I could see a softening between the two. It wasn’t much. Softening might be too strong a word. Thawing might be more accurate. But it was there.
“But the thing is, my dad is pretty bad with computers. He just bought some package online—he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. So I figured out what was going on and then I found his codes, and, well, now he sees what I want him to see, if you catch my drift. Not that I have anything to hide anyway. That’s the thing. I don’t, but—okay, never mind.” Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, the point is, even though Ashley deleted her history, I was able to see what she’d done on the computer.”
“And?” I said.
“She got this e-mail earlier today.”
Rachel handed me a printout. It was short and sweet:
Ash—
I’m in big trouble. He thinks I hid you. You know how he gets. You know what he can do. Please, Ash. Please come back and help me.
And then, on the bottom, I saw who had sent the e-mail:
Candy
“So,” Rachel said, “the question is, who is Candy?”
“I know,” I said, feeling the fear return. I didn’t see any other option. I had wanted more than anything to stay away from that awful place, and yet somehow I knew that it would end there. Even if it meant going up against Buddy Ray and his big bodyguard again. Even if it meant going up against Antoine LeMaire. Even if it meant facing the White Death.
I could see Bat Lady, who was somehow connected with my father, somehow connected with the Abeona Shelter, mouthing the words to me: Save Ashley.
My father had spent his life working for the Abeona Shelter. Now maybe I understood what his real job was. I didn’t believe in fate or destiny. I didn’t even believe in a calling or a purpose. How had Rachel put it?
“It just felt like the right thing to do.”
It was that simple and yet that deep. It was an obligation. Even if I wanted to turn away, I couldn’t.
I had to save Ashley.
Chapter 22
RACHEL AND EMA had been in the same schools for nearly a decade and had never spoken. One was the beautiful cheerleader. The other was the picked-on outcast. And I, Mickey Bolitar, had finally found a way to unite them.
How?
By saying the following: “I need to do this alone.”
Rachel and Ema stood side by side, arms folded across their chests.
“Oh no,” Ema said, “you’re not leaving us behind.”
“We’re going too,” Rachel said.
“And don’t tell us it isn’t safe,” Ema added.
Rachel: “If it’s not safe for us, it’s not safe for you.”
Ema: “Right, so don’t give us your sexist nonsense.”
Rachel: “Exactly. We aren’t girls who need protecting from a big, strong man.”
There may have been more—I confess that I started tuning them out—but I had no chance anyway. Surrender, I could see, was inevitable, so why delay it?
“So what’s the plan?” Ema asked.
I checked my watch. It was nine P.M. “I don’t know. I guess we head down to the Plan B Go-Go Lounge and see if we can find Candy or Ashley.”
Rachel said, “They’ll recognize you.”
She had a point. “Okay, let’s brainstorm a little and see what we come up with.”
My cell phone rang again. I looked down and saw it was Uncle Myron. I answered with a tentative “Hello?”
“It’s getting late,” Myron said. “Did you tell Rachel the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“She’s sitting right here. Do you want me to hand her the phone?”
“No need. I found her address online. My partner Esperanza is with me. We’re on our way to pick you up and get the car.”
My eyes widened. Ema and Rachel saw it and moved closer. I tilted the phone so they could hear. “Not now,” I said. “We’re doing our history project.”
“You two are in the same history class?” Myron asked.
“Yes.”
“So that would make you both sophomores,” Myron said, and I thought I heard a little something smug in his voice. “Rachel would know that. Why would she think a sophomore was old enough to drive?”
He was on to me.
“Hold on a second, Myron, I got another call coming in.” I put him on hold and started for the door.
“What gives?” Rachel said.
“Hurry, he’ll be here soon, and he’ll take away the car. We need to go now.”
We all sprinted for the Ford Taurus. I got in the driver’s seat. Rachel and Ema both hesitated, not sure where to sit, but Rachel quickly broke that deadlock. She opened the front passenger door and said, “You sit here, Ema.”
Ema did as she was told. Rachel closed the door and hopped into the back.
I pulled out of the long drive and headed to the left. By now Myron had hung up and tried to call me several more times. I didn’t pick it up. Rachel looked behind her and said, “Does your uncle drive a Ford Taurus too?”
“Yes.”
“Uh-oh, he’s pulling up to the gate.”
I stepped on the gas pedal, made a quick left, then a right, working my way through the town streets until I was sure that we weren’t being followed. Then I took the main artery down to Newark.
Twenty minutes later—after a long debate with Rachel and Ema that I clearly lost—I found a parking space across the street and down the block from the Plan B Go-Go Lounge. From here, I had a pretty good view of the front door, but that didn’t appease me.
“I don’t like this,” I said.
“It’s the only way,” Rachel said. “You know that.”
“We’ll be fine,” Ema added.
I shook my head. Rachel and Ema had hammered home the obvious: I couldn’t go into the club again. They had seen my face. I had even injured Derrick the bouncer, who, thank goodness, was not currently working the door. Rachel had come up with a simple plan: she and Ema would go in, pretending to be looking for work. That would give them a chance to get inside and look around and hopefully spot either Ashley or, based on my description, Candy.
“I could wear a disguise,” I said. “I could get in that way.”
Rachel and Ema snickered at that.
“Like what?” Rachel asked. “A fake mustache? A blond wig? And suppose they ask for ID and see your old face?”
I had no reply.
“We’ve been over this,” Ema added.