No One Needs to Know (20 page)

He called Paul at home, and told him about it. His boss seemed slightly annoyed, but advised him to call again if the minivan returned. Then Paul asked him to put Tony on the phone.

Duncan wasn’t sure what he’d said to Tony. Maybe he’d asked Tony to drive him home. Maybe Paul had been worried about something bad happening if the minivan came back.

Duncan checked his rain-speckled side mirror. He didn’t see any sign of the silver minivan on Main Street. In fact, he didn’t see another car behind him. He’d be home in less than ten minutes. He always used to bring home a piece of Laurie’s dessert of the day (if any was left) and eat it in front of
Modern Family
reruns he’d DVR’d. Now he had to settle for whatever the other cooks came up with for dessert, which was only just so-so. Tonight, he didn’t take home anything. He’d have to watch
Modern Family
with a Coke and Cheetos.

He missed Laurie’s desserts—almost as much as he missed Laurie. He’d always had a little crush on her. He didn’t believe any of those hateful rumors people were whispering about her.

All at once, his bike seemed to buckle. Duncan panicked. Clutching the handgrips tighter, he felt the entire front pull and tilt to one side. The steering mechanisms seemed to lock up on him, and he heard a loud thumping sound. It felt as if the Blue Bomber might go completely out of control and slip out from under him. Wincing, he slowed down and tried to maneuver toward the shoulder of Main Street.

As he came to a stop and caught his breath, Duncan realized his front tire had blown. “Damn,” he muttered, hopping off the moped. He could feel the rain dripping off his helmet and down the back of his neck now. He stared at the tire’s underside, flat against the roadside gravel. He was shaking.

He had a cell phone. But he couldn’t call his mom, because she was asleep and had work in the morning. Plus she kind of had a drinking problem, and was better off not driving at night. He really didn’t have a close friend he could call. He thought about the cook, Tony, but he was probably already home by now.

Duncan grabbed the handlebars and started walking the crippled Blue Bomber along the roadside. He kept the headlight on—in hopes some Good Samaritan might see him and stop by. But that didn’t seem likely. Outside of a strip mall that was closed, this stretch of Main Street was mostly residential. The houses were a bit run down, too. From the looks of it, hardly anyone was still awake. At least, he didn’t see many lights.

Pushing the bike was awkward. The wheel rim made a gnawing, crunching sound against the gravelly shoulder. Rain had gotten into one of Duncan’s sneakers, and now his sock was wet. He figured at this rate, he probably wouldn’t get home until midnight.

He suddenly felt so alone. He couldn’t help thinking that those guys at school who called him a loser were sort of right.

Duncan knew his head was bobbing, the way it did when he got nervous. He felt a tightness creeping into his throat. Tears stung his eyes. But he told himself he wasn’t going to start bawling.

A car sailed by, its headlights sweeping over him for a moment. He tried to keep his head still and continued to push his bike in the rain.

He wondered if someone in that minivan during the second trip to the restaurant had done something to his front tire to cause the blowout.

The rain was getting heavier. Duncan heard another car approaching, and glanced over his shoulder. Squinting at the headlights in the distance, he thought it looked like a minivan. He felt a pang in his stomach. His shakes got worse. Pushing the disabled moped even harder, he tried to pick up the pace. He thought of hauling the bike into the ditch near the shoulder and hiding there until the minivan passed. The headlights loomed larger on the rain-slicked road. As the vehicle came closer, he could see it was a black SUV.

Duncan let out a sigh of relief. He wondered if they had room for his moped in the back. Biting his lip, he stopped and waved at the SUV. The vehicle didn’t even slow down. He felt a wet breeze as it sped past him. Dejected, he started pushing the Blue Bomber again.

But then he heard a screech. Up ahead, he saw the SUV’s brake lights were on. Someone poked a head out the backseat window. “Hey, do you need a lift?” a woman called.

“Yes!” Duncan answered, so grateful he was a little breathless. “Yes, thank you!” He pressed forward with the moped, which suddenly seemed heavier and harder to move than before.

“You look like you’re in trouble,” the girl said, stepping out of the car.

“I was. Thanks for stopping.” In the darkness, Duncan couldn’t quite see her.

“Where can we drop you?” she asked.

“I live on Okanogan Street,” he said, still catching his breath as he neared the SUV. He saw her now, a skinny blond girl, not much older than him. He figured she was a college student. With her black, slightly tattered clothes, and heavy eye makeup, she had the “goth” look a few of them went for. But she had a nice smile.

“Okanogan?” she repeated. “That’s no problem. Get in. We’ll take you there.”

He hesitated. “Would you mind if I loaded my bike in the back?”

“Sorry, but that’s not going to work,” the girl answered. “We’ve got a big crate back there. Tell you what. Okanogan is only five minutes away. Leave the bike, and we’ll take you home. If you don’t have a car there, you can help us unload the crate. Then we’ll come back here and load up your scooter.” She leaned in toward the car. “Is that okay with you?” she asked the driver.

“Fine,” Duncan heard the driver say. It was a man’s voice.

“Sounds like a plan,” the girl said, smiling at Duncan. “C’mon get in . . .”

He hesitated. He didn’t want to leave his Blue Bomber on the roadside in this sketchy neighborhood, not even for ten minutes. Plus he couldn’t see who was in the SUV with her. What if there were a bunch of people in there, ready to pull some kind of prank on him? It happened to him at school a lot, people pretending to be his friend, and then suddenly doing something to humiliate the hell out of him.

“Well?” The girl impatiently drummed her fingers on the SUV. “Is that okay with you?”

Duncan was still uncertain. He glanced back toward the center of town, and didn’t see any cars approaching.

“Is he coming or not?” the driver called. “Tell him to make up his mind. You’re letting the rain in!”

“Did you hear that?” the girl said. “Y’know, we’re just trying to do you a favor here, guy.”

Duncan could see her blond hair was in wet tangles. “Yes, I’m coming! Sorry!” he said, pushing his Blue Bomber toward a tree at the roadside. He hoped no one would notice his moped under the big elm’s low, sagging branches. He switched off the headlight, gave the seat a good-bye pat, and started toward the SUV. “This is really nice of you,” he said. Tugging at the strap, he took off his bike helmet. “Thanks very much . . .”

“No worries!” the girl said, holding the door open for him.

He was scooting across the backseat when he noticed the two men in the front. The one on the passenger side quickly opened his door. “I’m making sure this guy doesn’t try any moves on Amber,” he announced, stepping outside and shutting his door. Then he opened the back door and got inside.

Duncan balked. He was just about to move into that spot. Now he suddenly found himself squeezed between this man who looked too old for college, and the girl. She shut her door.

“Next stop, Okanogan Street,” she told the driver.

Duncan could see only the back of his head—and his eyes in the rearview mirror.

The SUV started moving. Its windshield wipers squeaked. Clutching the wet bike helmet in his lap, Duncan listened to the rain on the roof. “Um, thank you for doing this, you guys,” he said nervously.

He glanced at the man beside him. He was about thirty—with heavy beard stubble and messy, black hair. Something about him looked familiar—especially his dark eyes, intense and intimidating. Duncan tried to remember where he’d seen him before.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked.

“Duncan.”

“Well, Duncan,” said the man, pressing his shoulder against his. “That pretty thing beside you is Amber. You can look, but don’t touch. I’m Luke. And the man at the wheel, driving us to our destination, is Hans.”

Duncan let out a nervous chuckle. Luke and
Hans
? All he could think about was
Star Wars,
Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. Were they putting him on?

“So, Duncan, do you get high?” the man asked.

“No, not really.” His head started to shake a little.

The girl put her hand on his knee. “Oh, I’ll bet you’d be a lot of fun if you just loosened up, Duncan.”

“Yeah, he looks like a regular party animal,” the man said. He leaned forward toward the driver. “Doesn’t he look like a serious party animal to you, Hans?”

“A wild man,” the driver snickered.

“Really, I’m not,” Duncan murmured, squirming.

“Then what are you doing out so late?” the man asked.

“I was coming back from work,” he answered. “I—I’m a dishwasher at a restaurant.”

The SUV seemed to pick up speed. He heard the tires humming louder and splashing water on the wet road. He couldn’t even read the street signs, they were going so fast.

The man slung his arm around the back of the seat. “What restaurant do you work at?”

“The Superstar Diner.”

“Isn’t that the place where the cook murdered that guy in her house?” the girl asked.

“It was an accident,” Duncan murmured. “That wasn’t her fault. The guy was stalking her.”

He caught the driver’s eyes studying him in the mirror. “Shit, guys, look at the way his head keeps bobbing up and down. We ought to shrink him and set him up on the dashboard.”

The girl laughed, and squeezed his knee. “He’s just kidding . . .”

“Yeah, we’d never shrink you, Duncan,” the man said. “You’re our pal. So, I forget—what’s the cook’s name again?”

Duncan realized his street was coming up. “Hey—ah, you—you need to slow down. This is me. This is my street . . .”

“
This is me!
” the driver repeated, bobbing his head up and down in an exaggerated way. He and the girl started laughing. The car sped past his street.

“Could you please stop?” Duncan asked. “I—I need to get out here.”

“He’s just taking a shortcut,” the girl said.

Panic-stricken, Duncan glanced over his shoulder, and past the man’s arm. The back of the SUV was empty. There wasn’t any crate. “Listen, you guys, thank you for the lift,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “But—but you can drop me off here . . .”

“Hey, relax and enjoy the ride, Duncan,” the girl said, rubbing his thigh. “I mean, what’s the hurry? Don’t you want to have some fun?”

The man cleared his throat. “Quit pawing him,” he said. “You did your job. You got him into the car. Now, just sit back and shut the fuck up. Duncan and I were having a private conversation . . .”

The girl took her hand off his thigh, and folded her arms. She turned toward the window.

Duncan gazed at the man beside him. Now he remembered when he’d seen him before. It was a month ago. The man had come into the diner when he and Laurie were about to close.
“Go back to your mopping, Einstein. Laurie and I are having a private conversation. . .”

“So, you were about to tell us the name of the cook,” the man said.

The vehicle slowed down, but only to turn onto North University Way. They were driving farther away from his house.

Duncan could feel his heart racing. He stared at the man—almost defiantly. “You know her name. It’s Laurie. I’ve seen you in the diner. You own a silver Town & Country . . .”

“That’s right,” the man said. “Go to the head of the class. This is a rental. I got it just for you. So, where is she? I know she skipped town. Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know,” Duncan said. It was hard to talk—or even breathe—he was so scared. He tried to muster up some courage. “And even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The man’s hand slid down from the top of the car seat, and gripped Duncan’s shoulder. It hurt a little. Duncan figured the guy was just getting started. “Hans is going to take us to a dead end road off Old Highway Ten,” he said. “Do you think you’d tell us where Laurie is—after we strip you naked and tie you to a tree? Amber might like it. She’s curious to see how well hung you are, aren’t you, Amber?”

“I’m not talking to you,” she muttered, staring out the window.

“Tell him, sport,” the driver said. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind beating the shit out of you, but it’s a nasty night out there, and I don’t feel like getting wet.”

The man grabbed Duncan by the back of the neck. “C’mon, where the fuck is she?” he whispered. “Think about it, Duncan. The bitch isn’t worth the beating you’ll get. Before we tie you to that tree, we’ll take away your shoes and your clothes. We might just have to leave you there for the critters to nibble on . . .”

Duncan felt him squeezing tighter. Because of his head tremors, the talon-like grip on his neck hurt even more. Tears filled his eyes. They weren’t far from Old Highway 10. “I don’t know where she moved to!” he cried. “I swear. Nobody knows, not the boss, not her neighbors, nobody! That’s the truth, I swear! Now, please—please, let me out of here . . .”

“Stop the car,” the man said in a low voice.

Duncan felt the pressure slacken on the back of his neck. The car skidded a bit as it came to a halt. They were on Old Highway 10. Duncan didn’t see any other cars around—no one to save him.

The man pulled his arm away. “This loser doesn’t know shit,” he grumbled. Then he opened his door and stepped out of the car. He bent forward and gazed in at Duncan. “Okay, get out . . .”

Tears streaming down his face, Duncan stared at the man, uncertain what they were going to do to him. For a few moments, he was too afraid to move.

“C’mon, you wanted out, so get out,” the man barked. “Only you aren’t telling anyone about this. Because if you do—if the cops so much as ask me one question about taking you for this little joyride—then you’ll regret it. I know where you live, Duncan. And I can have my friends pay you and your mother a visit there on Okanogan Street.”