Andrew Klavan - The long way home

"Oh yeah. And you can quote me on that."

"Did you tell the police any of this?" Josh asked.

Hunt shrugged. He took a long, thoughtful drag on his cigarette. The smoke unfolded from his mouth as he talked. "I told the police what they needed to know to put that West kid in the slammer. I'm not exactly what you would call the policemen's friend, if you know what I mean."

"Right, right. Of course not."

"Maybe you shouldn't quote that."

"I won't. Anything you say."

"Ask him who, Josh," I said into the two-way. "Who was Alex doing business with? Was he doing business the night he died?"

"Who-," Josh started.

"No, wait," I said. "Make it sound like you think he doesn't know. Say something like…"

"I got it," Josh told me.

"Say what?" said Hunt.

"Oh… uh, I got what you're saying. But these people, these adults, Alex was hanging out with-I mean, that's not something he would share with you, was it? I mean, he couldn't trust just anyone with information like that."

"Nice," I murmured. Josh was good at this.

Hunt reacted just like I thought he would. "Hey, are you kidding me? Alex and I were like this…" He held up the two fingers holding his cigarette, squeezing them close together around the filter to show what great friends he and Alex were. "I mean, he couldn't always tell me things until they were all set up, you know, but I knew a lot, that's for sure-a lot more than people might think."

"Well, give me… just so my readers can get the gist here. Give me a for-instance."

"Well, like, for instance-here's something nobody knows but me practically-well, me and Brownie maybe. That night Alex died, we didn't go to the mall that night just to meet with the West character. I mean, we knew he would be there, we knew we were gonna give him a hard time. But after that, Alex was supposed to go in and have some kind of secret get-together with the teacher. This was very important, very secret stuff we weren't supposed to tell anyone. Alex was very clear about that. That's why we never told the police. We didn't know if we'd be stepping on important toes, if you see what I mean. You don't want to start trouble with the kind of people Alex knew."

"Wait, okay, go back a minute," said Josh. "The night he was killed, Alex went to the mall to see a teacher? What teacher?"

"The karate guy. What was his name? Mike."

"Mike?" I whispered. Rick and Miler and Beth all looked at me. I shook my head like a dog throwing off water, trying to clear my thoughts. Why would Alex have been arranging a secret meeting with Sensei Mike? What kind of "business" could they have been up to? And what, if anything, did it have to do with Alex getting killed?

I brought the two-way to my mouth, about to tell Josh to start asking more questions.

But just then, Hunt's image on the laptop monitor jumped violently.

Josh's voice came loudly over the two-way: "Ow!"

Now there were other voices. "Hey."

"Dude."

"Hunt."

"Who's this punk?"

Josh turned-the camera on his jacket turned-and there, in the Ghost Mansion parlor, Beth and Rick and Miler and I saw a nasty-looking face-and then another face just as nasty-and then a third face, even nastier still-staring at us through the monitor.

Josh, suddenly, was surrounded by thugs.

Fighting by Remote Control "Uh-oh," said Rick. "This isn't good."

He was right. It wasn't. In fact, it was exactly what I'd been afraid of. It was one of the two or three hundred things I'd been afraid of, anyway.

For a few minutes there, I'd been so wrapped up in helping Josh question Hunt that I'd forgotten where he was, his surroundings. All those punks and gangsters on every side of him: they had slipped my mind. Now here they were-up close-and they didn't look happy.

"What's going on?" said one of them.

I recognized him as soon as Josh turned to him, as soon as the webcam brought his face onto the monitor. It was Frederick Brown, the other guy who'd been at the Eastfield Mall that long-ago day. He had dark skin and jet-black hair and a sort of slickly handsome face, like a guy in a cheap magazine ad. He was bigger than he was when I'd seen him last, bulked-up as if he'd been lifting weights. He had his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his dark blue track jacket, his shoulders hunched aggressively.

"You doing business here or you standing around blabbering?" he asked Hunt.

The camera swung back to Hunt. Hunt flipped his cigarette into the dirt. He felt guilty-I could see it in his eyes-as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. He was supposed to be dealing drugs and instead Josh had gotten him talking. It was as if the flattery Josh had used on him had hypnotized him, but now the arrival of his friends had awakened him from his trance.

He put his hands in his pockets and gave a guilty shrug. "What? We're just talking, Brownie."

"Talking?" This was Brown again. "That what I sent you over here to do? Talk?"

"And who's this punk?" said one of the other thugs. "What are you talking to him about?" Josh looked at him and we saw on the monitor that he was pushing at Josh's laptop case, looking it over as if it might be something threatening-a bomb or something. If these guys found out Josh was wired, was broadcasting sound and pictures somewhere, he'd be toast. There wouldn't even be enough left of him to be toast. He'd be something you could spread on toast.

I guess Rick was thinking the same thing. "This is bad," he said. "Tell him to get out, Charlie."

"Josh, get out," I said into the two-way.

Josh's answer came back in a kind of singsong under his breath. "No can do that," the song went.

"You say something?" Brown asked him.

"Who, me?" said Josh.

"No, I'm talking to myself."

The other thugs laughed as if this was the funniest thing ever. Obviously Brown was the man in charge around here.

"Talking to yourself," said Josh with his squeaky-geeky laugh. We could hear on the two-way how scared he was. "Talking to yourself. That's good. That's funny. Talking to your-"

"Shut up," said Brown.

"Right."

Hunt stepped in in Josh's defense-in his own defense, really. "No, hey, Brownie. He's just doing a what-do-you-call-it, a retro…"

"Retrospective," said Josh helpfully.

"Yeah, retrospective. For a newspaper. I consented to an interview."

"That right?" said Brown. "You consented to an interview? With a newspaper."

"Yeah. Consented."

"Without talking to me."

"Uh… well… I mean, yeah, hey…" I could see Hunt's mind working, looking for an excuse. I could see him beginning to realize that he'd been had, that Josh had used flattery to rope him into this so-called interview.

"Say thanks a lot and good-bye, Josh," I said into the two-way.

"Well," Josh said to the thugs. "This has just been great, really…"

Brown ignored him, kept pressing Hunt. "And what's this interview about?"

"… it's been terrific to talk to you all," Josh went on. "I hope we can keep in touch. Maybe have lunch."

The monitor was suddenly filled with Brown's hand and then the scene shook violently as Brown shoved Josh in the chest.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"Oh, right," said Josh. "You did. It slipped my mind. Sorry."

"Charlie," said Beth. "If they find all his equipment- the webcam and microphone and everything-they're going to think he's spying on them for the police. They could really hurt him."

I nodded. I was already trying to think of a way out, but I could hardly get my thoughts organized. I was too busy cursing myself for being an idiot. Why had I let Josh do this? I had known what might happen…

"Josh," I said again. "You've got to get out of there."

Josh sang under his breath, "I know that, but ho-ow?" Then he pretended to be clearing his throat so the thugs wouldn't hear him.