City of Saints & Thieves(13)

He wanted to see what sort of Goondas we could be, and I lined up with all the other new recruits like we were getting ready to march into battle, the most laughable little army on earth. The Ketchup boy was nowhere in sight, so I focused instead on taking stock of the other kids, deciding which ones looked weak, which ones I could beat in a fight. I was the only girl, but it didn’t matter. I would be stronger than any of them.

I let my pain and exhaustion sink down and slide out of my body until I was completely empty. The day before, I had been a fragile vessel made of clay. I had been broken down to dust, but a storm had come and churned me up. Now I was a hunk of mud.

And I was ready to be put on the wheel and shaped into something else entirely.

? ? ?

Rule 8: Know the value of what you take.

? ? ?

Question: What is worth more than diamonds and gold? What is the most stable currency? What thing, when stolen, becomes most dangerous and precious of all?

Answer: a secret.

? ? ?

An hour of silence goes by in the torture chamber, and I feel a little calmer. I figure that if Michael were going to turn me over to the guards, he would have by now. Which means he probably doesn’t know what to do with me. Which means that maybe, just maybe, I have a shot at getting out of all this.

He’s frisked and handcuffed me again, this time checking my hair. My bobby pins are in his pocket. I had tried to hide the phone between the toilet and the wall, but he checked all around the room as well. Michael always was a fast learner. I try to console myself with the fact that the phone wasn’t going to help me get out of here. No one is coming to rescue me.

Michael has said only one thing: “My dad didn’t kill your mom.”

I am not interested in what he has to say on the subject. I continue lying on the cot and staring at the ceiling, where there’s a water stain that looks like an elephant with wings. Michael’s sitting in front of his computer, trying to figure out if there’s anything saved on the USB adapter. He doesn’t seem to be having much luck getting it to do anything.

“Why are you here, anyway?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Switzerland or something?”

Michael shifts in his seat. “My school sent me home.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

After a while I say, “They were lovers, you know. My mom and your dad.” Now I’m just being mean. It feels good. “Yep. Your dad used her, knocked her up, and when he was finished with her, he killed her.”

“You’re wrong. He wouldn’t have killed her. He’s not like that.”

“I’m sorry, have you met your father? He’s not exactly in line for sainthood.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael says. “Everyone assumes he’s this terrible person because he’s in mining, but it’s not true. And besides . . . he told me that he didn’t kill your mother.”

“He told you.”

“Yes,” Michael says stubbornly, still not looking at me. “I asked him.”

I watch him type. “You poor thing,” I say, shaking my head. “You still worship him, don’t you?”

He twitches. “Shut up.”

“You still believe all the lies he’s told you, about what a good provider and protector he is, how he’s just working hard to feed his family. Don’t you wonder what it costs? Don’t you know who he really is? All the lives he’s ruined so you can live like a prince? He doesn’t care about little people like my mom. And he’s not afraid to lie to you about it.”

“I said shut up!” Michael says, in my face now, breathing hard, grabbing me by the shoulders like he wants to shake me. “Just shut up about him!”

I almost laugh. He’s his father’s son all right. I lean into his anger, relishing it, and wait for him to hit me. But he lets go, like I’m not worth the effort, and I sink back into the cot.

He swivels and paces, collecting himself. On the other side of the room, with his back to me, he takes a deep breath. “What were you doing in his office?”

I consider. “Hunting.”

He eyes me over his shoulder. “For what?”

“For everything. I was hunting for everything.”

“What ‘everything’? Stop playing. Say what you mean.”

“I mean everything. Bank records, proof he’s working with terrorists, that he’s selling them arms, buying their blood gold. Who he’s working with, where. Every dirty little secret. And you know what? I got them. I got them all.”

Dirt. Then money. Then blood.

Maybe it’s just the light, but Michael’s pale face seems to go a funny grayish color. He looks at me, then down at the USB adapter plugged into his laptop. He yanks it out, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it with his heel like it’s a cockroach.

I smile at the broken pieces and lean back, my cuffed hands cradling my head. “That’s not going to help. That thing was just a tool. I used it to send your dad’s files to my partner. Crush it. Hit me. It’s only a matter of time before every nasty, illegal thing your father’s ever done is out there in the public eye.”

“That’s what you want to do? Drag his name through the mud?”

“Yep,” I say.