Harlan Coben - Shelter

“Yellow,” I said.

“Exactly. We’ll say ‘yellow’ if we feel like we are in over our heads.”

“We should think about this,” I said.

“We did,” Ema said-and before I could argue anymore, Rachel and Ema were out on the street walking toward that club. My cell phone rang. I had already blocked out Myron, so I knew that it wasn’t him. I looked down and saw that it was Ema. I picked it up and said, “Hello?”

“Can you hear me okay?” Ema asked.

“Yes.”

“Put your phone on mute so they won’t hear anything from your end,” Ema said.

I did. I watched them head up to the front door. Rachel wore fitted jeans. Ema was, as always, decked out in full black armor. I knew that Rachel would have no trouble getting in. She would, I was sure, be welcomed. My bigger fear was that she’d be too welcomed. Ema had pointed out that she might have more trouble convincing the bouncers that she was applying for work as a dancer, to which Rachel frowned and said, “Nonsense, you look hot.”

With anyone else it would have sounded phony and patronizing. With Rachel, well, even Ema bought it.

I focused my eyes on the two bouncers at the front door. They were both far smaller than my friend from yesterday, the one who had tried to grab Ashley off the street, the one who had my arms pinned until I head-butted him. I wondered whether I had broken his nose, but I wasn’t about to lose too much sleep over it.

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.

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.