City of Saints & Thieves(87)
Why can’t he just take what I’m offering now? I know he wants to be king. I know it. Can’t he just agree to let Kiki go? He doesn’t like holding her hostage either. That’s what he just said. And I don’t like being the thug that gets to someone by threatening his family.
I try one last time. “He doesn’t trust you, Bug Eye. He’ll make someone stab you in the back. You won’t see it coming. I don’t want it to happen, and you certainly don’t. It’s not good for the Goondas. It’s not good for anyone.”
“How did you get Ketchup’s phone, Tina?” Bug Eye asks again, his voice as low and bloody as I’ve ever heard it. “And don’t forget for a second that I have your sister. I’m looking at her right now.”
I haven’t forgotten. His words are the push I need to turn my insides to ice. When I open my mouth, I know that what I say will break my bond with the Goondas forever. And I’m okay with that. “I need for you to make a decision, Bug Eye. Do you want to be the king of the Goondas with your brother by your side?” I pause. “Or do you want to be nothing, with no one?”
There it is. My final card: Ketchup. “I’m going to kill Omoko,” I say. “With Ketchup’s gun. And after I do, you can take the Goonda crown. And then everyone gets their brothers and sisters back. And we go our separate ways. But otherwise . . .” Every thread of my body is tensed, waiting to hear what Bug Eye will do.
His silence seems to go on forever. “I don’t believe you really have him,” he finally says. “You’re bluffing.”
“I thought you might say that,” I say, and realize that I’ve said basically exactly what my father said to me a little while ago. I am just like him. I swallow, forcing myself to go on. Kiki’s life depends on just how nasty and thuggish I can be in this moment—on just how much of him I can find in myself.
“I’m sending you a photo,” I say.
? ? ?
When I hiss at Boyboy from behind the tree, his head jerks toward me. Too late he realizes what he’s done as one of the Goondas looks over at the motion and frowns. Dude’s noticed I’m still gone. I stay perfectly still while Boyboy sweats, looking for all the world like he’s about to go into hysterics.
After a while the guy watching Boyboy fishes in his breast pocket, pulls out a liquor baggie, and rips it open. He squirts the contents into his mouth, tosses the bag aside, and settles back down.
I can feel a beam of sunlight on the top of my head. Time is getting short. Finally, Boyboy looks back at me and I mouth at him to come on.
He shakes his head, making eyes back at the camp. I get it. Everyone is awake and looking bored now. As soon as he bolts, they’ll be after him. I bite my lip, unsure what to do next. I creep closer, making sure to stay blocked by the trees.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
I nod, even though I’m still shaking. “He’s going to do it.”
Now that I have royally pissed off one of the most lethal people in all Sangui City by holding his brother counter-hostage, all we have to do is the near-impossible: break Michael out. The next part of the plan is that Boyboy slips away and we carry Ketchup farther into the forest and hide him. Then Boyboy takes the phone and makes a run for it. He’ll contact Mr. Greyhill and let him know what’s happening. After all, if I’m going to do my part and steal Michael and a motorcycle out from under Omoko’s nose, we need to know that Mr. G’s helicopter is going to be ready and waiting.
It was Boyboy’s idea to use the satellite phone’s GPS to both tag where we stash Ketchup and tell Mr. G where we are. Boyboy needs to get Mr. G to bring the chopper to the closest possible landing site down the road. One of Mr. Greyhill’s guards will go retrieve Ketchup. The others will hide in the bushes in case Michael and I need covering fire as we’re hauling ass to get to our ride out.
So. As long as Boyboy can find and convince Mr. G that we need his help, and as long as I can rescue Michael, steal a motorcycle, create a petrol-fueled diversion, and make a lightning-quick escape without getting caught, shot, or blown up in the process, it’s a perfect plan.
In Boyboy’s words, the only thing crazier is staying put.
Of course, if Boyboy isn’t able to slip away, the whole plan will self-destruct before it even gets started. I look back at him. He has a familiar frown on his face, the one he gets when he’s calculating something.
“I’m going to make a run for it,” he whispers.
“Not yet—they’ll catch you!”
He shakes his head slightly. “They’re drunk. I’m quick.”
I hesitate. He is. Sort of. For a computer nerd. But still . . . if they see him, he’s dead.
“It’s going to work,” he says. The look on his face says he knows he’s dead anyway. “Make a distraction so I can get a head start. Now!”
“Wait! The diversion comes later,” I begin, but he’s already on his feet, crouched down, ready to run. Someone’s going to notice him, and before they do, I have to act. I grab a stick from the ground and fling it as hard as I can toward the kitchen area. It careens into a pot, which knocks over a propane stove, which goes crashing into a tall stack of metal dishes. It all makes a terrific noise. The men shout, stumble to their feet. As they’re looking in that direction, Boyboy leaps up and we take off through the forest. I’m terrified that at any second a hand will clamp down on me from behind, but we make it to Ketchup without anyone coming after us.