Stolen (7 page)

I grin. Oops. So I roll both our windows up and turn on the AC. Then I turn the music down a little bit. “You must be from the city.”

“Boston,” she says, turning down the visor and looking at herself in the mirror, trying to fix her hair.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re not used to life on the Cape. But you’ll get there eventually.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of arrogant?” She flips the visor back up.

I shrug. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“People mistake my confidence for arrogance.”

“Confident people don’t need to talk themselves up all the time.”

“What are you, the confidence police?”

She rolls her eyes. “This should be a really great party, if everyone there is as welcoming as you.”

“Hey, I’m very welcoming,” I say. In fact—“ But just as I’m about to throw a good zinger her way, I’m distracted by the car I see in the parking lot of Tesco’s Pharmacy.

“In fact what?” she asks.

But I don’t answer. Instead I slow way down and check the license plate.

Yup. It’s him, all right. Ronaldo Maya.

“Sorry,” I say, “I just realized I need to make a quick pit stop for…ah…allergy medicine.”

“Allergy medicine?”

“Yeah, my sinuses are acting up.”

“Then shouldn’t you be getting sinus medicine?”

“You know what I mean,” I tell her, as we turn into the pharmacy parking lot. I drive all the way around the other side, away from Ronaldo’s black Camaro, then slide my car into park. “Be out in two seconds.”

I have one foot out the door when she says, “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” I say. “It’s fine. I’ll just be a second.”

“But I want some gum.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. “I’ll buy it for you. What kind?”

She glares at me. “I don’t want you to buy it for me, I want to go in and pick out my own stupid gum.”

I smile. “Sure, “ I say, “Just thought I’d be nice and get it for you.”

After she gets out, I find my mini dv camera under the seat and shove it in my pocket.

Once we’re inside, I immediately set about trying to locate the target. If I can get some decent video of him, it will really be something. For two months now, I’ve been trying to nab this guy, and so far, I’ve got nothing. But I know he’s dirty. I can feel it in my bones. Not to mention the guy’s got a rap sheet a mile long – petty theft, suspended license, a few minor drug convictions, that kind of thing.

Emily leaves me alone and goes off for gum or whatever the hell it is she’s buying. I circle the store until I finally spot Ronaldo in the household items isle. He’s looking at garbage bags or some shit.

I pretend to look at mops. I wish I had a hat or something, but I’m almost certain he’s never noticed me in all the time I’ve been following him. I’ve been in my car for most of the tails, so it would have been pretty hard for him to get a look at me.

Ronaldo is fat, with a big potbelly and week-old beard stubble. He’s wearing a Red Sox cap and jeans that will undoubtedly show the crack of his ass if he bends down to pick something up. But I’m not interested in him because of his bad fashion sense and poor hygiene. The reason I’m following him has to do with the fact that he’s claiming workman’s comp for a supposed back injury he suffered on the job at a warehouse in East Sandwich.

If I can get video of him doing something that shows his back is actually fine, then he’ll be fired and won’t collect another dime from the insurance company. That’s who hired me — well, hired my dad’s PI company — to follow him.

But right now all Ronaldo is doing is looking at trash bags. Since I started this case all he’s done is sit around his house watching TV, or sit outside drinking Miller High Life. Occasionally he’ll make it really interesting and drive to a friend’s house so he can drink beer somewhere else.

If he wasn’t such a lazy guy I’m pretty sure I’d have nailed him by now.

Emily comes up from behind me and taps my shoulder. “Why aren’t you in the sinus and allergies section?” she asks, one eyebrow rising. It’s kind of cute, in an annoying way.

“Because I also need mops.” I grab her by the elbow and quickly guide her away before Ronaldo can notice us.

“Hey, let go of me,” she says, as I hustle her around the corner of the aisle.

“Listen,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “You need to chill.”

“You need to let go of me!”

I do. “Sorry, it’s just that I recognized someone in the store. Someone who I don’t want to see me at the moment.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh,” she says, sounding smug. “So not only are you arrogant, you’re also shady.”

“Listen, you don’t know me.”

“I know your type though.”

“Do you?”

She smirks.

“Whatever,” I say. I’m about to tell her to get lost for a minute so I can finish watching Ronaldo, but then I get a brilliant idea. A smile comes over my face, a smile of sheer joy at my own genius. I really am pretty smart. “I need to ask you to do me a big, big favor,” I say.

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what it is yet.”

“I don’t care. Shady guy asks me for a favor, I say no. It’s one of my rules.”

I want to ask her how many shady guys she’s been hanging around with if she’s had to come up with some kind of rule for them, but I’m pretty sure she’s talking metaphorically. “Listen, I’ll owe you,” I tell her. “You don’t know me. But if you did, you’d realize I’m a pretty good guy to have on your side.”

She stares at me for a long moment as if deciding which phrasing she wants to use to tell me to go fuck myself. But then a look of resignation comes over her face, and she sighs. “What’s the favor?”

“All I need you to do is go ask that fat guy in the households aisle to help you get a vacuum cleaner down from the top shelf.”

“What?”

“Just do it, and don’t worry about why. I’ll explain later.”

She shakes her head like I’m obviously crazy, but then she starts walking slowly to back toward the aisle where Ronaldo’s still lurking around the garbage bags.

Okay, I think, so Emily’s cute and she’s obviously pretty smart, but her attitude sucks. She’s not nearly as hot as she seems to think she is. Even if she does look a lot like Lindsay Lohan, back when Lindsay was still in top form.

And even if she’s probably got a pretty amazing body when she’s in a bathing suit. And she’s sure to be in one soon, laying out by the pool at my house.

I shake my head. Focus, Lucas. Focus. I get my camera out and press record.

When I round the corner to the household section, Emily’s talking to Ronaldo. He looks amazed and happy, like he just won the lottery. I’ve never seen the dude smile, but right now he’s grinning from ear to ear.

Emily’s pointing up to the top shelf, at one of the big, expensive vacuum cleaners.

“You want me to get it for you?” Ronaldo’s saying. “Sure, honey. Let me handle it. Wouldn’t want you to hurt your pretty little self lifting a heavy old box! I do that for a living. Work in the warehouse,” he says, trying to puff his chest out but mostly just puffing out his already big belly.

Then he stretches until his arms are fully extended and his shirt’s pulling up. His pants are sagging, and just as I figured, he’s rocking the plumber’s butt right in Emily’s face. I’m impressed to see that she doesn’t appear at all phased by this grotesque sight.

I’m getting it all on video. Ronaldo even goes up on his tippy toes at one point, finally capturing the box in his hands and holding it aloft like it’s the Stanley Cup or something.

Emily sees me with the camera and her mouth makes a big “O.”

I grin and shrug, put a finger to my lips.

Ronaldo hands her the box. “Here you go, little lady.”

“Thanks so much,” she says.

I quickly pocket my camera and move away from them, down the aisle. I go outside and wait for her to come out.

She comes out of the pharmacy about two minutes later and I can tell she’s totally pissed. I’m in the truck, listening to music and checking the playback. It’s all there in beautiful high definition. Ronaldo has a back injury about as much as I do. In fact, his back is probably stronger than mine, since I tweaked it playing basketball a couple of days ago.

When Emily gets in the cab, she folds her arms over her chest and begins tapping her foot like a mile a minute.

I’m about to say something, but then I decide it’s kind of fun watching her get all riled up. She blows her hair out of her face. “What. A. Jerk.”

“Ronaldo?” I say. “I know. But guys like him are a dime a dozen around here.”

I rewind the footage so I can watch it again. My dad’s going to be psyched.

“Not…whatever his name is! You! You’re the jerk.” She points her finger at me, stabbing it into the air.

“Me? Why?”

“Because! You tricked me. I didn’t realize you were videotaping the poor guy!”

“That poor guy is pretty much a criminal, Emily.”

“Don’t call me Emily! Don’t even talk to me.”

“Listen,” I laugh, “Calm down for a second. Let me explain.”

“I want to go home,” she says. “Please.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’m ready to go back to my….your…the house I’m staying in.” She makes a face of disgust and then turns to look out the window. And then I start to feel bad.

Because it really wasn’t fair of me to get her involved in this.

“Look,” I say, “I’m really sorry I tricked you. But it was for a good cause. I didn’t have time to give you the explanation. But you did a great job. I was impressed as hell.”

“Like I care if I impressed you.” Another eye roll.

“I’m a PI.”

“I don’t care what you are.”

“Do you know what that even means? It means Private Investigator. My dad owns a company that investigates fraud. Insurance fraud being one of the biggest types of investigations we do. That poor man that you’re busy feeling sorry for was lying about a back injury, and you helped me catch him just now. Not to mention he’s been involved in all sorts of illegal stuff. Drugs, and --- ”

She turns toward me and looks me right in the eye. “I. Don’t. Care. Take me home. Right. Now.”

Chapter Three

Emily

Okay, so it turns out that Lucas is nuts. Like, completely and totally off-the-reservation nuts. I mean, bringing a video camera into a pharmacy to videotape some random guy? Because he’s a private investigator? Ha! He’s only seventeen. How can he be a private investigator? It’s more likely that he carries that camera around so he can use it to take videos of unsuspecting girls after somehow conning them into taking their clothes off.

“Take me home,” I say again. I pull my phone out and text Gabe. Wait until he hears about this. I wonder if he’ll beat Lucas up for me when he comes to visit. Or at least threaten him a little.

“Hey,” Lucas says. He leans back in his seat and then looks over at me and sighs.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in that whole thing. It was wrong of me.”

“You’re apologizing?” I’m shocked. Guys like him don’t usually apologize.

“Well, yeah,” he says, running his hand along the steering wheel. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to apologize. But when I’m wrong, I’m wrong. And besides, you shouldn’t let my ridiculousness stop you from going to the party.”

I start to open my mouth, but he cuts me off.

“Listen, if you want to go home, I’ll take you,” he says, “But seriously, there will be a lot of people there, a lot of people you could be friends with. People besides me.”

He gives me a grin, like he knows he’s been acting like a shit.

I think about it. It would be nice to meet some friends. I mean, I don’t want to have to spend the whole summer stuck at home with my parents, texting with Gabe and thinking about how much I miss him. On the other hand, if the people at this party are people who hang out with Lucas, like, voluntarily, I’m not sure they’re the kind of people I’d want to be friends with anyway.

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll go.” I’m going to add ‘but don’t talk to me’, but then I remind myself that he did apologize. So I should probably cut him at least a little slack. But then I catch sight of the little smirk that plays on his lips as he starts up the car, and just like that, I know the real reason he said he was sorry.

“You only apologized because you’re worried about your dad finding out that you were mean to his tenants!” I say. Unbelievable! He doesn’t give a crap about me being at the party. He just wants to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble.

“No, I’m not,” he says, rolling his eyes like I’m being paranoid. He reaches over and turns the music on, and the sound of Kanye West fills the car. Doesn’t he know no one listens to Kanye anymore after that whole Taylor Swift debacle? It’s, like, un-American or something. Ugh. I decide that I’m officially ignoring Lucas. Once I get to the party, hopefully I’ll be able to ditch him pretty easily.

I spend the rest of the ride texting with Gabe, telling him what just happened. He seems a little amused by the fact that I was unknowingly part of some crazy sting operation, and if he’s jealous that I’m hanging out with another guy, he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if I should be worried about this, but then I decide probably not.

Gabe isn’t the jealous type. He’s totally uncomplicated, the kind of boyfriend you don’t have to worry about getting all emotional and needy. Unlike Lucas. I’ll bet he flies off the handle at every little thing, making it impossible for whatever unsuspecting girl he’s lured into his clutches to have any kind of normal, healthy relationship with him.

After a few minutes, we pull up in front of a little white house that looks exactly like the kind of house I thought we’d be staying in when I found out we were going to the Cape for the summer. It’s one-story, and kind of old-looking, but tidy, with a small front yard and a couple of pretty flower bushes on either side of the front door.

I don’t wait for Lucas to say anything before I open my door and step out of the car.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls after me as I start marching up the front path.