Jeffery Deaver - Solitude Creek

Vince had left right after class, saying he’d be back. It had seemed suspicious.

Nathan said, ‘He texted.’

Donnie said, ‘You, not me. Didn’t have the balls to text me.’

‘Yeah. Well. He said he’d be here. Just had something to do first and Mary might be coming by — you know her, the one with tits — and kept going on, all this shit. Which I think means he’s not coming.’

‘Fucker’s out if he doesn’t show.’ There was a waiting list to get in the DARES crew. But then Donnie reflected: of course, for what was going down today, maybe better Vince the Pussy wasn’t here. Because, yeah, this wasn’t the Defend game at all. It was way past that. This was serious and he couldn’t afford somebody to go, ‘Yeah, I’m watching your back,’ and then take off.

Wes asked, ‘Just the three of us?’

‘Looks like it, dude.’

Donnie glanced at his watch. It was a Casio and it had a nick in the corner, which he’d spent an hour trying to cover up with paint, so his dad wouldn’t see it. The time was three thirty. They were only twenty minutes away from Goldshit’s house.

‘Plan? First, we get the bikes. Get into the garage. That’s where they are,’ he explained to Nathan. ‘Here.’

‘What’s that?’

Donnie was shoving wads of blue latex into their hands.

‘Gloves,’ Wes said, understanding. ‘For fingerprints.’

Nathan: ‘So we get fingerprints on the bikes? We’re taking ’em, aren’t we?’

Donnie twisted his head, exasperated, studying Nathan. ‘Dude, we gotta open the door or the window and get in, right?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Nathan pulled the gloves on. ‘They’re tight.’

‘Not now, bitch. Jesus.’ Donnie was looking around. ‘Somebody could see you.’

Fast, Nathan peeled them off. Shoved them into the pouch of his hoodie.

Wes was saying, ‘We gotta be careful. I saw this show on TV once. A crime show, and my mom’s friend Michael was over. And he’s a deputy with the county. We were watching it together. And he was saying the killer was stupid because he threw his gloves away and the cops found them and his fingerprints were inside the gloves. We’ll keep ’em and throw ’em out later, someplace nowhere near here.’

‘Or burn them,’ Nathan said. He seemed proud he’d thought of this. Then he was frowning. ‘Anything else this guy would know, we should know? Your mom’s friend? I mean, this is like breaking and entering. We gotta be serious.’

‘Totally,’ Wes said.

Nathan squinted. ‘Maybe it’s legal, doing this, you know. Like we’re just retrieving stolen property.’

Wes laughed. ‘Seriously? Dude, are you real? The bikes got perped during the commission of a crime, so don’t count on that one.’

‘What’s “perped”?’ Nathan asked.

‘Bitch,’ Donnie said. ‘Stolen.’

‘Oh.’

Donnie persisted, ‘So? That cop, the friend of your mom’s? What else’d he look for?’

Wes thought for a minute. ‘Footprints. They can get our footprints with this machine. They can match them.’

‘Fuck,’ Nathan said. ‘You mean the government has this big-ass file on everybody’s footprint?’

But Wes explained that, no, they take the footprint, and if they catch you and it matches yours, it’s evidence.

‘ CSI ,’ Donnie said. ‘We’ll walk on the driveway. Not the dirt.’

‘They can still pick them up from concrete and asphalt.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Church.’

‘Fuck. Okay. We leave our shoes in the bushes when we get there.’

Nathan was frowning, ‘Can they take, like, sock prints?’

Wes told him he didn’t think they could do that.

Nathan asked, ‘That cop. Is he the guy I saw at your house, Jon?’

‘No, he’s into computers. He’s my mom’s friend.’

‘She’s got two boyfriends?’

Wes shrugged and didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

Donnie said, ‘So, I was saying: first, we get into the garage and get the bikes.’

Nathan said, ‘Dude, I heard you say that before. “First”. That means there’s a second or something. After we get the bikes.’

Donnie smiled. He tapped his combat jacket. ‘I brought a can.’

‘Fuck,’ Nathan said. ‘This isn’t the game. We’re just helping you out, him and me.’

Wes was: ‘Yeah! Dude, come on. Let’s just get the bikes and get the hell out of here. That’s what I’m on for. Tag him again? What’s the point?’

‘I’m tagging the inside of his house. Just to show the asshole.’

‘Not me,’ Wes said.

‘You don’t have to do anything, either of you bitches. Am I asking you to do anything? Either of you?’

‘I’m just saying,’ Nathan grumbled.

There was silence. They looked around the school yard, kids walking home, kids being picked up by parents, moms mostly, in a long line of cars in the driveway. Tiff looked their way again. Donnie brushed his hair out of his eyes, and when he smiled back, she’d turned away.

And she’d be interested why? he thought, sad.

Wes said, ‘Hey, come on, Darth. We’re with you. Whatever you want, tag or trash. We’re there. I’ll help you get the bikes but I’m not going inside.’

‘All I’m asking. You two. Lookouts.’

‘Fuck, amen,’ the big kid said.

Nods all around.

‘Roll?’ Donnie asked.

A nod. They headed for the gate in the chain-link that led to the street.

Donnie and his crew. He didn’t share with them what was really going down.

What he’d tapped inside his jacket wasn’t a can of Krylon. It was his father’s.38 Smith & Wesson pistol.

He’d made the decision last night — after the son of a bitch, his father, had pulled out the branch, tugged Donnie’s pants down and wailed on him maybe because of the bike or maybe for some other reason or maybe for no fucking reason at all.

And when it was over, Donnie had staggered to his feet, avoided his mother’s eyes and walked stiffly to his room, where he had stood for a while at his computer — his keyboard was on a high table ’cause there were plenty of times he couldn’t sit down — playing Assassin’s Creed, then Call of Duty, GTA 5, though he didn’t shoot or jump good. You can’t when your eyes are fucked up by tears. In Call of Duty, Federation soldiers kept him and the other Ghost elite special-ops unit pinned down and his guys had got fucked up because of him.

That was when he’d made the decision.

Donnie realized this life wasn’t going to work any more. He had two ways to go. One was to go into his father’s dresser, get the little gun and put a bullet in the man’s head while he slept. And as good as that would feel — so good — it meant his brother and his mother’s life’d be fucked for ever because Dad didn’t treat them quite as bad as Donnie got treated, and he might’ve been a prick but at least he paid the rent and put food on the table.

So, it was number two.

He’d take his father’s gun, go back to the Jew’s house, with his crew. After they’d got the bikes — evidence — he’d have the others keep an eye out for cops and he’d go inside, tie the asshole up and get every penny the prick had in the house, watches, the wife’s jewelry. He had to be rich. His dad said all Jews were.

He could get thousands, he was sure. Tens of thousands.

With the money, he’d leave. Head to San Francisco or LA. Maybe Hollister, where they made all the clothes. He’d get something on — and not selling ice or grass. Something real. He could sell the DARES game to somebody in Silicon Valley. It wasn’t that far away; maybe Tiff would visit.

Life would be good. At last. Life would be good. Donnie could almost taste it.