Jack: Secret Vengeance Page 10

  “Well, hooray for me,” Jack said dryly.

  “You’ll get over it. In the meantime…” He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a card. “If you’re ever in New York and you need anything—if you’re tired or poor or homeless or just yearning to breathe free—you call that number.” He patted Jack’s cheek. “You got a friend in the big city, kid.”

  He tucked the card into the breast pocket of Jack’s shirt, waved, then headed for the door.

  Jack pulled out the card and noticed a ten-dollar bill with it.

  “Hey, you forgot your comics.”

  “Comics, shmomics,” he said without turning. “I hate comics. That’s for your trouble. Tell Uncle Jake I said hello.”

  And then he was out the door and gone.

  Jack looked at the card.

  ABRAHAM GROSSMAN

  ISHER SPORTING GOODS

  Level the playing field with our high-caliber gear

  He tucked it in his pocket. He couldn’t imagine any circumstances that would cause him to call this Grossman fellow, but you never knew.

  FRIDAY

  1

  As usual, Jack approached through the trees. On his last two early morning trips he’d seen no signs of life on the school grounds, but you never knew. Some couple may have parked in a dark corner of the lot to make out.

  He walked his bike to the treeline and scanned the grounds. Nope. Just as empty as ev—

  “Stop right there.”

  Jack froze at the whispered words. Oh no! Toliver?

  He turned and saw a tall, lean figure detach itself from the shadow of a nearby tree trunk.

  “It’s me—Levi.”

  Jack released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “What are you—?”

  “Shhh,” Levi said, pointing.

  Jack followed his point to a gleam in the shadows along the western edge of the parking lot. The glow from the solitary streetlight on the road at the other end was reflecting off something metallic. Jack squinted through the dark and made out the lines of a car.

  And just then, behind it, a match or a lighter flared in the front seat of another car.

  Two cars in the dark.

  “Who are they?” Jack whispered.

  “Don’t know. They was parked when I got here. Wanna go see?”

  Jack had a pretty good idea who it was. But … he turned to Levi. He couldn’t see his mismatched eyes and that was okay. He found them distracting.

  “Why are you here?”

  Levi shrugged. “Don’t sleep much. How ’bout you?”

  Good question, one for which Jack had no answer.

  “Um, returning a library book.”

  “Heh. Right. Let’s get a closer look at who thinks they’s hidin’.”

  Jack leaned his bike against a nearby trunk, then followed Levi as he circled around through the trees. They managed to creep within a hundred feet of the cars. When he recognized the Mustang GLX, he stopped. No need to get closer. He knew who was in that one, and could guess why.

  He felt tension tighten his shoulder muscles as he realized what would have happened had Levi not stopped him. Beaten silly.

  He should have expected something like this—should have put himself in Toliver’s shoes and asked himself what he’d do in his situation. He’d have done just what Toliver was doing: staked out the school to catch whoever was sneaking in to get at his locker.

  Jack was about to retreat when someone got out of the second car—it looked like a Honda hatchback—and walked up to the Mustang. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Hey, Cars, this is gettin’ old, man. How long we gonna hang out here?”

  Toliver’s voice replied, “Till the son of a bitch shows up.”

  “Maybe he ain’t coming. Maybe he saw you don’t have a combination lock now so he’s called it quits.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You stopped him, man. Let’s get home.”

  “Another fifteen minutes,” Toliver said. “He doesn’t show by then, we call it a night. Deal?”

  Jack heard palms slap.

  “Deal.”

  Fifteen minutes? Jack thought. I can hang another fifteen. He signaled Levi to retreat.

  “So tell me,” Levi whispered when they reached Jack’s bike. “How’d you get Toliver’s combinations?”

  Oh, jeez. He knows.

  Jack could see no course but to play dumb.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I been watching you. I seen you open that window and seen you goin’ in and out of it at night.”

  So … it hadn’t been his imagination. Someone had been watching. Jack’s gut twisted. Damn. This was bad.

  “You tell anyone?”

  “Nobody else’s business. But you tell me: How about his lock combinations. You read his mind? You got a talent?”

  Talent? What was he talking about?

  “I don’t know a single thing about his combinations.” Which was true.

  “Then what? You just look at a lock and open it? Can you do that?”

  This had to be the weirdest conversation.

  “No. Can you?”

  That seemed to bring Levi up short. He paused, then started to move off.

  “Okay. I’m gone. You do what you gotta do. Don’t worry ’bout me sayin’ nothin’.”

  “Nothing to say anything about.”

  “Sure.”

  “Um … why’d you stop me before?”

  Levi stopped and turned. “Don’t rightly know. You don’t seem like a bad guy, and I guess I ain’t got no love for a rich uppity sort like Carson Toliver, ’specially one that Saree says is all dark inside.”

  “Yeah. She told me that too. What’s it mean?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “It’s her talent. She sees people in colors.”

  “But she says she can’t see me.”

  “Yeah, I know. Right strange, that.”

  Strange? How about out-the-wazoo weird?

  “Yesterday I saw her touch Toliver’s locker and act like she was burned, even though she said it was cold.”

  “Well, if she can touch something that’s real near and dear to someone, she can see all sorts of colors.”

  “But she didn’t mention a color, she said ‘cold.’”

  Jack saw him shake his head in the shadows. “Never heard her say anything like that before. I’ll have to ask her. See you tomorrow.”

  He merged with the shadows and was gone from view. One strange guy. Worst of all, he knew. Jack didn’t want anyone to have even a clue that he was involved. Lucky for Jack that Levi was a piney and they kept pretty much to themselves.

  He turned back to the parking lot. He hoped he didn’t fall asleep waiting. Man, he was tired.

  2

  Not a single mention of Weezy on the bus this morning. Which was good, because Eddie wasn’t wearing his headphones. Like everyone else aboard, he was talking about what, if anything, Carson Toliver would find in his locker this morning. Stevie Ray Vaughn couldn’t compete with that.

  Jack allowed himself a single pat on the back: mission accomplished.

  Well, partly accomplished.

  He’d succeeded in shifting the focus of talk away from Weezy, but Carson Toliver hadn’t paid enough for what he’d done to her—for laying his filthy hands on her, and for compounding that by spreading lies about her.

  Not nearly enough.

  Jack wasn’t sure where to go from here, but maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He’d yet to see how this morning’s drama at the locker would play out.

  Carson Toliver versus the Mystery Marauder.

  The mystery part was important. Crucial. Jack ached to tell someone what he’d been up to. He and Toliver were the two most talked-about people in school right now. Everyone wanted to know who the mysterious prankster was, and why he’d chosen Carson Toliver.

  The why was another thing that had to be kept se
cret. Any connection to Weezy would turn attention back to her and her connection to Toliver, undoing what Jack had accomplished thus far.

  Zip the lips, he told himself. And keep them zipped. And pray Levi Coffin did the same.

  3

  The boys’ room usually had a fairly steady stream of traffic first thing in the morning, but today it was virtually deserted. He had a pretty good idea why. He relocked the window—maybe for the last time—and hurried to the senior locker area.

  He found what seemed like half the school there, all clustered around Toliver’s locker. Jack wasn’t tall enough to see over, and couldn’t get close enough for a clear view.

  Then Toliver showed up behind him, passing nearby as he elbowed his way through the crowd.

  “Coming through!” he cried with authority. “Move it, people! Coming through!”

  People moved aside, because there’d be no show without Toliver. Jack leaped into the void in his wake, staying as close as he could without touching him, and managed to make it almost to the front.

  Yesterday Toliver had quoted the old proverb, Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Jack wanted to ask who got shamed after you were fooled a third time.

  Toliver stopped before his locker and turned to the crowd. “Don’t you people have anything better to do?”

  Almost as one the crowd roared “NO!” and then broke into laughter. Even Toliver laughed a little. Using the same flourish as with his combination yesterday, he produced the keys to the lock.

  “Somehow some wiseass stole the combination to my last two locks, but that’s not gonna happen this time.” He waved the keys. “No combination, and I’ve got the only keys.”

  But I have shims, Jack thought as the crowd cheered. He’d brought along the lock-pick kit last night, in case the shim failed, but hadn’t needed it.

  Toliver added, “So whoever you are, up yours.”

  Another cheer went up, then faded as he turned and inserted the key into the bottom of the lock. He gave it a twist, popped the shackle, and removed it from the latch.

  Like a magician waving a prop, he turned and held up the lock, then he reached for the door handle.

  Jack chewed the inside of his cheek. Now the moment of truth.

  After watching Toliver and his friends leave earlier this morning, and waiting a few minutes to be sure they didn’t sneak back, he’d made his way to the locker with the marbles packed in a cardboard box. He’d set the box on the floor of the locker and tilted it forward by wedging one of Toliver’s sneakers under its back end. Then he’d cut a wide flap in the box’s front panel. Holding it closed, he shut the door against it. The weight of a hundred marbles lay behind the flap. The only thing holding it closed was the locker door. When that opened, the flap would drop and … marble avalanche.

  Or so Jack hoped.

  Even if it didn’t open, Jack could still claim victory, because he’d gotten past the new lock. Toliver had been invaded again. He’d know it, and so would everybody else.

  That was part A. The success of part B depended on the success of part A, but was otherwise out of his hands; he’d need a little cooperation from Toliver for that.

  He watched Toliver grasp the door handle and, just for a heartbeat … hesitate.

  Yes! Jack thought. You’ve got a new lock, you’ve got the only key. You should feel you’ve got everything under control, but still you’ve got this nagging doubt.

  Toliver yanked open the door and a multicolored cascade clattered from his locker, bouncing and rolling in all directions. He leaped back in surprise and landed on some of the marbles.

  His soles rolled … his feet kicked … his arms windmilled … he looked like he was trying some sort of spaz break-dance move …

  And then he went down, smack on his butt, making part B a complete success.

  The crowd burst into laughter. Even Jack had to smile at how ridiculous he looked as he tried to get up and slipped again. Only by grabbing his locker door did he prevent another fall.

  The crowd roared louder.

  And that was when Toliver lost it. Really lost it.

  His face was already crimson, but now he looked like Bruce Banner about to go Hulk. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he bent and picked up handfuls of marbles and began hurling them at the crowd.

  “You think it’s funny? Having a good laugh, you sons of bitches?”

  The crowd flinched and ducked as the marbles peppered them. A good many turned and began moving away. One kid thought it was funny and kept laughing. Toliver grabbed him and shoved him against the lockers.

  “What’s so funny? What are you laughing at? You know something about this? Huh? Huh?”

  The kid was small and Toliver kept slamming him against the lockers.

  Suddenly Mr. Kressy appeared and yanked him back.

  “Cool it!”

  Toliver cocked a fist and for a second Jack was afraid the Toliver temper would overcome sanity and he’d take a swing.

  “Don’t even dream about it,” Mr. Kressy said, staring him down.

  Toliver lowered his arm and backed off a step.

  Mr. Kressy looked around, then down at the marbles scattered on the floor. The kid Toliver had been manhandling scooted off.

  “What is going on here? Are these yours?”

  Toliver shook his head. “No way.”

  Shaking his head, Mr. Kressy strode away, saying, “I’ll call a custodian.”

  The remainder of the crowd began breaking up, a lot of the kids looking at Toliver strangely, and giving him a wide berth, like they would a dangerous animal.

  With a roar Toliver turned and began kicking his locker again and again. Something popped out and hit the floor where it spun like a top for a few seconds, then stopped.

  A little silver ring.

  Toliver picked it up, studied it a second, then started turning in circles with that haunted look in his eyes again.

  “Who?” he shouted. “Who, damn it! Who?”

  Something else in his eyes now too: The same hunted look he’d seen in Weezy’s eyes the other night.

  Now you know how it feels, Big Shot. Like it?

  Jack eased away with the rest of the stragglers.

  He wondered at his feelings. Everything had worked out according to his best-case scenario. The marbles had poured out and Toliver had slipped on them.

  So why didn’t he feel better about it? Where was that ecstatic elation he’d felt after the first two pranks? Today had been the most successful of all, goading Toliver into showing his true ugly colors and tarnishing his phony armor. He’d tried to smear Weezy, make people look at her differently, and now it was happening to him.

  But instead of up, Jack felt sour. Maybe because this morning’s gag had turned ugly.

  “Gotta be someone from North,” he heard a guy say.

  “Yeah,” said another. “And it seems to be working. You see how he got? Man, he was like crazy.”

  “Well, it was kinda funny—doing that crazy-legs thing and falling. Just hope it doesn’t lose us the game.”

  “That happens, whoever’s behind this, man, his ass is grass.”

  “You got that right.”

  Jack stopped and let the others pass. He felt as if he’d just had a sign from above:

  Quit now.

  It was Friday. He could make the end of the week the end of Operation Toliver. That had a nice symmetry to it. Plus, it had stopped being fun.

  And if the Badgers lost the game because Toliver was too on edge to focus, it would be his fault. Well, not all his fault, but some of it could be laid at his doorstep.

  That was why no one could ever even suspect he was behind this.

  And then he spotted Levi coming his way, nodding knowingly.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said as he passed. “You got a talent. I know you do.”

  What?

  He prayed Levi would keep his mouth shut.

  4

  In civics class, Mr. Kressy had ret
urned to the subject of a first principle, asking, “Has anyone come up with a solid touchstone belief to which all your actions must answer?”

  Various principles had been put forth—including “Do unto others…” by someone who had been absent last time—but all were shot down for one reason or another.

  Jack gave it a try, going with Dad’s idea. “How about everyone has a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”

  “Absolutely!” Mr. Kressy said, snapping his suspenders. “One of the finest passages ever written! But why do we have those rights? Whence do they spring? Think: What does every human on this planet have in common?” He paused. When no one answered, he threw up his arms. “We’re all alive! We all have life!”

  “I don’t,” Matt Follette said. “Trust me, I’ve got no life.”

  As usual he got a laugh, but Mr. Kressy wasn’t amused this time.

  “This is serious. We’re getting to the crux of everything. Your life—whose is it? Yours or someone else’s?”

  A chorus of “Mine” rose but a girl somewhere behind Jack said, “Don’t our parents own us?”

  “If they own your life, that means they can do whatever they want with you. Anyone here believe that your parents have a right to kill you, or sell you into slavery?”

  The class was silent. The answer was too obvious.

  “Of course not,” he said. “You own your own life, and that fact should form the cornerstone of how you live your life.”

  “I don’t get it,” someone said. “How does that work?”

  But Jack was getting it, taking the next step, and the step after that.

  Mr. Kressy said, “If everyone owns their own life, it guarantees them liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Note that ‘pursuit’ is a very important word there—it means you can seek happiness, but it’s not guaranteed. Happiness isn’t a right, it’s something you must achieve. Owning your own life means no one can interfere with that ownership by initiating force against you. It also means the opposite: You have no right to initiate force against another. In a nutshell: You have a right to swing your fist anywhere and anytime you wish, but that right stops at someone else’s nose.”