Before She Disappeared(108)

I’m back in a liquor store, ten years ago. A young kid, sweating in desperation and shaking with withdrawal, waving a pistol all about. “Give me your money! All of it, now!”

Except I don’t have any money. I just spent the last of it on a bottle of vodka, right before I broke and called Paul and begged him, all these months later, to come save me from myself. Now the store clerk is wide-eyed and anxious.

Only Paul is calm, as he steps forward, raises his arms in a placating motion. “Easy now. No need for anyone to get hurt.”

Did the kid mean to pull the trigger? Or did it just happen? All these years later, I still don’t know. I just remember the sound of the gunshot. The look of horror on the kid’s face. And the look of surprise on Paul’s as he sank down, down, down.

The kid fled out the door.

And Paul . . .

Paul.

Now, I keep my eyes open. I want to see it coming. I want to watch death finally find me.

As I look Frédéric right in the eye, and charge forward. A split second where I register the shock in his face. He isn’t expecting it. He jerks the trigger wildly, releasing Angelique as he braces for contact.

She rolls to the side. Please grab the bat, I think—as I register pain, so much fucking pain. I drop, rolling across the floor, keep rolling.

Bang, bang, bang.

Screaming. Angelique’s, my own, Emmanuel’s.

Followed by a new booming voice. “Stop! Police! Lower your weapon!”

Lotham explodes into the classroom, leading with his pistol.

Frédéric pivots wildly, caught off guard by this fresh threat. Angelique appears behind him, bat raised high.

“LiLi,” Emmanuel cries.

“Police!” Lotham shouts again.

Paul is down. Paul is bleeding.

No, it’s me now. I am down, I am bleeding.

Angelique swings the bat. She connects with the side of his head, but not quite hard enough. Frédéric turns, gun still in hand . . .

And Lotham takes him out. Bang, bang, bang.

Angelique drops the bat. “Emmanuel! Please help my brother.”

“LiLi! Are you okay? LiLi!”

More pounding footsteps. Cops pouring into the room, flooding down the hall. I should say something, I should move. But I can’t seem to get to my feet. I can’t seem to find my voice. An unbelievable pressure is building in my chest.

Then Lotham is kneeling over me.

“Hold on there, Frankie. Just hold on. I got you.”

“Angelique,” I whisper. “Emmanuel.”

“You did it, Frankie. You found her. You rescued both of them. They’re safe.”

“Paul,” I say.

“He’d be very proud of you.”

I start to cry then. Blood and tears. Past and present. Old wounds and fresh scars.

“I got you, Frankie. I got you,” Lotham reassures me.

And I believe him.





CHAPTER 37




I’m in the hospital for a matter of days. I don’t remember much. A blur of pain as I fight the doctor’s orders for morphine, screaming that I’m an addict. Lotham might be there. Or maybe it’s Charlie, Viv, Stoney. At one point, I’m convinced even Piper has paid a visit.

I don’t have insurance, which means once the bullet is removed from my left shoulder and the wound patched on my right arm, I’m back out the door. This time it’s Lotham who definitely does the honors of picking me up, driving me back to Stoney’s and leading me upstairs.

I sleep. I dream. Of Paul, of Angelique. Of Deke dying in my arms. Of Livia chasing me through a park: What about me, what about me?

When I wake up, I don’t have an answer, so I sleep again.

In one of my more lucid moments, I learn that Frédéric, Dutch, and some guy named Holden have all been arrested. Dutch survived my encounter with him. Holden is still in the hospital, recovering from broken ribs, a broken jaw, and a ruptured spleen. I’m told he’ll live. I think I’m grateful, but I can’t be sure.

Apparently, Frédéric had gotten into the drug business nearly twenty years ago. He’d used his position at the rec center to meet and recruit other lower-level dealers, before going upmarket with the purchase of hundreds of thousands of dollars in counterfeit currency.

He’d initially been amused by Deke’s idea to enter the fake license market. But once he’d realized Livia’s and Angelique’s full potential, he’d quickly gotten on board. Then Angelique’s fateful idea to set up a sham college for issuing real student visas . . . As I’d suspected, the revenue potential was too good to pass up. If he had to kidnap two girls, so be it.

He’d stashed the girls at an abandoned town house just around the corner from the rec center, with Deke, Holden, and Dutch serving as rotating guards. Livia and Angelique would work at night, and sleep during the day, lowering their profile.

Most of the time, the girls were confined to the town house, utilizing a couple of computers Frédéric had brought over for them. But every so often, they’d journey to the rec center after dark to print out new and improved versions of the driver’s licenses. Deke assisted with local sales, while Dutch handled online marketing. The license business hadn’t been bad but, given the not-quite-Grade-A quality of the forgeries, still limited. Merely a convenient cash flow vehicle while the girls worked toward the larger goal of perfecting a sham college.