Sasquatch in the Paint (10 page)

WHERE'S
Rain?

If this were a Bruce Willis
Die Hard
movie, Theo would have had a funny comeback line to put Motorpsycho—his new nickname for the guy—in his place.

Where's Rain? Have you checked the rain forest, pal?

Where's Rain? You go straight up about five thousand
feet and turn left at the cumulonimbus cloud on the corner.

Where's Rain? Get naked, swing a dead chicken over
your head, and chant. Then you'll have rain.

But Theo didn't have a team of million-dollar Hollywood writers coming up with witty hero dialogue. So, with the guy screaming in his face, all Theo could come up with was, “I dunno.”

Motorpsycho stared without expression. It was getting dark out, and his long black hair and black leather outfit made his body seem to disappear. His angry face floated in front of Theo like a severed head.

“You think this is a joke?” Motorpsycho asked. His harsh accent came from the back of the throat and picked up a lot of phlegm before the actual words came gargling out. “Do you?”

“No,” Theo said. He most certainly did not think this was a joke, as the trembling in his legs proved. “It's just that I don't really know her. I only met her a few days ago.”

“And yet you came running to assist her. Big hero.”

Motorpsycho was about six feet tall—shorter than Theo—but even in the darkness, his extra thirty pounds of muscle were an obvious presence. One thing kept running through Theo's mind: Don't hit me. Don't hit me. Don't hit me.

Well, two things.

Don't kill me. Don't kill me. Don't kill me.

“Is that not true?” Motorpsycho insisted. “Aren't you a big hero?”

Theo shrugged. “Not really. I wasn't thinking.”

Was that as lame and cowardly as it sounded? Theo lowered his head in shame.

“Did she tell you where she is staying?” Motorpsycho asked. Suddenly his voice was softer, almost gentle, like they were now pals. Facebook friends liking each other's vacation photos and sharing videos that made fun of Justin Bieber.

He poked Theo hard in the shoulder. “Well, did she?”

Theo shook his head.

Motorpsycho frowned. “Do you think we are fools? You kids always think everyone else is a fool.”

“No, I don't think anyone's a fool,” Theo said. “I really don't know what you're talking about. I just met her Friday. I only found out her name today. If you'd asked me yesterday, ‘Where's Rain?,' I would've thought you were talking about actual rain.”

Theo couldn't stop babbling. Through the sound of his own chattering voice, he remembered Motorpsycho saying “we” (“Do you think we are fools?”). Was there more than one of him?

A loud whistle, like someone calling his dog, cracked the night air.

Motorpsycho glanced over his shoulder toward some trees. Theo saw another figure half emerge from the shadows. Also dressed in black, but with the helmet on, the visor down, so Theo couldn't see the face.

Motorpsycho grabbed Theo's phone from his sweaty hand. Theo didn't protest. Motorpsycho did some quick thumb work on the keypad—much quicker than Theo had ever seen anyone work, even Debbie Seid, who on a dare texted the entire Declaration of Independence in less than two minutes. This kid knew something about computers.

Motorpsycho tossed the phone back to Theo. “Thank you, Theo Rollins, of 1256 Sandhurst Drive.” He then rattled off Theo's e-mail address and phone number. “In case you decide you want to go home crying to your mommy and daddy, I'll know where to go to explain things to them. In the middle of the night. While they're sleeping.”

“My dad's a cop,” Theo blurted out defiantly.

Motorpsycho grinned as if Theo had told him his dad was a teddy bear. “Then by all means, tell him everything.”

Theo didn't say anything. Why was this guy so smug? Why wasn't he afraid of the police?

“I've put a phone number in your phone. The moment you see her, call that number.”

“I have no idea when, or if, I'll ever see her. Like I told you, I just met her a few days ago.”

Motorpsycho glared at Theo and spoke through gritted teeth. “If you do not call me by Friday…” He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Theo could imagine the rest of the sentence. And in each variation, lots of pain was implied.

Motorpsycho ran up the slope toward his friend. They climbed onto their motorcycles and roared off into the night. It would have made a cool scene in a movie.

Except it isn't a movie. And he'll be coming after me.

Theo watched, waiting for his heart to stop somersaulting in his chest like a monkey being chased by a lion.

Crazy Girl.

Motorcycle Mafia.

Night assaults.

And all Theo wanted to do was play basketball.

“WHAT
was the best thing that happened to you today?” Theo's dad asked.

They were eating his dad's default dinner: Knockwurst. Baked beans. Corn bread. Garbage Salad (a salad made from whatever they could scrounge up in the refrigerator). This was the menu whenever his dad was too tired to break out the cookbook. Which was every Monday. On Mondays he had to catch up on his cop-house paperwork.

Theo couldn't focus on his dad's question. During the whole walk home from the park, he'd been debating with himself about telling his dad about Motorpsycho. If this were a movie, the audience would be shouting, “Tell him, stupid!” But the stupid kid wouldn't, and then all these terrible things would happen that could have been avoided simply by telling his parents in the first place.

Moral of the story: Tell your parents everything.

That's the moral of every movie for kids.

But every kid in the world knows that's not the real world. Hollywood serves up neat and tidy lessons because that's what parents want. In the real world, parents can't solve every problem. They can't cure acne. Or stop you from acting like a spaz when a girl talks to you. Or help when kids make fun of your height. Or make sure you don't get kicked off the basketball team.

Or prevent your mom from getting killed.

Theo looked into his dad's kind eyes, and again a wave of shame drenched him. He had lied to his dad, snuck onto his computer, kept information from him. How could his dad ever trust him again? Worse, how could Theo ever trust himself? He was becoming the kind of kid he'd always tried to avoid at school.

Still, there were some things that Theo had to take care of himself. Like finding out what Rain had to do with Motorpsycho, and convincing both of them to leave him alone.

“How come every time I ask you that question lately, there's a long pause? Did something bad happen that you're not telling me?”

Theo shook his head and pretended to focus on buttering his corn bread. “Nothing good happened, that's all. Just the same boring crap every day. School, practice, homework. It's like being in the army.” He looked up at his dad. “Anything happen to you that you're not telling me?”

His dad's expression remained blank. He was better than Theo at hiding his emotions. “Nope. Same ol' same ol'.” He cut a piece of his knockwurst. “What's up with Brian?”

“Nothing.”

“How's his dad doing? He had knee surgery recently, didn't he?”

“Yeah. He's fine, I guess. Limps a lot.”

“How'd practice go?”

“Which one?”

His dad hesitated. Before basketball, he used to ask about Brain Train practice. Since basketball, he mostly asked about that. Another sign of how much he wanted Theo to be an athlete. Just like him.

“Both,” his dad said.

“Well, Mr. J is considering kicking me off the Brain Train because I've fallen behind, and I think Coach might cut me from the basketball team because I stink up the court. So they both went about the same.”

His dad didn't say anything. For a while, the only sound was the clinking of their forks against their plates.

Then Theo looked at his dad and said, “You ever think about dating again?”

Theo watched his dad's face for some sign of surprise. Nothing.

“Not really. Why?”

“No reason. It's been a while. I wondered if maybe you're lonely.”

“You keep me too busy to get lonely,” his dad joked.

“Come on, Dad. I know it's hard. You're still kind of young, I mean, for a dad.”

Marcus remained quiet for a long time. When he did speak, his voice was low. “I miss your mom, and I will every day for the rest of my life. No matter what else happens, nothing will change that.”

Theo didn't ask any more questions. Clearly his dad wasn't ready to mention the online dating. Well, they both had their secrets, which Theo assumed was part of being an adult. And, though part of him felt very adult and secret-agent-like, another part of him felt lonely and scared and very much like a kid.

“Can I be excused?” Theo asked, standing up from the dinner table. “I have a lot of homework.”

“Yeah, sure,” his dad said casually, but Theo could feel his concerned eyes watching him the entire time as he walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

In his room, Theo rushed through his homework. He knew he wasn't doing his usual conscientious job. He answered questions quickly and sloppily, but he was too distracted to care. He took out the Brain Train manual to study for tomorrow's practice session with Mr. J, knowing that if he failed to impress, Constance Rodriguez might replace him. After catching himself reading the same page about the earth's layers for the third time, though, he jumped off his bed, grabbed his basketball, and started practicing the triple-threat position that Coach had taught him. Ball down to his hip. Feet shoulder width apart. Knees bent. Weak hand on side of ball, strong hand on top. Pivot, pivot, pivot. Now you can pass, dribble, or shoot.

But he couldn't focus on that either, and he slammed the ball on his bed. All he could think about was Motorpsycho and his mysterious friend, Shadow Man. What did they want with Rain? What would they do to Theo if he didn't help them?

Finally, he pushed his papers aside and texted Rain. He'd stored her number as CG (for Crazy Girl).

Theo:
Ur motorcycle friend stopped me at park. He
wanted to know where u are.

Her response came almost instantly.

CG:
What did u tell him?

Theo:
Nothing. What could I tell him?

No response.

Theo:
Who is that guy? What does he want?

Long pause.

CG:
My cousin.

Theo:
Ur cousin doesn't know where you live?

CG:
It's complicated.

Theo:
What does he want?

No response.

Theo waited a few minutes, then typed:
You still there?

No response.

Theo plugged his phone into the charger, cleared his bed of the books, papers, and basketball, and crawled under the covers. He lay sleepless for an hour, tossing as if he was wrestling an invisible opponent.

His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen.

CG:
Good night.

Theo:
We need to talk. He threatened me and my dad.

CG:
Tomorrow.

He texted back, demanding to know right now. But she never responded.

Then the house phone rang. Theo thought it might be Rain, so he quickly snatched up the extension on his desk. “Hello?”

A woman's voice. Not Rain's.

“Hello,” she said, her voice pleasant. “May I speak to Marcus Rollins, please?”

“Who's calling?” Theo asked. His dad didn't want to be bothered by people selling time-shares or newspaper subscriptions.

Another extension clicked on, and Marcus's voice spoke: “It's okay, Theo. I've got it.”

“Marcus?” she said. Her voice suddenly seemed lighter, happier.

“I've got it, Theo,” his dad repeated, his voice firmer.

Theo hesitated. Who was this woman who was so happy to talk to his dad?

Finally, he said, “Okay,” and hung up.

Theo sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes, wondering about the woman on the phone. He didn't have time to formulate many theories, because his dad suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, T, I'm heading out for a little while. Be back late, so don't wait up.” He tried to leave quickly, but Theo managed to fire off a question before he could escape.

“Where're you going?”

Marcus backed up until he was framed by the doorway. “Just meeting some friends.”

“Who was that woman on the phone?”

“A friend.”

“One of the friends you're going out to meet?”

Marcus looked at his watch. “Sorry, son, I don't have time for you break out the bright lights and lie detector. We'll continue the interrogation later.”

He hurried away, his heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs as if he was taking two at a time. “Don't wait up!” he hollered from downstairs. “I mean it.” Then the front door slammed shut and he was gone.

Two minutes later, Theo was logged onto his dad's computer and scrolling through Why Wait Mate, the dating site Marcus belonged to.

He clicked on “Favorites.” There was one name: Miranda Sanjume. He clicked on it and a woman's photo and profile appeared. In the photo she stood in the middle of many rows of pineapples, holding a pineapple in each hand. Her profile said that her father was the foreman of a pineapple plantation in Hawaii. She lived in Newport Beach. She was a lawyer. Thirty-five. Never married.

Theo studied her face. Pretty. Half Asian, half something with darker skin. Filipino, maybe. Nice smile, not forced.

Theo clicked on “Photo Album” and a dozen photos opened. In one, she was crossing the finish line at a triathlon. In another, she was playing tennis. So, she was athletic. Another photo showed her in a business suit and carrying a briefcase as she entered the courthouse. She looked very serious and professional.

The last few photos showed her at music concerts. In one, she was sitting on the shoulders of an enormous Samoan man, both of her hands clenched in the classic rock-and-roll gesture: a fist with the index and pinkie fingers sticking up. The caption said:
With my brother, Turk,
at AC/DC concert.
They were right next to the stage. In the second photo, she was once again next to the stage, this time reaching her hand out to Steven Tyler from Aerosmith, who was leaning down to touch it.

Theo wondered how she could afford such good seats at those concerts.

He shook his head. Not the point, Theo. Stay focused here.

He leaned back in his chair. Was she the one who had called? The one who had sent his dad rushing out of the house?

Theo felt frozen to the chair, unable to move or talk or breathe. Somehow, this felt like the beginning of something bad, like he'd just found out his dad robbed banks on the weekends. He could almost feel his world crumbling down around him.