Burning Midnight (10 page)

Dom sat sideways in his chair, spinning a pen on the little desk where Sully did his homework. He meant well, but Sully wished he would take a walk or something. He wasn't sure how to tell Dom that without hurting his feelings.

“Maybe you should talk to your dad, see if he can pull some strings,” Dom said.

It made sense to consult his dad the police detective, but that would be a miserable conversation. Sully had last seen his dad three years ago. They'd gone to McDonald's, and ever since, the color yellow made him sick to his stomach. “It's gone. I'm not getting it back.” It took effort to speak.

How was he going to tell his mother? She'd been counting on that money as much as Sully. Head down, Sully punched his mattress. They should have put the sphere on eBay immediately, or sold the damned thing to Holliday….

Sully had a terrible thought: what if Holliday was behind the robbery? They'd gone to his store and asked to see a Hot Pink. A rarity five was barely worth Holliday's time, but Sully had insulted him. He could have arranged to steal it to get back at Sully, to force Sully to crawl back and accept the job offer. He also knew what Dom looked like, though probably not Hunter. If Holliday was behind it, Sully would probably never know for sure. Holliday had the power and money to hide his tracks well.

Sully checked the wall clock: 4:24. He wished it was later so he could go to sleep. Blessedly, he'd burned those Teals, so he'd be able to sleep.

Thinking about the Teals reminded him of Hunter, which set his heart racing with anger all over again. How could she think he was a thief? What sort of person jumped to a conclusion like that? He should have trusted his first impression. She wasn't his type; she was too hard.

Sully's mind kept spinning back to the same thoughts, the same feelings of betrayal and hopelessness. It was like a song in his head that just kept repeating, a bad song, a song he despised.

“I don't want to push, but I really think it'd be a mistake not to call your father.” Dom raised his hand as Sully opened his mouth to respond. “I know he's a first-class douche bag, but he's a detective, isn't he? He might know how the men knew Hunter had the marble. You're giving up before you even try.”

The truth was, Sully didn't want his father to know he'd lost the sphere. He could hear it now:
You lost
another
one?
But if, somehow, Sully could get it back, some of the pain he was feeling would vanish. The rent could be paid.

“I'll call him in the morning.”

In the meantime, he needed to come up with some cash, or he and his mom were going to be evicted. Dragging himself off the bed, he went to his shelf, snapped a picture of the Cherry Red on its pedestal, then took it down.

“What are you doing?” Dom asked.

“Selling it.” It should bring at least a thousand dollars—a king's ransom for a burned sphere, but still less than two months' rent. It killed him to sell it; it truly killed him.

Old Darrel Hanks was doing a brisk business selling gloves and hats over in his corner. He had five or six customers digging through the boxes of irregulars.

“Five dollars a pair,” he shouted. “No ups, no downs, all gloves just five dollars.” Darrel had to be pushing eighty, but it was obvious he still loved selling.

Sully wished he could say the same. Flea markets had always been his escape; now the place just reminded him of the Hot Pink, of the day Hunter came strolling down his aisle. It was hard to go back to hawking rarity ones and twos.

And, as much as he distrusted his father's judgment, the old man's words kept rattling around in his head.

When fourteen thousand is on the line, you have no friends. You got that? You trust no one. I've seen people screwed by best friends, brothers, wives, fathers.
Sully could picture just how his father had folded his arms and settled back into his seat at the diner.
I'll say it again: it was Dom or the girl. My money's on the girl. She's pistol-whipped, but she's up and running a second later? That's awfully convenient.

Whether Hunter had ripped him off or not, he was better off not having her around. He knew that, but it was still hard to get used to.

Of course,
he
wouldn't be around much longer. As soon as the school year was out, he and his mom were moving to Pittsburgh (assuming they could scrounge up and borrow enough to stay in Yonkers even that long). It was all set; Sully would be spending his senior year at a strange school, living in a basement.

Sully wondered what he and Hunter would have found in those water tanks. That had been a brilliant idea. Maybe he should pursue it without Hunter. Dom might be interested in partnering with him….

No. It was Hunter's idea. Even if they weren't friends anymore, he wasn't going to steal her idea.

Across the aisle, Neal was whistling and bobbing his head furiously, listening to some no doubt ancient rock music on an iPod. Sully envied Neal's ability to stay full of energy. He seemed to be enjoying the hell out of his life.

Noticing Sully looking at him, Neal pulled out one of his earbuds. “T. Rex, man. Most underrated band in the history of rock.”

Sully gave him a thumbs-up, although he'd never heard of T. Rex.

Probably noticing how unenthusiastic his thumbs-up was, Neal headed over. He had new sneakers on—bright orange Nikes. “You've got to let it go. I know you had big plans for that cash, but if you cling too hard to what could have been, it's like poison.”

Yes, big plans. Pay the rent. Spend his senior year with his friends. “You're right. Like they say, it's all good.”

“Except it's not all good. Some things suck.” Neal pulled out the other earbud. “What I'm trying to say is, if you can't change it, don't let it eat at you. Let it go.”

Samantha had come over as well. She put a hand on Sully's back. There was no doubt he was letting it eat at him. Going to see his old man, who'd made sure to drive home just how stupid Sully had been, had made it worse.

“Yeah, I'll try,” he said.

“That's it. It's called nonattachment. Play the game, but don't get too attached to the outcome.” Neal snapped his fingers, pointed at Sully. “I'm going to lend you a book. Have you ever read any Zen authors? Alan Watts? D. T. Suzuki?”

“Nope.”

Neal checked his watch. “Tell you what, I'm going to grab a snack in the motor home. I'll bring you back a book.”

Sully didn't have much time for extra reading, but maybe he'd give it a try. Neal bobbed off toward the exit, arms swinging, looking like a twelve-year-old kid, not a guy in his sixties.

“He really loves you,” Samantha said as they watched Neal's receding figure. “He talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” It pleased Sully to hear that. Neal and Samantha were like his flea market parents, but Neal was friendly to everyone, so it was hard to know if you were special to him.

If Neal hadn't been married, Sully would have introduced him to Mom. He was perfect for his mom, because he was the exact opposite of Sully's dad. Their advice said it all.
Trust no one
versus
Let it go.
Sully was still fuming at his father's smug confidence.
There's your answer, Sully: one of your friends cheated you, because you're a sucker, you're an easy target. You need to grow up and be a man, like me.

Sully squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath.
Let it go.
If only it wasn't so hard to stop thinking about something.

He checked the time: 3:48. The flea market was just about empty except for the vendors. Screw it. He picked up the display case containing his “rare” spheres, which now amounted to a half-dozen rarity twos he hadn't listed on eBay yet. If he kept cashing out his stock on eBay at a discount until there was nothing left, he was through making money as a dealer. He couldn't stand behind an empty table at the flea market and expect people to offer to sell him spheres, and most of his stock came from walk-ups at the flea market. His inventory was pathetic; half his table was nothing but empty space.

He set the display case on top of a crate of spheres and lifted both. “Hey, Samantha? Can you watch my stuff? I'm going to pack up early.”

“Sure.” She stepped into the aisle, where she could more easily watch all three booths at once.

Maybe he'd call Dom, see if he wanted to head over to Nathan's.

In the parking lot, Led Zeppelin's “All of My Love” drifted from Neal's camper. Sully remembered the book. Shifting the crates to get a better grip, he went to the camper door and knocked.

Neal swung the door open. “Hey, you leaving?” he shouted over the music.

“It's pretty dead in there.”

Neal held up a finger. “Hang on a minute, I'll get you that book.” He disappeared into the camper, ducking his head slightly. Sully couldn't imagine how two people could actually live in that camper, day in and day out. It was such a narrow space, and every nook and cranny was packed with books and boxes.

They had gotten a new sound/entertainment system since the last time Sully had visited. A brand-new big-screen TV was mounted on the back wall, with speakers in all four corners of the room, and a sharp-looking stereo system, currently blaring Zeppelin, set on shelves.

“Hey, that's some nice equipment,” Sully said as Neal reappeared, his orange Nikes bright against the soiled beige carpet.

“Thanks. We've been saving for a while, decided it was time.” Neal held out a beat-up paperback with a black cover.

Sully didn't take it immediately, because a terrible thought had occurred to him, and it was threatening to knock him to his knees. New TV, new stereo, new sneakers. A spending spree.

As if they'd just come into some money.

He reached up with numb fingers, took the book. “New TV, too.”

Neal looked over his shoulder, as if he hadn't noticed. “The old one was on its last legs. We had it fifteen years.”

Neal and Samantha knew what Hunter looked like. They would have been close enough to hear Sully's phone calls. The one to Dom, telling him to pick up Hunter; the one to Hunter, telling her to go to the bank and get the Hot Pink. It all fit.

Dom or the girl,
his dad had said. Only, Dad hadn't known about Neal and Samantha. Sully studied Neal's face, searching for signs of guilt or nervousness, but Neal looked as friendly and open as ever.

It was all an act. The warm, friendly guru gaze, the laid-back hippie attitude. Sully would never have believed you could fake an entire personality, but suddenly he felt sure. It was fake. Samantha's earth-mother routine as well. They were nothing but poor, desperate con artists.

He couldn't just come out and accuse Neal of ripping him off, because he didn't know for sure that was what had happened.

Only somehow, he did. He did know.

“All of that must have set you back a couple thousand dollars. Maybe twenty percent?” He looked into Neal's startled eyes. “Yeah. That seems about right.”

Sully stuffed the book in the crate, then lifted it. “Thanks for the book.”

“Hang on,” Neal called as he walked off. “You're not suggesting—”

Sully kept walking.

“
Sully.
What are you saying?” Neal didn't come after him. He just went on shouting from the door of his camper, as if there was an invisible force field keeping him inside. Anyone who was innocent would be out of that camper in a flash, would be blocking Sully. Only a guilty man would let him walk off.

He really loves you,
Samantha had said. Enough to steal from him, to spoil things with Hunter. Sully unlocked the back of his station wagon and shoved the boxes in.

At least he knew Hunter wasn't the one who'd ripped him off. He slammed the door shut. Yes, all she'd done was leap to the conclusion that
Sully
was a thief.

As he headed back to his table, he passed an old woman digging through a green trash barrel at the end of one of the parking lot rows. A shopping cart of aluminum cans waited beside her.

Ten years ago that could have been Hunter. Only, she'd been barely a teenager.

Maybe Sully should cut her some slack for being overly suspicious, for not trusting him more.

Sully was tempted to head back to Neal's newly tricked-out camper and punch him in the face. This was all because of him. He'd stolen Sully's rent money, banished him to Pittsburgh, driven a wedge between him and Hunter.

Sully slowed. That, at least, he had some control over.

On his way out, Sully dropped Neal's Zen book into the first trash can he passed.

The front door of Hunter's building was unlocked. In fact, it didn't have a lock. Sully stepped into the lobby, a dirty, nondescript hallway with mailboxes set into the wall to the right, a stairwell to the left. A single brown rubber boot lay on the bottom step.

Sully climbed to the fifth floor, knocked on number 503. The thick steel door didn't conduct sound well; he knocked harder, his knuckles stinging.

He heard footsteps inside, growing louder.

“Yeah?” A woman's voice.

“I'm looking for Hunter?”

No answer. Only footsteps, growing fainter this time. Three or four voices drifted through the door, all apparently having different conversations.

There was a sharp bang on the door. “Get lost.” It was Hunter. Her acid tone made Sully wince.

He stepped forward until his face was six inches from the scuffed and dented door. It had been red once, but there wasn't much paint left.

“I should be the one who's pissed off. I
am
pissed off, but I didn't let it keep me from hauling my freezing ass all the way to your door.” There was a peephole in the door; Sully wondered if Hunter was watching him through it.

“I went to see my jackass father, the cop. You know what he told me? He said either you cheated me, or Dom did. But you know what? I know you didn't rip me off, because I know you. Why is it you don't know me?” He waited for an answer. “How can you think I would cheat you?”

“Nobody knows anyone,” Hunter called from behind the door. “You don't know if you can trust me, and I don't know if I can trust you.”

Sully thought of Neal and his new flat-screen TV. Yesterday he'd have sworn on his life he could trust Neal. “Maybe you're right. I learned that just this morning, in fact, when I figured out who stole the Hot Pink.” He waited for Hunter to ask who had done it, but she didn't. “I guess I'm asking you to take a leap of faith, then. Trust me. Believe me.” He pressed his palm against the cool steel of the door and waited.

Nothing. He was tempted to storm off, tell her to have a good life, if she could somehow manage that while being so paranoid.

“What the hell would I be doing at your door if I ripped you off? If that's what happened, I've got fourteen thousand dollars. I can hire a professional scuba diver and go search on my own.”

Nothing.

He was just making a fool of himself, begging forgiveness through a door for something he didn't do. He turned to leave, in black despair. It was over. He'd never see Hunter again; they'd never find out if there were any rare spheres hidden in those water towers. Even scoring a few rarity twos and threes would be huge for him at this point.

Sully turned back. He pressed his nose to the door, closed his eyes. “Take one leap of faith. If we find anything, you hold on to it. I'll trust
you,
even if I can't know for sure I should.”

He was halfway to the stairs when the lock clicked. The door swung open.

Hunter was wearing a ratty violet NYU sweatshirt and shorts, along with the inevitable gloves. Her old gloves—not the ones Sully had given her. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept in a week.

“I swear to God, I didn't do it.”

She nodded. “I guess I believe you.”

Some of the tension in his gut, the blackness of the past week, eased. Not all of it, not by a long shot. But he'd made this one thing right.

“I'll see you tomorrow, at five.” Hunter closed the door.