The Impossible Fortress(55)

“More for me? You’re mad at me?”

Dante advanced toward me, leaning over the table, squashing my paper cup flat with his palm. He was so close, I could smell the coffee on his breath; I could see the sweat in his mustache. “Any fuckwit can swing a crowbar at a typewriter. That’s why stores have insurance. But there’s no insurance for what you did to that family. They’re going to live with this stunt for the rest of their lives. Especially my niece. You know her mother died two years ago? From stomach cancer? Do you know what it’s like watching your mother die from stomach cancer, you stupid piece of shit?”

My knees began to shake. “I want to call my mom.”

“Mommy can’t help you now,” Dante said.

Hooper held up his recorder. “You’re fucked.”

They left the room and locked the door.





2500 REM *** RESET SCORE TO ZERO ***

2510 SCORE=0

2520 LIVES=LIVES-1

2530 IF LIVES=0 THEN 3400

2540 PRINT "{CLR}{5 CSR DWN}"

2550 PRINT "YOUR SCORE IS ZERO."

2560 PRINT "HIT ANY KEY TO TRY AGAIN."

2570 GET A$

2580 IF A$="" THEN 2570





2590 RETURN




I SPENT THE REST of the night waiting for Dante and Hooper to come back, but I never saw them again. I was alone in the room with Vanna White.

Alone at last.

I turned the magazine facedown. I wished Dante had left it in the back of the squad car. Now I was stuck with it, I couldn’t get rid of it. The tiny cell didn’t have any hiding places. I stood up, moved the magazine to the seat of my chair, and sat upon it.

When I got tired of sitting, I paced around the cell. I knew I was in trouble, and I’d made the situation worse by lying. But how could I explain the truth? I still didn’t understand it myself; I didn’t know the words to explain it. I liked Mary and I hated her. She was the coolest person I’d ever met, and she was a total bitch for leading me on. I felt terrible for what I’d done and glad I’d found a way to hurt her back. These feelings were all knotted up like wet shoelaces, impossible to untangle.

Eventually I grew so tired that I rested my head on the table and (to my surprise) fell asleep. I didn’t hear Tack when he opened the door; I didn’t know anyone was in the room with me until I felt Tack’s hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake.

I opened my eyes and Zelinsky was inches away from me. His face was greasy with sweat and the vein in his forehead was throbbing like crazy. I had awakened into a nightmare. I leaned back, but the chair was bolted to the floor; it wouldn’t move.

His voice was trembling. “I want my tape,” he said. “It’s not in the stereo. It’s not in the store. Your friends don’t have it, so you goddamn better know where it is.”

I realized he meant the mixtape—All Your Favorite ’80s Love Songs. I’d forgotten it was still in my pocket. “I saved it for you,” I explained. “I saw Tyler going for the stereo, so I grabbed it.” I put the cassette on the table, and Zelinsky snatched it up, studying it carefully, making sure everything was intact. For a moment, he seemed soothed by the gentle curves of his wife’s graceful handwriting: You Know I Love You, Don’t You? * You Make My Dreams Come True.

Then he turned to Tack.

“Do your worst to this one,” he said. “Charge him with everything you’ve got. Send him someplace awful.”

Tack replied in a low voice. “If we charge Billy, we charge everybody. We can’t pick and choose who’s responsible.”

“But you know he’s responsible,” Zelinsky said.

“That’s for the courts to decide,” Tack said.

I realized Zelinsky was confused about the whole situation. He hadn’t heard my side of the story. He somehow thought I was responsible.

“I didn’t break anything,” I said.

“Shut up,” Tack said.

“And I didn’t steal anything. It was those other guys—”

“Shut up,” Tack repeated. “Don’t say anything.”

“But I’m not responsible—”

Zelinsky’s bloodshot eyes bore into me. He’d been roused from his house in the middle of the night; he was still wearing the undershirt he’d slept in. Around his neck was a silver chain; a dainty women’s wedding band hung from its bottom like a charm.

“You’re completely responsible,” he said. “All of this was your fault. You let them into my store.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

“You’re only sorry you were caught,” Zelinsky said. “They told me what happened. How you planned the whole thing. Tricking Mary into giving up the code. And I’ll admit you had me fooled. Had us both fooled. You were pretty damn convincing. But here’s what you don’t know: All this time she’s been fooling you right back. You don’t know her at all. And you’re too dumb to even realize it.”

He said this with tremendous satisfaction, as if somehow—at the end of this absurdly long night—he was walking away with the last laugh.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I know you don’t,” he said. “You never will.”