The Heartbreak Messenger (10 page)

And from what I could tell, that was all Justin Masterturd's fault. Not only was he a complete moron, but now he was costing me a best friend. He was really starting to annoy me.

Once Abby found out about my business venture, she practically gave Rob and I the silent treatment. I quickly realized how much harder my math and science homework were without her around. And I had plenty of time to struggle through it on my own, because it had been almost two weeks since my last messenger job. The first of the month was approaching and Mom was probably starting to freak out about where the rent money would come from.

I still heard Heartbreak Messenger talk here and there, and Marcus assured me he was working up a few more customers, but I started to wonder if that was the end of it. There were other business strategies I hadn't tried yet—approaching potential customers in the high school locker rooms, handing out fliers at football games, setting up a Web site. But for the most part my secret identity was still intact, and I wanted to hold on to that for as long as I could.

I was seriously considering putting up a few anonymous posters—just a reminder that the Heartbreak Messenger was out there—when my next client found me.

Rob and I were on our bikes heading for Lincoln Hill Park, a grassy area hidden above the neighborhoods on the west side of town. We had an assignment for our physical science class to watch the night skies. We were almost there when Rob shouted from behind me, “By the way … Marcus asked me to tell you something.”

“What?” I yelled over my shoulder.

“He said that he sent someone your way.”

I squeezed the brakes and Rob zipped past me. We were entering the parking lot next to the park, so I slid off my bike as Rob waited for me to catch up with him. “Is that all he said?” I asked.

“Yep. What is that, some sort of Messenger code or something?”

“If it is, then he forgot to give me the code book. I mean, he didn't say who, or where to meet them, or anything?”

“Nope. He did say you should get a cell phone.”

“That's helpful.”

“Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the messenger here. Speaking of that…” He gave me a sidelong glance. “You know, if you ever needed help with the Messenger thing, I'd be happy to pitch in. I've been trying to find ways to make money, but I haven't had much luck so far. When I told my mom, she gave me a bucket of walnuts she bought at the farmers' market and said she'd give me five bucks if I cracked them all. Five bucks! Can you believe it? It'll take me weeks to get through that bucket.”

We pushed our bikes toward the paved trail that headed up the hill to the park. There were a dozen other kids hanging around the trail ahead of us. An older man glared at them as he came down the trail with his dog on a leash. A group of high school football players trotted past us up the hill, their counting chant of “One-two-three-four” keeping time with their heavy footfalls. Just before we came to the trailhead, I noticed a guy leaning on a motorcycle beneath a lamppost at the far end of the parking lot.

He wore a long black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, and—even though it was already getting dark—he sported a pair of expensive sunglasses. But despite the shades, I could tell he was staring right at me. As I looked his way, he nodded in my direction. A tiny movement that made my palms sweat.

“Hey, Quentin, let's go. Most of the good spots are probably taken already.”

I barely heard Rob. This guy in the leather jacket was smooth. The way he stood, the way he moved, the way he held his head so that his hair just barely fell in front of his eyes. He was like the lone gunslinger without a past that strides into town and who everybody stares at and thinks,
He's smooth.
But I knew this guy was different. He did have a past—one he wanted to be done with.

My money-making senses were tingling: He was looking for me.

“Hey, Rob,” I said. “Did Marcus know we were coming here tonight?”

“Yeah. I asked him yesterday if he could give me a ride. He said he'd give me a ride if I gave him my room.”

“Why don't you go on without me?”

“What? Why?”

“It's nothing. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

He followed my gaze to the cool character beneath the lamppost. “Sweet bike. I've seen that motorcycle parked in the high school lot. Who is that?”

“The guy I need to talk to. I think.”

“Oh. That. Messenger stuff. Hey, let me come with you.”

“What? Why?”

Rob shrugged. “I dunno. I'm curious. What do you say, and what do they say and all that.”

“Rob, this is official business.”

“He's waiting for a seventh-grader in an empty parking lot. How official could it be?”

“My clients want their privacy. It's part of why they come to me.”

“Please? Just this once?”

I couldn't exactly tell him this kind of work required the ability to keep your mouth shut. “Not a chance, Rob. I'll catch you in a few minutes.”

Rob grabbed my arm and dropped his voice. “Hey, how do you know he's a customer? How do you know he's not just waiting for everyone to clear so he can jump you?”

“All my money is at home in my sock drawer, so he's going to be disappointed.”

“Well, maybe he's some girl's older brother, here to beat you to a bloody pulp for a message you delivered.”

“Come on, Rob, just let me go.”

“Fine.” He scowled at me and gripped his handlebars hard. “But if I hear you screaming like a little girl in a few minutes, I'm not going to come running back to save your butt. Just so you know.”

He pushed off with his bike and headed up the trail.

I turned and headed for another twenty-five bucks.

At least, I thought I was. Rob's comment about the guy being some girl's older brother had shaken me just a bit. I mean, would Marcus really have told someone that they could find me marching up the trail to Lincoln Hill Park? I took a few deep breaths.

The guy didn't move as I approached, except to turn his head for a second to spit. He was tall with wide shoulders—probably a high school senior. I stopped at what I figured was a safe distance in front of him and lowered the kickstand on my bike. I glanced behind me, hoping to find a few stragglers still passing through the parking lot. But the last person in sight was just cresting the top of the hill.

I swallowed back the nervous lump in my throat. “You looking for me?” I asked the stranger.

He smiled a tight, wicked smile. “You got quite a gig going on here, Sly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hear you're the little genius that's charging people to break up with their girlfriends.”

“I deliver messages. That's all.”

He held up his hands. “I'm cool with that, man. I'm all about good communication. But I'm a little curious, Sly. What do you do with all those tears?”

“Tears?”

“Yeah. Don't the ladies cry when you ‘communicate' with them?”

I folded my arms, thinking about Goat Girl and the cry-fest she'd had. “Yeah. Sometimes. My messages aren't exactly happy ones.”

He shook his head. “Man, you must have a heart of stone.”

That made me blink. A heart of stone? I was just the messenger.

The guy sighed. “Not me, man. Not me. I have an eye for the ladies and they have an eye for me.” He removed his sunglasses and gestured toward himself. “But really, can you blame them?”

This guy's nuts,
I thought.
But at least he's not going to mug me.
“So is there anything I can do for you? It's getting late.”

The wicked smile leaped back to his face. “Now that you mention it, I could use your help. In fact, I should tell you up front that I could become one of your best customers. You might say I kind of have relationship ADHD.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I knew I could use a “best customer.”

“At the moment I'm interested in, well, doing some house cleaning. Simplifying. Downsizing. Starting over, you could say.”

“What's her name?” I asked, reaching for my pocket. By now I carried a pen and notecards with me just about everywhere I went.

“Janine.”

“OK. Where can I find her?”

Motorcycle Guy placed his sunglasses slowly back on his face.

“Well, now, she's just the first one.”

I stopped trying to figure out how to spell Janine and looked up. “First one?”

Even behind his sunglasses he looked like a kid that just got caught with both hands in the cookie jar. “Told you … relationship ADHD. It's so hard to stay focused sometimes.”

“So … are you telling me you have more than one girlfriend you need to break up with?”

“Elizabeth … she goes by Lizzy.”

I scribbled down the name. “Okay. And where can I find these two?”

“And Bethany. Oh … can't forget Bethany. But I'm gonna try real hard.”

“Three girlfriends? At the same time?” Where did this guy think he was, the African pride lands?

“You got it, Sly. Now go free me up so I can rest awhile before setting my eyes on the next conquest.”

“I assume the girls don't know about each other.”

The guy shifted his weight off the motorcycle and leaned toward me. I resisted the urge to step back. “No they don't. And you're not going to tell 'em. Right?”

“'Course not.”

“Swear to it, Sly.”

“I swear I won't tell them.”

Motorcycle Guy stared at me from behind his glasses. “I don't believe you,” he finally said. “Swear on the Beast.”

“On the what?”

He stepped aside and gestured toward his motorcycle. “Do it.”

Since laughing out loud didn't seem advisable, I stepped forward and put my hand on the worn black leather seat of his Kawasaki. “I swear I won't tell them about one another.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. Reaching inside his leather jacket, he pulled out a small black book. He thumbed through it, found a page near the middle, and held it out in front of me. “Addresses. All three of them.”

I scribbled them down. When I'd finished, I carefully folded the paper as I thought about how to approach what came next.

“Now, since I'm going to deliver three messages, I'll need to charge you for all three. But I can give you a good discount.”

“Not so fast, Sly. I was told it'd cost me twenty-five bucks to get this done. And that's what you'll get.”

“You're asking me to track down three different girls.” I spread my hands out. “That's three times as much work.…”

As I spoke, the guy reached back into his jacket pocket. With a sudden flick, a knife was in his hand. The streetlamp above us clicked on, as if waiting for its cue. Light glinted off the exposed blade.

My heart leaped into my throat. I immediately promised to take Rob's warnings more seriously. I didn't even have to swear on the Beast for that one.

He studied the blade for a moment, as though considering its craftsmanship in the halo of yellow light. His face looked all the more threatening with the new shadows. Then he lowered the knife and started cleaning his fingernails with the tip.

“Twenty-five should do it, don't you think, Sly?”

My teeth were clenched tight with fear or anger, or both. “I don't suppose I can interest you in flowers or chocolates?”

He folded the blade and slipped it into his pocket in one smooth motion. Then he swung his leg over the motorcycle. “Nope. Just get the job done, Sly. Be sure to tell the ladies that Gunner sent you.” With a downward kick, his motorcycle roared to life. He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and tossed them at my feet. “See you 'round, Heartbreaker.” And with a second roar, he sped off into the dusk.

Right there I decided it was okay to dislike some clients.

As I picked up the money, I noticed something lying on the pavement a few feet away. Small and rectangular, his black book blended into the asphalt, like a secret desperately wanting to stay hidden. Looking around at the empty street, I reached down and grabbed the book.

The pages were crisp but full. Names—all girls—numbers, addresses, dates, and notes covered the pages. A detailed history of short-term relationships and other secret tidbits that Gunner obviously thought should stay hidden. A gold mine of information that I silently slipped into my pocket with the money. I smiled to myself.

My mind was spinning with ideas. I didn't know what I was going to do with Gunner's three girlfriends, but I was sure of one thing. No one pulls a knife on the Heartbreak Messenger, shortchanges him, and rides off on a motorcycle. No one.

 

Chapter 16

Shortly after the echo of Gunner's Kawasaki faded into the deepening night, I was tripping over seventh-graders at the top of Lincoln Hill. “Rob!” I called out over the chitchat of a dozen conversations.

“Yo, Quentin!” I heard him shout from across the field. I found him lying on his back next to Abby, which surprised me.

“Hey, Abby.”

“Hey,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the domed sky above us.

“Nice of you to stop by. I would have thought you'd bring Justin along.” I didn't use any of my usual nicknames for Bulky Sweater Man, since I'd decided to try extra hard to get on Abby's good side again.

Abby studied the ends of her hair, although she probably couldn't see much in the dark. “He said he'd meet me here. I'm sure he's on his way.”

I lay down on my back next to them, our heads close together, our legs stretching out like spokes in a bike wheel. A gentle breeze passed through the dark night air, which felt cool on my face.

“Seen anything yet?” I asked.

“Nothing but stars so far,” Abby said.

“What are we looking for again?” Rob asked.