Betting Blind (13 page)

She let the air out of her nose. “You know it’s five bills, you little schemer.” She looked at Irina. “How old are you, honey?”

“Seventeen,” Irina said.

“And you know you can’t trust this heartbreaker, right?”

Man! Thrown under the bus again!
“Don’t tell her that, Jennifer,” I said. “That’s messed up.”

She sucked her teeth. “Oh, I ain’t telling her. I’m warning her.” She took another sip of beer and gave us a sparkling grin. “Don’t fret. I’m just playing. I’ll take care of you kids. When you wanna do it?”

This was the tricky part, because once Jennifer was parked at Mickey’s, she didn’t like to leave. “How about now? We’ll drive you home, take the picture, and drop you back here in like twenty minutes.” I pulled the cash from my pocket and held it out.

She took it and flicked through the bills. “You was so sure I’d say yes, weren’t you? All right, honey, let’s go.” She heaved off her chair and waved at Fran. “Back in twenty. If Joe comes in, don’t let him take my seat.”

Fran tossed her dirty towel on the chair. “Reserved.” Both women hooted with laughter.

It didn’t take long to get the picture taken. Jennifer promised to mail it soon, and we dropped her back off at Mickey’s. Then Irina and I got on the I-5 heading toward her house. She had her window cracked even though it was freezing; she’d turned up Timati, and she had this amped-up, dangerous look in her eyes.

“You have to call me the second it comes,” she said. “I cannot
wait
to go out.”

I glanced at her and thought maybe it wasn’t such a genius move, hooking up this model-hot girl with an ID. “As long as you take me for a bodyguard,” I said, only half kidding. She giggled and tapped her fingers on my thigh, keeping the beat.

When we got to Irina’s neighborhood, I pulled into Angel Point, a little grassy lookout three blocks from her house. Lake Sammamish glittered below us like metal, and you could see Mount Rainier cutting through the clouds. I turned to kiss her, but she put a hand on my chest and pushed me back.

“Gabe.” Her brown eyes were serious. “I don’t share my man.”

I felt a jump of excitement. “You’re worried about what Missy said?”

“I’m not worried. I’m just saying.”

“You’re saying I’m your man.” I couldn’t help the big grin that was coming out.

“Don’t be cocky.” She folded her arms across her chest and said coolly, “I’m saying . . . you’re not
not
my man. But you certainly won’t be if you go sleeping around while we’re seeing each other.”

“I would never.”

She looked into my eyes. “Can I believe you?”

At that moment I decided, what the hell, I was going to be good. The woman of my dreams was giving me a chance. I’d had enough random sex that I could be done with it—for a while, at least, until I convinced her to quit with the waiting thing.

I took her hands in mine. She was so little and delicate, but I knew what kind of iron was under there now. I held her gaze. “I’m into you. There’s nobody else. You’re exactly what I want, and I’m not going to mess that up. Okay?”

She ducked her head. “You’d better not.”

I thought what a jerk I’d been—all the times I’d said some bullshit like this. But this time it wasn’t bullshit. I actually meant it.

“Irina, I won’t.” I kissed her as gently as I could, trying to show her I was for real.

It took her a minute, but she kissed me back, and left a chain of hungry kisses on my jaw. Then she climbed into my lap, pressing her forehead against mine and letting her hair fall in a tent around our faces. “Call me later,” she said, then kissed me one more time, a long sexy one, and climbed out of the car.

I watched her walk away, the hair that had just been touching my face swinging back and forth. Then I looked up into the flat gray Seattle sky, and I felt like it reached up forever, and the whole world was exploding with goodness. I was capable of big things. I was the kind of guy a girl like her could fall for.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
got Irina’s ID in the mail, in an official DMV envelope. I’d just gotten home from school, and Mom wasn’t around. I slit open the envelope with a knife and pulled out the card. Irina Petrova, age twenty-two. And a damn good picture, too. Thank you, Jennifer, and all other pissed-off government employees.

I texted Irina:
Got a present
. I couldn’t wait to take her someplace fancy in Seattle, get real champagne, and go dancing at Deep Down or Re-bar.

I stared at my phone, waiting for her message back. We’d been texting constantly since the White Center trip. Irina didn’t text like a normal person; she threw out these deep questions:
Have you ever been in love? Is there anything you’d die for?
I mean heavy stuff, on text!

I wondered if it was a Russian thing. Maybe that freezing-cold weather made them sit inside all day and just think. Actually, I liked it. I tried to give her real answers, although sometimes I got fresh with her—like
i want u
when she was trying to be deep.

I texted her again:
Pick u up at 8?
She still hadn’t texted back, which was weird, but I thought maybe she was practicing and didn’t see her phone. I started making a sandwich—Mom had been buying deli meat for Phil lately, and I was trying to eat it as fast as she could buy it—when my phone vibrated.

Please do not text, call, or otherwise have contact with Irina. Mr. Petrova.

For a second I stood there, my cheeks going hot, my breath stuck.

Her parents had been spying. Of course they had. They were exactly the kind who would do that. Every private text I’d sent Irina flashed into my mind: talking about her face, her lips, her body, talking about how bad I wanted her.

No doubt they had her on complete lockdown now.

I threw my phone. I pictured her dad’s beefy face and hard eyes and the way he’d looked at me, like
Hell no, not a chance
. He had it all dialed in: big job, beautiful wife, perfect daughter. I was just a low-life cockroach trying to bust into his palace, and now he was stepping on me.

I started pacing the kitchen.
What the—? Should I go there now?
No, there was nothing I could do. It was his property; he could call the cops. I’d have to wait for Irina to get hold of me. She’d figure that out, wouldn’t she? Get online somehow and let me know what was up? But being homeschooled, she couldn’t just borrow a friend’s phone.

I could go crazy, picturing her locked up with no tech. They probably chained her to her violin. I took a step toward the door, then made myself stop. Going there would do nothing, maybe even make it worse. I had to wait. I slammed the counter with my hand and walked into the living room, leaving Phil’s lunch meat on the counter.

My phone buzzed, and I jumped for it. It was only Tim giving me an update on a shipment of stuff he had coming in. Dude was getting on my nerves. I wasn’t supposed to be deep in the game, just making connections for a few people, but Tim had some other guy involved now, a supplier he wanted me to meet. It was a big deal to him, so I figured I’d go along with it this once. I texted him back to set up a time, and then checked my messages in case something had come in the last half second.

It hadn’t. I decided if I didn’t hear from Irina by the weekend, I’d do something. I didn’t know what, but something. That made me feel better, at least enough to get through the rest of the day.

Next day, after school, which I’d spent mostly checking my phone for a text that didn’t come, I headed to Forrest’s with the guys. Forrest had the whole downstairs to himself: a bathroom, a living room, and a bedroom tricked out with leather furniture, a flat screen, and a dope gaming console. It was super clean in there (his family had a maid).

Kyle turned over some cash he owed me from his friend’s party. Then we ate through half of Forrest’s mini-fridge and settled down to our screens. Forrest started playing around in some virtual world, Kyle worked on college apps, Matt looked at college websites, and I surfed the net for a good English paper.

I was having a hard time concentrating because I couldn’t stop thinking about Irina. Her house was about two miles from Forrest’s, and I was going crazy knowing she was so close but I couldn’t get to her. Couldn’t she sneak out? Or just leave? I mean, she was almost eighteen. What were her parents going to do, physically stop her?

My phone buzzed and I ripped it out of my pocket before it was done moving.

Tim again, wanting to know if I could move some extra product. Man, he needed to chill. I decided I’d better answer him so he’d quit messing with my head, making me think it was Irina. It sounded like more product than I wanted to be handling, but it also sounded like official cash. And if Kyle could get rid of it as fast as he had the last batch . . .

I looked at Kyle and said, “My friend’s got some stuff coming in next week.”

Forrest turned around. “What kind?” His voice was way too eager.

Matt looked up, frowning.

“Yeah, what kind?” Kyle said absentmindedly, still typing on his computer.

“Just some e,” I said. That wasn’t true. There were also Oxies, the good old kind with no time release, and some designer dope.

“Can you hook up Oxies, too?” Forrest asked.

I shook my head.

Forrest narrowed his eyes. “Dude, you could if you wanted to. You got those bottles for Kyle. Those were high quality.”

“I thought those were for your Overlake friends,” I said to Kyle.

Kyle looked confused. “Yeah, mostly. But Forrest likes them, too, so I gave him some. What? Why you looking at me like that?”

Damn. I was pissed at them and myself.

“What’s wrong, man?” Kyle brushed his hair out of his eyes. He hated people to be mad at him.

I turned to Forrest.
He
knew what was wrong. People with the sickness know it’s inside them, like a curled-up tiger. And Forrest was feeding it. Somehow he knew—and he knew I knew—that I didn’t think he needed to be playing with Oxies.

I didn’t answer Kyle, just kept staring at Forrest. “How much are you using, anyway? Oxies aren’t e. They’re pretty fucking addictive.”

He immediately got defensive, which was a bad sign. “I don’t know! Not a lot! What are you, my dad?”

“I’m not your dad, and I think it’s a good question,” Matt said quietly. “How much are you using?”

“Back off, Matt!” snapped Forrest.

Kyle looked from Matt to me to Forrest, and I saw his gears clicking. He said, “Chill, Forrest. They’re just looking out. Remember when Chad Dougherty got hooked on pain pills or something stupid? Didn’t they make him do one of those wilderness programs?”

That broke the tension, and Forrest gave a half smile. “Oh man, yeah, they did. He had to climb ropes up a mountain or something. And he had to eat protein bars and water for a month. Remember how skinny he was when he got back?”

The awkward moment was over, and I went back to looking for my English paper. I’d found a good one, but I couldn’t concentrate on it; my brain was stuck on Forrest. I was having one of those horrible moments when you realize you’ve been doing something bad and you have to change.

All the reasons I shouldn’t stop hooking up people jumped into my mind. Forget taking Irina anywhere nice like I’d been imagining. No more clothes. No more going out to lunch. No more fun. People would be pissed. It’s not cool when your connection steps out of the game. I would lose the status I’d built up.

But mostly, I would be poor.

The past month was the first time in my life I’d felt okay about cash. Mom was always blowing her paychecks buying her friends drinks or getting tickets to see some moldy old band. We’d start the month eating takeout, and by the last week we were down to ramen. It used to scare me when I was little. Then as I got older, I realized everything always turned out okay. But it’s hard to shake that anxious feeling that you might not have enough food.

Why not sell dope and make bank? Alcohol and cigarettes were legal, and so were pain meds, and people got hooked on those all the time. Why let the government make all the money? Drugs messed people up; I knew that. But I always thought, just like with booze, if people kept their use under control, it was okay.