapped her hand around the gold oval locket she was wearing. “I am. You know, I’m just so tired.”

  Sadie felt Ford’s jaw, hands, and chest tighten with emotion he couldn’t parse. He avoided looking at his mother and looked instead at Rondy, whose expression was understanding but not condescending.

  Sadie sensed Ford’s surprise and felt him relax his guard slightly.

  Rondy smiled at Ford. “Since we don’t know each other that well yet, I thought we could begin with a word-association exercise. It may seem a little hokey, but it helps to build rapport. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “Sure.” Sadie didn’t recognize the mood Ford’s mind was settling into, slightly immature but eager to please. She was filled with the insane hope that maybe, maybe Rondy could get Ford and his mother to hear one another.

  Plus this would provide good, objective data, she told herself.

  Rondy: Let’s start with the word “sun.”

  Sadie: Moon.

  Ford: Day.

  Rondy: Dark.

  Sadie: Light.

  Ford: Beer.

  Rondy: Happy.

  Sadie: Sa—

  Sadie was knocked sideways by a draft of anger from Ford. His contempt for happy was so potent that she wondered if part of his constant anger was simply a way to avoid the far greater discomfort happy apparently represented. If the very idea that he had to find a word to go with it enraged him.

  Sadie heard him settle on Ending—happy ending, thinking that would show them for picking such a stupid word. Adding: Here’s what I think of your little—

  Ford: Ever after.

  Rondy: Nude.

  Sadie: Dressed.

  Ford: Thigh highs.

  Rondy: (Laughing) I’ve never heard that one before.

  Ford: Does that mean I pass or fail?

  Rondy. You’re doing great. Feel.

  Sadie: Think.

  Ford: Free.

  Rondy: Father.

  Sadie: Mother.

  Ford: Nothing.

  Rondy: Sister.

  Sadie: Brother.

  Ford: Safe.

  Rondy: Angry.

  Sadie: Calm.

  Ford: Door.

  Rondy: Drugs.

  Sadie: Drinks.

  Ford: No.

  Rondy: Snow.

  Sadie: Rain.

  Ford: Man.

  Rondy: Winter.

  Sadie: Summer.

  Ford: Cold.

  Rondy: Mother.

  Sadie: Father.

  Ford: Artist.

  Rondy: Ice.

  Sadie: Water.

  Ford: Fear. Sorry, I meant to say “beer.”

  Rondy: Friend.

  Sadie: Foe.

  Ford: Jame—Bucky.

  Rondy: Old.

  Sadie: New.

  Ford: Unexpected.

  Rondy: New.

  Sadie: Old.

  Ford: Dull.

  Rondy: Home.

  Sadie: Alone.

  Ford: Alone.

  Rondy: Love.

  Sadie: Tennis.

  Ford: -ly lady.

  Rondy smiled. “Excellent. Let’s stop there. What did you think, Ford?”

  “Fun,” he said, and Sadie sensed bright candor and bouncy surprise. But he was also apprehensive, worried he hadn’t impressed this lady, worried he hadn’t done well enough. “What does it mean? Am I, um, normal?”

  Not just this lady, Sadie thought. He was so nervous about what his mother thought that he couldn’t even turn to look at her, and there was a constant low buzz as though someone was running a lawnmower around his mind. He was afraid to hear what they said, afraid he’d disappointed them both.

  Sadie knew Ford felt his mother tense when he paired thigh highs with nude, but after that his word choices were almost all unconscious, sliding out without thought like a sled ending a smooth, easy run. She wasn’t even sure he knew what he’d said for any besides ice, when he’d changed fear to beer, or friend, when his mind had gone blank and she’d glimpsed for the first time how James had been not just his brother but his best friend for his entire life.

  Rondy laughed. “You’re quite normal, and anything but average, Mr. Winter,” she said, which acted like magic to reduce the volume of the lawn mower. “Your answers were all associations,” she went on, glancing down at her notepad, “which means either phrase completions like ‘sun–day’ or ‘snow–man,’ which you favored more at the beginning, or words that had a personal connection to you. People with patterns like yours tend to be what we call integrated, suggesting you are at ease with others and adept at making connections.”

  Slightly milky opalescent dots hung as though suspended from filaments in his mind, turning from one side to the other in a swaying, pleasant rhythm as he listened to the woman. The feeling was a good one, but not associated with any powerful memories since there were no images, no voices to go with it. It resembled the shimmering current of pride he’d felt when he built the tree house, but quieter, like a private smile.

  “What are other ways to do it?” he asked, and Sadie made a mental note about how a sense of personal achievement led to broader curiosity about the world and others.

  “Some people use only antonyms, words that mean the opposite of the associative word,” Rondy said.

  The milky circles stopped swaying. “Why would they do that?”

  Because it is sensible and orderly, Sadie told him. It is the cleanest, most efficient approach to word association.

  Rondy’s answer was similar: “It’s their natural tendency to see things in opposition. It feels tidy and comfortable. These tend to be orderly, rational individuals.”

  “So everything to them is black or white,” Ford said with a tiny bit of the mind-curling contempt he’d lavished on happy. “That sounds repressed.”

  Like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two about repression, Mr. I-associate-“angry”-with-“door,” Sadie pointed out.

  Rondy shook her head. “We don’t judge. Everyone’s mind works in different ways.”

  And by the way, Sadie wanted to tell him, my mind is flexible. Not all of my answers were antonyms. For example, love wasn’t.

  Somewhere in the back of her own mind Sadie heard a shimmering laugh and a voice say, You picked tennis. Are you sure that’s the point you want to make?

  This isn’t about me, Sadie snapped at herself. Focus.

  Ford had shifted, nearly facing his mother, and now said, “Mom, what do you do?” Sadie could tell he genuinely wanted to know and that he was nervous about asking.

  “Your mother has a brilliantly associative mind,” Rondy said. “She pulls things together I wouldn’t have imagined.” Her smile became a look of concern. “Vera, are you all right?”

  Ford’s mother’s lips pressed together, and she gave a tight little nod. “
Thank you,” she said and reached for Ford’s hand.

  Sadie felt Ford’s pulse grow stronger and hers slipped into sync with it. The power of Ford’s heartbeat overwhelmed her, as if he had been waiting to unleash it for a long time. The milky opalescent rounds began to turn and sway again, darkening in color to a silvery purple.

  Rondy looked at the two of them. “That’s about the end of our time today. Do either of you have any questions or concerns for me?”

  Ford’s mother shook her head, but Ford said, “I have a question.” Giving his mother’s hand a squeeze, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped out his ID. After Bucky’s reaction to it, Ford had compared it with the IDs of the guys at work and discovered the only difference between them were the symbols in the bottom right-hand corner. He pointed there now, at a roman numeral three with a line through it: III. “Do you know what this is? I was talking to some friends at work, and we all have different ones.”

  Next to him his mother gasped and began to cough very hard.

  The purply silver dots stopped twisting and began to vibrate in nervous unison. “Mom, are you okay?”

  She shook her head and gasped, “Water, please.”

  He brought her a glass, and she sipped it. “I think—I need to lie down,” she told Ford, then thanked Rondy and went to her room.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Rondy said, handing Ford’s ID back. “Let me ask around the office. It was a pleasure getting to meet you, Ford. I hope you’ll be able to get off work early again in the next few weeks.”

  “I’ll try. This was”—he looked at his mother’s door—“it was good. Thank you.”

  Sadie felt Ford’s confusion but also the happy swaying of the milky circles. They seemed to glow from within, taking on the faint image of Rondy holding her notepad with his mother beside him on the couch, the image becoming more distinct and refined, as though being imprinted as a memory. He knocked on his mother’s door and opened it.

  “Mom? Are you—”

  “Why did you do that?” Her voice trembled, with anger, Ford assumed, letting the force of it shatter the memory he’d just been etching. “Why did you need to ask about that mark on your ID?”