Bottom Feeder Page 13

  “Humor me.”

  Dixon blows out a puff of air. “I dropped her off in Madison Square around one a.m.—I can’t be too precise because it seems rehearsed—because she was meeting some guy there. She made me leave before he showed up.”

  I have to make sure the story he is telling is the truth. Dixon knows nothing about what’s happening or who I am meeting. “Whatever you do, DJ, do not wait on me. Go home, go to sleep, and I will see you later today. You have to promise.”

  “Maddy,” his voice breaks, “what is this about?”

  “I need you to promise me one more thing.” Before he can protest, I continue, “For the next few days after I’m gone, promise to be extra careful everywhere you go. Check your truck, Matt’s car, and your parents’ cars. Don’t go out alone, especially after dark. Be extra cautious of everything you do.”

  He bangs the steering wheel. “I’m sick of these monsters.”

  “Promise. Me.”

  “I promise.”

  I make sure he is out of sight before making my way across Bull Street, down East Macon, sticking to the shadows and tree lines. I begin jogging at Drayton Street to work off some of the adrenaline coursing through my body. At the eastern edge of Lafayette Square I slink down against the backside of the three-tiered fountain.

  I cannot sit still. My legs fidget, my arms twitch, and my hands want to hit something. Hard. I stand. Pace. Jog in place. Pace. Check my watch. 1:17. Jog in place. Finally, at 1:22, the Lincoln pulls to the corner of Abecorn and East Harris. I step out from the shadows and run to the back. The car speeds off before I shut the door.

  “You’re late,” I say irritably. “Didn’t you say there’s no room for error?”

  A guy in the front seat turns around. “You got it?” he asks. I roll my eyes at the cliché of all this and hand over the drive. He pushes a new flash drive in my hand, along with a tiny plastic device, and another flash drive stored in a metal casing.

  “The plastic piece is a bug,” he says. “Remove the backing and stick the device on the underside of a lamp, phone, or picture.”

  “The other drive?”

  “It’s a keystroke logger,” the driver says. “Use another port to download the software, remove the drive and you’re finished. We will handle the rest.”

  Agent Mace places a tablet in my lap. The screen shows a satellite view of Daddy’s warehouse. He points to a section of the building next to a line of oak trees covered in Spanish moss. “We will drop you off on the other side of these trees,” he says. “They will provide cover for your entry here.” The Agent points to the bottom center of the building. “Stay low. When you are within fifteen feet of the window, crawl the rest of the way on your belly.”

  He points out sections where the cameras cover outside. “You will have exactly one minute to break the window— ”

  “Waitwaitwait. Break the window? They’re going to hear that. He’s going to know, Suit! He’s going to know someone broke in.”

  “I hate when you call me that.”

  “Yeah? Well I hate when you send me on a task that screams, ‘Look at me, I’m breaking in your fucking warehouse!’”

  Oh. I’ve never dropped an f-bomb before. Huh. It felt pretty good.

  That’s irrelevant, Carrington! They’re sending you on a mission that can get you killed and no one would know. Stay calm and get your crap together. Now is not the time to weenie out. Go in, download, and get out. If you die, Dixon, Violet and probably Jackson will die, too. Pull up your big girl panties and woman-up!

  I hate whatever part of my brain these logical—or illogical—pep talks derive from.

  “The alarms will be turned off during the sixty seconds, but afterwards will be on again. You will have ninety seconds to get through the window and to the stairs here.” He taps the screen and a picture of a storage room pops up. “You know where to go?”

  I nod. Up three flights of stairs and to the right, where the hallway ends at a boardroom on the left and Daddy’s private office on the right.

  “You have until 2:12 to get up there, Madelyn. That’s only two minutes to get from the bottom of the stairs and inside Cordell’s office. The security feed on that hallway only will be replayed until 2:20. That gives you enough time to get back to the stairs. You have the office key?”

  I nod again. A mixture of fear and fury rises inside me. These emotions are never good for clear thinking.

  “You’ll have precisely four minutes to download everything. After that, get out the same way you came in. You’re sure you have the password?”

  Daddy’s password is always the same. It has to do with a Thoreau quote that says something about disobedience and the foundation of freedom.

  “Will I have any way to contact you in case something goes wrong?”

  The man in the front seat turns around, “No. Don’t fuck this up.”

  “Hopkins—”

  “Wow,” I say, my anger flaring to a level usually saved for Dixon’s villains. “You wipe your lips with the same toilet paper you wipe your butt with? Because that is some foul shit coming out of your mouth.”

  Second swear word in my entire life within ten minutes. Dixon’s right. They are addictive. Oh, but my traitorous mouth doesn’t stop there.

  “If you knew how to do your job correctly, you wouldn’t need me for this,” I continue. “So how about you turn around and have a nice cup of shut the fuck up while the grownups talk.”

  Aaaaand there goes number three.

  Hopkins sulks in the front seat. The driver and Agent Mace bite back laughter. I fight the urge to throat punch all three of them.

  At the edge of the tree line, the driver hands me a small pouch. I pull out a small pen-like gadget. One end is rounded steel and the other is—

  “It’s a diamond-tipped glass cutter,” he says. “The pane in the window isn’t very thick, so you will break it with that. Cut a single line down the middle—do not go back over that line or the glass will shatter. After you cut, flip the cutter over and tap the glass with the rounded end gently.”

  “Won’t it shatter anyway?”

  The driver shakes his head. “If you tap one side of the glass gently, it will fall slowly. Catch it and you will be fine. Place the glass on the outside of the window so, at first glance, it appears as if someone on the inside made the cut.”

  I tie the pouch to my belt loops, set my watch with the agents’, put on my gloves, and sprint into the woods with nothing but a tiny flashlight guiding my way. My feet make little noise as I slow my sprint to an easy jog. Time is limited, but I can’t afford mistakes. I scrape my arms against the oaks a few times and run directly into a spider web. I suddenly become a Kung Fu Master as I work to get the web out of my face. I don’t have time to feel sorry for the loss of the spider’s home. Enough valuable time was lost in the process of removing said home from my mouth without saying, “Ew ew ew” over and over again.

  I’m only in the woods for a few minutes, but it seems like hours later when Daddy’s warehouse finally comes into sight. I adjust the baseball cap and beads of sweat slide down my neck. Deep breath. I run as fast as I can to the window while pulling out the glass cutter.

  Not exactly my smartest moment, but there it is.

  I slip on a patch of dewy grass and instead of crawling like Agent Mace instructed, I slide on my knees the rest of the way to the window. My fingers are clumsy inside the gloves as I attempt to slice through the glass. I check my watch. 46 seconds left. I flip the cutter to the rounded side and tap the window until it finally begins to break in half with a smooth edge. Instead of following the driver’s directions, I pull off my gloves and push on the glass until it separates more. 34 seconds left. I take an extra few seconds to wipe my prints off the glass and place it beside the window. The left piece slides out easily.

  I peek my head inside to check out what I’m jumping into. It’s empty. No tables, no tools, no dust. If I have to hide, I’m screwed.

  I lower
my body feet first inside the room. My feet land on the glossy cement floor and I freeze. I feel like I’ve been here before. Weird.

  I don’t have time to contemplate this déjà vu. I creep along the north wall and make it up three flights of stairs without an issue. I panic when I find the third floor door locked. Why would separate locks be on the inside and outside of a door?

  No worries, Carrington. You can do this. Think. Think. Think.

  I pull out the glass cutter and slice around the edges of the blacked-out glass. I lightly push the top corner of the glass and catch it before it falls. I stand as far on my tiptoes as I can manage, thankful for all those years of ballet but cursing my short, t-rex arms. My time limit is up by now, but there’s no turning back. I’m in this. I step into the empty hallway.

  The glass fits haphazardly back inside the cutout. Hopefully security doesn’t decide to do a walkthrough.

  Daddy’s office is simple with only a large half-circle desk and leather chair. No photos, no lamp, no chairs for anyone else to sit. A painting of the Tybee Island Lighthouse hangs on the exposed brick behind his desk. It is the only decoration in the room. While the computer is booting up, I stick the bug to the back of the painting’s ornate frame.

  I type civildisobedience into the password field and insert both drives. The keystroke software begins to download immediately. I locate the correct files to download on the blank flash drive and I wait. I check my watch. 2:11.

  The keystroke software finishes before the file download is complete. At 2:13, a glass shatters down the hallway.

  Crrrk “Alpha Team, this is Charlie Team. We’ve got a shattered window from a door leading into the basement on the top floor. You know anything about that?” Crrrk

  “Negative, Charlie Team. Cameras are clear, but investigate the third floor. Bravo Team, split and check the other floors. Report when you clear a room.”

  “Roger, Alpha Team.”

  Crrrk “10-4, Alpha Team. I’ll check the offices here and report back shortly.” Crrrk

  That’s when I know I am caught.

  Not yet, Carrington.

  I quickly, efficiently remove the drives and shove them in my pocket. I make my way to the window. It glides up silently. I poke my head outside and look up. Nothing. I grudgingly look down. Nothing except the overhang that protects the smokers from getting drenched in the rain. If I drop down, I will fall through or make enough noise to draw attention to myself.

  At least try, Carrington. Drop and say you tried or sit here and present yourself like a sheep going into slaughter.

  I pull myself to a sitting position on the windowsill, my legs dangle over the edge, and my hands grasp both sides of the wall inside. I notice a rain gutter to my right. Crap.

  You’ve climbed a wall and rope hundreds of times in Krav Maga. Turn yourself around, loosen your limbs, wrap them around the gutter and pray the material is industrial strength.

  This will never work. I’m too short. I’m too big. And suddenly I find myself clinging to the downspout of the gutter and wall at the same time. My jeans rip on the screws holding the aluminum together. Blood trickles down my leg. The downspout scrapes and groans beneath my weight. I continue sliding down inch-by painstaking-inch.

  Voices shout above me. Blood pounds behind my ears. The voices become louder. I unclench my legs slightly and begin sliding faster. Without further warning the downspout separates from the top gutter, then the wall. The metal overhang breaks my fall. Pain barely registers before I hear the crrk of the walkie talkies.

  “Alpha Team, this is Charlie Team. We’ve got a suspect on the overhang beneath Cordell’s office. I repeat, suspect on the overhang beneath Cordell’s office. All black clothes, black baseball cap.” Crrrk

  Remembering the way Jackson showed me the landing when he jumps out of airplanes, I jump the short distance from the overhang, loosening my body while tucking my knees to my chest. I hit the pavement hard and roll until I can’t roll anymore. Ignoring the pain and running on pure adrenaline, I sprint into the woods, zigzagging until I reach the west end of the tree line and no longer hear voices chasing after me.

  I stick to the shadows of the trees and slow to a jog. The adrenaline is wearing off quickly. My body hurts in every place imaginable. I check my watch. 2:32.

  I hear a car coming up the street behind me. Immediately I drop and roll to refuge in the oak trees. The car creeps along the pavement with the lights off. My body tells me to run, but I know better.

  Keep breathing. No sudden movements.

  The front and back passenger window rolls down. Agent Mace and Hopkins stick their head out the window. Dogs bark from somewhere in the woods.

  Dear God, they’ve got dogs chasing me.

  “I don’t see her, Boss,” Hopkins says. “Whose bright idea was it to have her do this, anyway? She’s not trained for this shit.”

  “My bright idea,” Agent Mace says. “I’m going to have to call backup.”

  “You can’t do that. It will ruin everything we’ve gathered on Carrington.”

  The snarls and growls from the dogs are closer. Too close for my comfort.

  I jump from my position in the trees and run to the car.

  “Door!” I whisper-yell.

  Agent Mace looks startled, but opens his door. I dive inside the car, face first, and slide across the Agent’s lap. “Drive!” I yell. “They’ve got dogs chasing me!”

  The driver nods and pulls away slowly, so not to squeal tires. Once he gets a good momentum going, he bumps the car up to eighty until we reach I-16 where he pushes to 100.

  I tell the agents everything. “Drop me on Algers Avenue,” I say. I’m sure Daddy’s been notified of the break-in so I need to be where I’m supposed to be.

  “Do you think anyone saw your face?” Hopkins asks.

  I shrug. I’m too tired to think about it.

  The car doesn’t come to a complete stop before I am out the door without so much as a Talk to you soon. I knock on Dixon’s window and climb inside. He doesn’t ask questions as I quickly strip down and make my way to the bathroom. I shower, dry my hair and dress in the pajamas I wore when I left home last night.

  I stuff my burglar ensemble in a black garbage bag.

  “Where are you going?” Dixon asks.

  “Be back in two minutes.” I slip on my flip flops and climb out his window. I run behind the backyard fences until I reach a house undergoing renovation. I climb the side of a large construction dumpster and toss the bag inside. I reach down and lift random debris to cover the trash bag. I jog back to Dixon’s house and make sure all the windows and doors are secure before sprawling out on the floor in his bedroom.

  “You’ll tell me someday?” Dixon asks.

  “Someday.”

  Jackson

  “Street ball,” Lamont replies when I ask what he wants to do for my last morning in Georgia. Mama is working on the finishing touches for a large wedding. I offered to help but she has forbidden me to work on the last day of my vacation.

  I load the Civic with my duffel bag and drive to Lamont’s hotel.

  “So what happened with Janelle?” I ask as we walk to the outdoor courts. Since Mrs. Brenner’s house is the central hub of gossip, I overheard her talking with Lamont’s grandmother about his date with Janelle.

  “So what’s going on with Maddy?” he counters and snatches the basketball from my hand.

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

  “Chris went to see her yesterday.” Lamont checks the ball and brings it in. “First to twenty-one.”

  “Why?”

  “Miss Carrington secretly gave up valedictorian so it would land in his lap.” He dribbles in and out through his left leg, then repeats through his right and goes for the layup. “He went to thank her and pledge his undying love or some shit.”

  I check the ball and run to the opposite end of the court. Lamont tries to slap the ball away. I dribble low to get him looking below the waist, where
my hands and feet are moving. I round the ball behind my back and toss it over his head. In a moment of confusion, he looks up and I make my way around him to sink one in the basket. These moves are illegal in regular basketball. There are no rules in our game.

  “One-One!” I announce, a smug smile on my face.

  Lamont takes the ball out and checks it off my face; the only downside to the No Rules rule.

  “I’m a sore loser,” he answers to my middle finger salute. “Feel lucky you got that played-out move around me.”

  I lose track of how long we play. The score was lost at one-one. By the time I bounce the ball off his head—again—Lamont calls game.

  “I think I like Janelle.”

  I laugh. “You think?”

  “She and I mostly talked.” Lamont spins the basketball on each finger distractedly. “She asked a lot of questions about where I deployed this time.” He tosses the ball to me. “I couldn’t make her understand that I was under confidential orders. I guess people are just curious, you know?”

  I make a non-committal noise. Sometimes people are too curious.

  “The last mission messed me up, J. We did good stuff there, helped a lot of people. Shit, we hurt a lot of people, too. Not all innocent, but they were still people.” We walk back into the air conditioning of the hotel. “We played God daily. We determined who lived and died. I don’t know if I want that kind of responsibility. It boils down to self-preservation.”

  While my experience only involved a few gunfights and bomb diffusions, Lamont was in the middle of battle almost daily. I can only begin to imagine what his mind is like these days.

  “Like this right here.” He leans against the wall of the elevator. “I have to force myself to be in closed-in spaces, to try and prove that I’m not crazy. I get these dreams where I can’t move, see or hear. These psychs . . .” The door opens to his floor. Lamont waits until we are in his room to continue. “They don’t tell me anything except that I’ve got PTSD. Shit, why don’t they tell me something I don’t already know?”

  “They aren’t there to fix you,” I say, remembering Maddy’s words a few nights ago. “They can’t take away the nightmares or what happened. The psychs are there to help us learn to fix ourselves.”