Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

Instead, Marshall just stood there in the dark, his gold eyes locked on the ground.

“Do you even realize how out of your league you are?” Paglinni laughed.

“You’re wrong,” Beecher blurted. “Marsh already broke in there once before.”

Paglinni wheeled around, excited by the challenge. “What’d you say?”

“In Riis’s basement. Mallow was there. Ask him.”

Paglinni looked at Marshall.

“I was ,” Marshall said.

“And when exactly did this fantasy take place?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Same day you started visiting our treehouse,” Beecher added, now the one wearing the smile that came with feathers.

Even for Paglinni, it didn’t take long to do the math. “Wait… so that was…” Paglinni’s eyes went round. “ Leg Show ! Sonuva—! Don’t tell me that’s where you got all the porn!”

“Fine, I won’t tell you,” Beecher teased.

“I’m serious, Beech Ball. You expect me to believe Pastor Riis really keeps a secret smut stash?”

“Not only does he keep it; Marsh stole it. And unless you want to keep wasting our time with dumb questions, you’re gonna miss him stealing it again, because he’s about to sneak back in for round two. Isn’t that right, Mallow?”

Marshall nodded hesitantly, even as he shot Beecher a look. I thought we were both going in. You’re not coming?

You don’t need me. You’ll be great , Beecher replied with his own quick look, meaning every word.

Across the street, the light in Pastor Riis’s kitchen went dark, while the one in the living room blinked on, dim and flickering behind the lowered vinyl shades. The upstairs was still black. As was the small basement window.

“I think he’s watching TV. C’mon…” Beecher whispered, tugging Marshall by the shirt, leading him across the dark street. “Let’s get you in there. If he goes to bed, it’ll be too quiet.”

“You’re serious? You’re really doing this?” Paglinni asked as they took off without him. For a few long seconds, he stood there, alone in the dark, still cradling his dog. A chorus of crickets sang out, harmonizing with the rrrrrr of Tom Sable’s distant lawn mower. Paglinni looked around. No way was he missing this.

Catching up with them at the curb, Paglinni’s dog let out another loud yip. “Marshmallow, I gotta say, you even pretend to pull this off and you’re officially fifty times more whacked in the head than I ever thought you were,” Paglinni added, patting Marshall on the back with one hand and still holding his dog with the other.

For Marshall, though, it wasn’t the thundering back pat that kick-started a sudden flush of confidence. Sure, peer pressure was a potent social lubricant. But as any seventh grader knew—especially when it came from Paglinni—nothing emboldened a teenager more than simple admiration.

“Marsh, you’re gonna be town hero after this,” Beecher added as they reached Riis’s driveway, whose only light came from the nearby porch lights. They glanced around again, checking the street, the sidewalks, even nearby windows. No one was in sight.

“He’s right,” Paglinni said, a newfound excitement in his voice. “You pull this off, we’ll have a victory parade. They’ll make a statue of you. You’re like the Hugh Hefner of seventh grade.”

“I know you’re just saying that to get me in there,” Marshall said.

“Think whatever you want,” Paglinni shot back. “You’re clearly not the pud I thought you were.”

Standing there in the dark, Marshall didn’t move.

“That’s a compliment, jackass,” Paglinni added.

Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Marshall smiled. Looking over at Beecher, he gave his friend one last chance to come along.

Beecher stayed where he was. By Paglinni’s side.

“So I’ll see you soon,” Marshall said, though it sounded like a question.

“I’ll be right here,” Beecher reassured him, adding a final nod for him to get going.

“You heard it here first: Hugh Hefner of seventh grade! ” Paglinni whisper-yelled as Marshall took off up the driveway, ducked low like a waddling ninja.

Marshall was chubby and wasn’t a great runner. “He gonna fit through there?” Paglinni asked.

“He said it’s bigger than it looks.”

For about thirty seconds, Beecher and Paglinni stood there silently in the dark, watching Marshall’s pudgy silhouette get swallowed by the black shadows of overgrown shrubs.

Double- and triple-checking in every direction, Beecher again studied the house, the empty sidewalk, every nearby window. At one point, a car rumbled down the block but passed without incident. Even on Saturday night, Sagamore didn’t have much nightlife.

At the back of the driveway, down on his knees, Marshall pulled out the Swiss Army knife that one of his dad’s clients had bought him as a thank-you gift, then wedged it into the cracks at the base of the window. Old hinges shrieked as he tugged the low awning window toward him, flipping it upward.

“I think he’s… He’s inside …” Beecher whispered as Marshall disappeared down the rabbit hole and the window flapped back into place, snapping shut like a car trunk.

Next to Beecher, in the dark, Paglinni grinned, letting out a barely audible chuckle.

“ What? What’s funny?” Beecher asked, smiling along, but knowing that look on Paglinni’s face. Something was wrong.

“You’re kidding, right? You didn’t see it?”

“See what?”

As his grin spread even wider, Paglinni held his pup and gave her another kiss on the head.

“Vinnie, if you know something—”

“All I’m saying is, don’t be so sure Marshall is the only one visiting the pastor tonight…” Taking a step toward the sidewalk, he pointed at the tan Honda that was parked up the block—just far enough that it didn’t look like it was in front of Pastor Riis’s house.

Beecher’s teeth began to hurt as soon as he saw it. The tan Honda. He knew that car.

That was Marshall’s mom’s car.

Turning back to the pastor’s house, Beecher studied the dimly lit living room window and the way its shadows flickered against the shades.

Oh, God. If Marshall’s mom… if she’s inside—

“How long’s the car been there?” Beecher blurted.

“What’m I, a meter maid? I thought you saw it too. I figured you didn’t want him to wuss out or—”

“And you let him go in? What’s wrong with you!? If Pastor Riis… if they’re alone…” Beecher could barely get the words out. “How could you do that to someone?”

“I want the porn,” Paglinni said matter-of-factly, his eyes cold and his grin long gone. “Besides, even if it all goes wrong, can you imagine? Marsh walks in and finds his mom bent over? Beech Ball, this is gonna be theater !”

Shaking his head, Beecher studied the closed basement window at the end of the driveway. If the porn was where they thought it was, Marshall would be out any second. Any moment now, Beecher told himself, his teeth feeling like they were about to drop from his mouth. The window didn’t move.

“We need to tell him!” Beecher said, heading for the house.

Paglinni grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Tell him what? That his mom’s got her panties off in the living room? He’s already inside. He’ll be done any minute.”

“What if he’s not?”

“Beecher, look around. There are only two options here: Either Marshmallow rescues the porn and gets out… or Pastor Riis catches him and gives our boy the shock of his life. But I promise you, if you race in there making noise and trying to warn him, you’ll guarantee that the second one is the one that takes place. And even worse, you’re gonna get caught along with him.”