Shelter (Book One): A Mickey Bolitar Novel
Shelter: Chapter 22

RACHEL AND EMA had been in the same schools for nearly a decade and had never spoken. One was the beautiful cheerleader. The other was the picked-on outcast. And I, Mickey Bolitar, had finally found a way to unite them.

How?

By saying the following: “I need to do this alone.”

Rachel and Ema stood side by side, arms folded across their chests.

“Oh no,” Ema said, “you’re not leaving us behind.”

“We’re going too,” Rachel said.

“And don’t tell us it isn’t safe,” Ema added.

Rachel: “If it’s not safe for us, it’s not safe for you.”

Ema: “Right, so don’t give us your sexist nonsense.”

Rachel: “Exactly. We aren’t girls who need protecting from a big, strong man.”

There may have been more—I confess that I started tuning them out—but I had no chance anyway. Surrender, I could see, was inevitable, so why delay it?

“So what’s the plan?” Ema asked.

I checked my watch. It was nine P.M. “I don’t know. I guess we head down to the Plan B Go-Go Lounge and see if we can replace Candy or Ashley.”

Rachel said, “They’ll recognize you.”

She had a point. “Okay, let’s brainstorm a little and see what we come up with.”

My cell phone rang again. I looked down and saw it was Uncle Myron. I answered with a tentative “Hello?”

“It’s getting late,” Myron said. “Did you tell Rachel the truth?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“She’s sitting right here. Do you want me to hand her the phone?”

“No need. I found her address online. My partner Esperanza is with me. We’re on our way to pick you up and get the car.”

My eyes widened. Ema and Rachel saw it and moved closer. I tilted the phone so they could hear. “Not now,” I said. “We’re doing our history project.”

“You two are in the same history class?” Myron asked.

“Yes.”

“So that would make you both sophomores,” Myron said, and I thought I heard a little something smug in his voice. “Rachel would know that. Why would she think a sophomore was old enough to drive?”

He was on to me.

“Hold on a second, Myron, I got another call coming in.” I put him on hold and started for the door.

“What gives?” Rachel said.

“Hurry, he’ll be here soon, and he’ll take away the car. We need to go now.”

We all sprinted for the Ford Taurus. I got in the driver’s seat. Rachel and Ema both hesitated, not sure where to sit, but Rachel quickly broke that deadlock. She opened the front passenger door and said, “You sit here, Ema.”

Ema did as she was told. Rachel closed the door and hopped into the back.

I pulled out of the long drive and headed to the left. By now Myron had hung up and tried to call me several more times. I didn’t pick it up. Rachel looked behind her and said, “Does your uncle drive a Ford Taurus too?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-oh, he’s pulling up to the gate.”

I stepped on the gas pedal, made a quick left, then a right, working my way through the town streets until I was sure that we weren’t being followed. Then I took the main artery down to Newark.

Twenty minutes later—after a long debate with Rachel and Ema that I clearly lost—I found a parking space across the street and down the block from the Plan B Go-Go Lounge. From here, I had a pretty good view of the front door, but that didn’t appease me.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

“It’s the only way,” Rachel said. “You know that.”

“We’ll be fine,” Ema added.

I shook my head. Rachel and Ema had hammered home the obvious: I couldn’t go into the club again. They had seen my face. I had even injured Derrick the bouncer, who, thank goodness, was not currently working the door. Rachel had come up with a simple plan: she and Ema would go in, pretending to be looking for work. That would give them a chance to get inside and look around and hopefully spot either Ashley or, based on my description, Candy.

“I could wear a disguise,” I said. “I could get in that way.”

Rachel and Ema snickered at that.

“Like what?” Rachel asked. “A fake mustache? A blond wig? And suppose they ask for ID and see your old face?”

I had no reply.

“We’ve been over this,” Ema added.

“I still don’t like it.”

“Tough,” Rachel said. “Look, Ema will have her cell phone on the whole time.” She used a much better carrier than I did—I currently had one bar, she had five. “You’ll be able to hear everything. It’s a public place—what are they going to do? We also have a code word, right?”

“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.