The Impossible Fortress(45)

Clark was dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans that he’d worn to the mall, but Alf had changed into clothes that were full-on Rambo. He wore olive-and-brown fatigues and his face was smeared with grease paint.

“Are we going to Vietnam?” I asked.

“It’s called camouflage,” Alf said.

“I told him not to wear it,” Clark said.

“I’m invisible,” Alf said. “No one can see me.”

Clark asked me to turn off the light, explaining that Tack would be making his rounds any moment now. We huddled in darkness, forcing ourselves to stay still. An icy needle sliced the back of my neck, and I jumped. It was condensation dripping from the second-floor air conditioner. I was buzzing with adrenaline; we all were.

“Let’s go now,” I said. “While the coast is clear.”

Alf shook his head. “We have to wait for Tyler.”

I was certain I’d misheard him. “Who-what?”

“Tyler’s coming.”

“Tyler Bell? You told him?”

“Of course I told him,” Alf said. “This was his plan, remember?”

“This was not his plan,” I said. “Don’t you remember the model? The model had three people: you, He-Man, and Papa Smurf.”

“Right, but—”

“There was no Tyler Bell on the model.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually come,” Alf said. “I figured he’d be off in New York City doing cool stuff. But when I called and told him the code—”

“You told him the code?”

“This was his plan,” Alf repeated. “This was his plan all along.”

“I’m with Alf on this one,” Clark said. “I think Tyler deserves his own magazine as a courtesy. We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t given us the idea.”

“Then we’ll get him a magazine,” I said. “I don’t want him coming with us. I don’t trust him.”

“I said we’d wait,” Alf said.

“I’m not waiting. We go now or I quit.”

“Then quit,” Alf said with a shrug. “I’ll get you a magazine and you can pay me back.”

This is when I understood my participation in the plan was no longer essential. All they needed from me was the code, and I’d already turned it over.

Clark rested the Claw on my shoulder. “Relax, Billy. Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll do the plan exactly like we prepared. No changes. We’ll just have an extra helper.”

But I knew it wasn’t that simple. Something about Tyler’s story didn’t add up. “The guy’s eighteen years old. A senior. If he wants a Playboy, he can just walk into a store and buy one.”

“Stop being a tightass,” Alf said. “We finally have a senior on our side—a cool person trying to help us—and you’re being a dick.”

“Because he’s lying,” I said. “He was fired from Zelinsky’s for stealing.”

“So what?” Alf asked.

“So he’s dishonest!”

“Of course he’s dishonest! We’re breaking into a store! To steal Playboy! You want to bring a Boy Scout?”

We argued back and forth in whispers, then stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone was coming. Clark was closest to the end, so he peeked out.

“It’s them,” he whispered.

“Them?” I asked.

Clark shrugged. “I guess Tyler brought a friend?”

I nudged him aside to see for myself. Tyler and his friend were walking right in the middle of the access road, right where anyone could see them. Tyler recognized me and pointed.

“What’s up, pussy?” he called. “Why you hiding?”

Tyler grinned, but his friend had a flat, neutral expression. The friend was a man, a full-grown man, thirty or forty or fifty years old. He had a brown beard and long brown hair braided into a ponytail. He looked like a cross between Willie Nelson and Sasquatch.

“Where’s your girlfriends?” Tyler asked.

Alf and Clark stood up, gesturing for Tyler to keep his voice down. “Tack is doing patrols,” Clark whispered. “He starts on Liberty Place and walks west on Market Street, then cuts through the alley—”

Tyler waved a hand, cutting him off. “Tack’s not catching nobody. That shitbird couldn’t catch AIDS at a faggot convention.”

“He’ll be here any minute,” Clark said.

“Then let’s get started,” Tyler said.

Alf nodded at the stranger. “Who’s this?”

“My cousin,” Tyler said. “This is Rene.”

Rene looked at us with dead eyes. He wore a green army jacket and faded jeans, and there was a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder. There was no further explanation. Suddenly this psycho Hells Angels lunatic was part of our gang, and I knew I had to get away.

“There’s a problem,” I said.

“A problem?” Tyler asked.

I have always been a terrible liar. Alf could spin bullshit all day long and even Clark could stretch the truth now and then, but I was a terrible fibber. “I think Mary changed the code. After I saw her use it. Just to be safe.”