Jeffery Deaver - The Twelfth Card

“Here. Got you a present.” He slipped something into her hand. Black plastic. What was it? A cell phone? Pager? You weren’t allowed to have them in school. Still, Geneva’s heart pounded hard, wondering about the purpose of the gift. Was it to call him if she was in danger? Or could it be so that he could get in touch with her whenever he wanted to?

“This’s phat,” she said, looking it over. She realized that it wasn’t a phone or beeper, but one of those organizer things. Like a Palm Pilot.

“Got games, Internet, email. All wireless. Wack how those things work.”

“Thanks. Only…well, it looks expensive, Kevin. I don’t know about this…”

“Oh, it’s cool, girl. You’ll earn it.”

She looked up at him. “Earn it?”

“Listen up. Nothing to it. My boys and me tried it out. It’s already hooked up to mine.” He tapped his shirt pocket. “What you do is, first thing to remember, keep it ’tween yo’ legs. Better if you wear a skirt. Teachers don’t go lookin’ there, or they get their ass sued, you know? Now, the first question on the test, you push the one button there. See it? Then push that space button and then type in the answer. You down with that?”

“The answer?”

“Then, listen up, this’s important. You gotta push this button to send it to me. That little button with the antenna on it. You don’t push it, it don’t send. Second question, push two. Then the answer.”

“I don’t understand.”

He laughed, wondering why she wasn’t getting it. “Whatchu think? We got a deal, girl. I’ll cover your back on the street. You cover mine in class.”

The realization hit her like a slap. Her eyes looked up, bored into his. “You mean cheat.”

He frowned. “Don’t go talking that shit out loud.” Looking around.

“You’re kidding. This’s a joke.”

“Joke? No, girl. You gonna help me.”

Not a question. An order.

She felt she was about to choke or be sick. Her breathing came fast. “I’m not going to do it.” She held the organizer out. He didn’t take it.

“What’s yo’ problem? Lotta girls help me.”

“Alicia,” Geneva whispered angrily, nodding and recalling a girl who’d been in math class with them until recently, Alicia Goodwin, a smart girl, a whiz in math. She’d left school when her family had moved to Jersey. She and Kevin had been tight. So that’s what this was all about: When he’d lost his partner, Kevin’d gone looking for a new one and picked Geneva, a better student than her predecessor but not nearly as good-looking. Geneva wondered how far down on the list she’d fallen. Anger and pain raged in her like fire in a boiler. This was even worse than what had happened at the museum this morning. At least the man in the mask hadn’t pretended to be her friend.

Judas …

Geneva raged, “You got a stable of girls feeding you the answers…What’d your GPA be if it weren’t for them?”

“I’m not stupid, girl,” he whispered angrily. “Just, I don’t need to learn this shit. I’ll be playing ball and getting tall paper for endorsements the rest of my life. Better for everybody for me to practice, ’sted of study.”

“‘For everybody.’” She gave a sour laugh. “So that’s where your grades come from: You steal them. Like you’d fiend somebody in Times Square for a gold chain.”

“Yo, girl, I telling you, watch yo’ mouth,” he whispered ominously.

“I’m not helping you,” she muttered.

Then he smiled, giving her a lowered-lid gaze. “I’ll make it worth yo’ while. You come over to my place anytime you want. I’ll fuck you good. I’ll even go down on you. I know what I’m about in that department.”

“Go to hell,” she shouted. Heads turned.

“Listen up,” he growled, gripping her arm hard. Pain surged. “You got the booty of a ten-year-old and you go round like some blondie from Long Island, thinking you’re better’n everybody. A peasy-haired bitch like you can’t be too choosy when it comes to a man, you know what I’m saying? Where you gonna find somebody good as me?”

Geneva gasped at the insult. “You’re disgusting.”

“Okay, girl, fine. You frigid, that’s cool. I pay you to help me. How much you want? A C-note. Two? I got tall paper. Come on, name yo’ price. I gotta pass this test.”

“Then study,” she snapped and flung the organizer at him.

He caught it in one hand and yanked her close to him with the other.

“Kevin,” a man’s voice called sternly.

“Fuck,” the boy whispered in disgust, closing his eyes momentarily, letting go of her arm.

Mr. Abrams, the math teacher, walked up and took the organizer away. He looked at it. “What’s this?”

“He wanted me to help him cheat,” Geneva said.

“The bitch’s wack. It’s hers and she -”

“Come on, we’re going to the office,” he said to Kevin.

The boy stared at her with cold eyes. She glared right back.

The teacher asked, “You all right, Geneva?”

She was rubbing her arm where he’d gripped her. She lowered her hand and nodded. “Just want to go to the bathroom for a few minutes.”

“Go ahead.” He said to the class, all staring, all quiet, “We’ll have a study period for ten minutes before the test.” The teacher escorted Kevin out the back door of the classroom. Which filled suddenly with rapid-fire gossip, as if somebody had clicked off the mute button on a TV. Geneva waited a few seconds then followed.

Looking up the corridor, she saw Detective Bell, standing with his arms crossed, near the front door. He didn’t see her. She stepped into the hallway and plunged into the crowd of students heading for their classes.

Geneva Settle didn’t make for the girls’ room, however. She came to the end of the hallway and pushed through the door into the deserted school yard, thinking: Nobody on earth’s going to see me cry.

There! Not a hundred feet from him.

Jax’s heart gave a fast thud when he saw Geneva Settle standing by herself in the school yard.

The Graffiti King was in the mouth of an alley across the street, where he’d been for the past hour, waiting for a glimpse of her. But this was even better than he hoped. She was alone. Jax looked over the block. There was an unmarked police car, with a cop inside, in front of the school, but it was some ways from the girl and the cop wasn’t looking at the school yard; he wouldn’t be able to see her from where he was even if he turned around. This might be easier than he’d thought.

So quit standing around, he told himself. Get your ass moving.

He pulled a black do-rag out of his pocket, slicked down his ’fro with it. Easing forward, pausing beside a battered panel truck, the ex-con scanned the playground (which reminded him a lot of the yard at prison, minus, of course, the razor wire and gun towers). He decided he could cross the street here and use the cover of a Food Emporium tractor-trailer that was parked along the sidewalk, its engine idling. He could get to within maybe twenty-five feet of her without being seen by Geneva or the cop. That’d be plenty close enough.

As long as the girl continued to look down, he could slip through the chain link unnoticed. She’d be spooked after everything that’d happened to her, and if she got a glimpse of him approaching, she’d probably turn and run, shouting for help.

Go slow, be careful.

But move now. You may not get a chance like this again.

Jax started for the girl, picking his steps carefully to keep his limping leg from shuffling leaves and giving him away.

Was that the way it always worked?

Did boys always want something from you?