First to die, p.14
First to Die, page 14
The lights in the windows at 12290 Harrison were dark. Most of the other windows on the block glowed blue by television light. Mollie grabbed the flashlight from her glove compartment. She rang the doorbell, but she didn’t expect Gina Jellico to answer. She cupped her eyes and tried to peer in through the windows, but it was too dark, and she could make out only vague, indistinct shapes. She was afraid shining the flashlight through the window might attract too much attention. They walked around the house and tried the back door. It, too, was locked.
“Hang on,” Johnny said, reaching for the plastic card in his wallet.
“What about this?” Mollie said, pointing to a sticker on the door that read: PREMISES PROTECTED BY SILENT ALARM SYSTEM.
“Right,” Johnny said. “It’s silent because it doesn’t exist.”
“Well hang on. I don’t want to break in unless we have to,” she said, leading Johnny around to the front of the house. She lifted the doormat, looking for a key. She looked under a rock in the garden, a potted plant, and finally reached into the mailbox, where she found a note:
Dear Postman:
Please forward all mail for Gina Jellico c/o Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Jellico, 2975 Colton Rd, San Jose CA 91875, until further notice. Thank you.
“Looks like she’s gone, too,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, but where?” Mollie said. She saw two garbage cans in the driveway, next to the garage. She lifted the lid to one of them and found a twelve-pack of beer, along with a second note saying: Ray—Thanks for all the help. This will be the last load for a while. Gina. “It looks like she was on a first-name basis with her garbage man, anyway. You wanna help?”
“Naw, I’m not thirsty,” Johnny said.
“Not help drink the beer. Help look through the garbage.”
“We’re going to look through her trash?” Johnny said. “That’s degrading.”
“Would it be biodegrading if she recycled?” Mollie said. “Dig in.” She tipped over the trash container, first howling loudly like a cat just in case the neighbors wondered what was going on. Inside a trash bag they found two empty cans of Slim-fast and a dozen grapefruit halves, as well as a Frederick’s of Hollywood box with an invoice that included the catalog number and price for a bathing suit. “She’s going somewhere warm,” Mollie said. “And she was dieting to fit into her new suit.”
“Maybe she’s meeting Nick in Tahiti,” Johnny said. “Wouldn’t that be a dream come true? Shine the flashlight in here.”
“Oh, gross,” Mollie said, sticking out her tongue. Johnny held open a smaller white plastic bag, the kind used for bathroom wastebaskets. In it were fingernail clippings and hair clippings, black, the color of Nick’s hair, some hairs long and straight, others short and wiry. There was also a bottle of peroxide and another of hair dye, blond.
“He’s shaved his mustache and dyed his hair blond,” Johnny said.
“Check this out,” Mollie said, reaching in. She held between her fingers a small lock of hair, bound with a rubber band—Nick’s silly little ponytail.
“Eeeyooo,” Johnny said. “I can’t believe you touched it.”
“Look.” She held in her fingers a small color photograph, perfectly square, two inches on each side.
“Is that from a photo booth?” Johnny asked.
“It’s for a passport,” Mollie said. “When they take your picture, they give you two versions, and you pick which one goes in your passport.”
“Hand me the flashlight,” Johnny said, shining it into the bag. “I think I just figured out where they’re going, too.” He extracted from the bag a brochure featuring spots of interest and places to stay, compliments of the Tourism Board of Hong Kong.
“Let’s roll,” Mollie said.
It was ten when they reached San Francisco International Airport. They parked in the central garage and walked to the International Terminal. The atrium was crowded with passengers waiting in line for tickets, rushing to catch flights, and a lot of people who simply looked lost. Mollie found a Pan Am ticket agent who was closing his window and asked him which airlines flew to Hong Kong. As far as he knew, there were four: Northwest, British Air, Air Singapore, and JAL.
“Where is everybody?” Mollie said. “We’ll never be able to cover all four airlines without the others.”
“Don’t have a cow, man,” Johnny said. “Help’s coming up.”
“Don’t quote Bart Simpson at me,” Mollie said. “You sound like my little brother.”
Johnny picked up a white courtesy phone. A moment later the airport paging system asked that all Mall Rats report to the Pan American desk in the International Terminal. Mollie ran to check the airlines’ schedules. The last Air Singapore flight had already departed. The next JAL flight wasn’t scheduled for another three hours. That left only a 9:45 Northwest flight and a 9:52 British Air flight. Back at the Pan Am desk, Mollie was relieved to see Roberta, Meredith, and Sherman standing with Johnny.
“What’s going on?” Roberta asked. “I couldn’t reach Jaime.”
“Nick’s blowing town,” Mollie said. “He faked his own suicide, and now he’s getting away, and he’s taking his girlfriend with him. They have tickets for Hong Kong. Somebody should go to pier D, gate 16A—that’s the Northwest flight.”
“We’ll do it,” Meredith said. “Come on, Roberta and Sherman.”
“Johnny and I will go to gate twenty-eight—that’s British Air,” Mollie said. “Nick’s probably on one of those two flights. Oh yeah, he shaved his mustache and has blond hair. Sherman, you remember what Gina Jellico looks like? He’ll be with her.”
“How do we get beyond the metal detectors without boarding passes?” Meredith asked. Johnny ducked across the luggage scale and rummaged in the unoccupied Pan Am desk, ducking back with a handful of folders.
“Boarding passes all around,” he said, handing them out and writing numbers on them with a green felt-tip pen.
“I hate to be a stickler for detail,” Sherman said, “but what is it we’re supposed to do if we see him?”
“Good question,” Mollie said, thinking hard. “How about this—if we see him, we tell him we’ve got his computer records—that they survived the earthquake. Tell him we’ll go to the police.”
“No, tell him we’ll sell them back to him,” Johnny said.
“Excellent,” Mollie said. “That should hold him.”
“I can improve on that,” Roberta said. “Wait here.” She crossed to a gift shop, tucked between a candy shop and a barbershop. When she returned, she had a package under her arm, the words FOR THE BUSINESS TRAVELER printed on the bag. She took out two floppy disks and gave one to Mollie.
“If he doesn’t believe us, show him that we have proof.”
“Everybody turn around!” Mollie said suddenly.
“What? Is it Nick?” Sherman asked.
“No,” Mollie said, peeking over her shoulder. “They don’t see us.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Jorge and Gabriel,” she said.
“I see them,” Johnny said.
“Which guys?”
“The two by the escalators, tall blue shirt, short white shirt.”
“What do we do?”
“If they have guns, we do nothing,” Mollie said.
“Wait here,” Johnny said. “I’ll go lead them away.”
“Johnny, no!” Mollie said. “I’ve got another idea.”
Mollie, keeping her back turned, sidled over and picked up the courtesy phone. She returned a second later.
“What did you say?”
“Hang on,” she said. “Okay, there’s one by the Northwest counter and another by the men’s room. And a woman next to the coffee shop.”
“Airport security,” Johnny said.
“I see three uniformed cops coming,” Roberta said. “What did you say?” They watched as the uniformed police officers, assisted by the plain-clothes airport security personnel, surrounded the two Mexicans. After a brief scuffle, they had Gabriel in handcuffs, and found, after frisking him, a pistol strapped to his ankle. Jorge put up no resistance.
“I said there were two guys making jokes about bombing the airport, and that I was pretty sure one of them had a gun,” Mollie said. A crowd had gathered. “Come on—now’s our chance.”
They split up, passing individually through the metal detectors and proceeding quickly down the concourse toward pier D. Mollie felt tempted to break into a trot, but held herself back. She and Johnny made a wide circle around gate 16A. About two-thirds of the travelers were Asian, Hong Kong businessmen returning home. No Nick Keverian, though Johnny suggested that if Nick were going to try to get on a flight incognito, he’d probably wait until the very last minute. They took up positions at gate 28, leaning against the wall where they could watch passengers entering or leaving the jetway.
“Maybe we should split up,” she told Johnny.
“I’ll wait on the other side,” Johnny said.
“If you see him, give me a signal.”
“I’ll pick my nose,” Johnny said.
“You can do what you want,” Mollie said. “I’m going to give a great big yawn.”
“Hey, Mollie?”
“Yes?”
“I was sorry Detective Bob Dylan interrupted us when he did,” Johnny said. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”
“Yeah, well,” Mollie said, “it doesn’t take a genius to see that in this crazy mixed-up world the problems of two little people don’t amount to a hill of beans. That’s a line from Casablanca.”
“I know,” Johnny said. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
Mollie’s eye shifted from one traveler to the next, again mainly Asian people at this gate, an Australian family, two young men in military uniforms, and three nuns, one of whom, Mollie observed, was reading a detective thriller.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen.” A flight attendant made a robotically cheerful announcement. “Flight two eighty-seven for Hong Kong is now ready to begin preboarding passengers—any elderly, handicapped passengers, passengers with small children, or anyone else needing extra time are now free to board.”
As the crowd milled past her, Mollie craned to make sure she didn’t miss anybody. Johnny had left his position by the wall and stood opposite her on the other side of the stream of people. Passengers in rows sixteen to thirty-two were told to board, but still no sign of Nick or Gina. Mollie wondered how Roberta, Meredith, and Sherman were doing. Rows one through fifteen were called, the number of remaining passengers now only a trickle, the nuns, an elderly couple, a pair of businessmen carrying heavy briefcases, a hippie boy and a hippie girl wearing backpacks. Johnny shook his head. Mollie checked behind her one more time, but then heard Johnny cough. He was looking toward the check-in counter. He placed his finger to the side of his nose, gesturing to his left.
Waiting for a last-minute seat assignment was an odd-looking couple, a woman with a scarf around her head and sunglasses on, and a man who, if Mollie hadn’t known better, didn’t look anything like Nick. He’d more than just cut his hair—he’d shaved the top of his head and dyed the rest blond. He wore a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses and gripped a carry-on bag in his right hand. The closer Mollie got, the surer she was that Nick hadn’t shaved his head after all. There was no razor stubble. He must have been wearing a toupee before and had simply removed it. Nick and Gina were heading for the jetway when Mollie stepped in front of them.
“Hi, Fred; hi, Ginger,” she said. “Flying down to Rio?”
Nick froze in his tracks for a moment, then threw his carry-on bag at Mollie and bolted. Johnny tried to grab him, but Nick was too slippery. The bag hit Mollie square in the gut, knocking her momentarily off balance. She recovered and took off after Nick, who was running now, full speed back down the concourse toward the main terminal.
Johnny was right behind him, but Nick was fast. Mollie remembered from his yearbook that Nick had been on the track team. They flew past redcaps, bewildered passengers, everybody but the cop Mollie hoped they’d run into, past gate twenty-six, gate twenty-four, gate twenty-two, Mollie dashing as fast as her legs would carry her.
Far ahead she saw a policeman. Nick must have seen him, too, because he suddenly turned right through a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Mollie and Johnny flew down a flight of stairs and through a double door, which opened onto a large freight area. They glimpsed Nick racing between forklifts and cargo pallets stacked with boxes. Mollie stumbled on a cable, then took up the chase, around carts loaded with luggage, long moving conveyor belts, squat airport tractors, and out onto the tarmac.
Workers in blue or orange coveralls were yelling at them to stop. Nick ducked under the nose of a Boeing 747, hopped a thick hose, and turned left again, back into the building. Johnny made up the distance on him now with Mollie not far behind. Nick bashed through a pair of swinging double doors and entered a warehouse full of boxes and crates, turning left, then right, zigzagging through the containers. In an open area Johnny leapt forward, flying through the air to tackle Nick around the knees. Nick went down but broke free of Johnny’s grasp, stumbled to his feet, and grabbed a packing knife that he found atop a crate.
“Look out!” Mollie cried out. The two struggled fiercely. Johnny grabbed Nick by the wrist, but Nick broke free and held the knife to Johnny’s throat. Johnny was suddenly still.
“Nobody move,” Nick shouted. “I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I will if I have to.”
“We don’t want anybody to get hurt either,” Mollie said. “Just put down the knife and we can talk this over.”
“Who are you?” Nick demanded. “What do you want?” Everyone gasped for breath.
“Who are we?” Mollie said, panting, a sense of insult rising in her. “You don’t recognize us? We worked for you, Nick. You left us to die, trapped in a hole in the ground for three days. Does that start to ring a bell?” Nick squinted at Mollie.
“I can’t see in these old glasses,” he said. “Is that you, Fox?”
“It’s me, Mollie,” she said. “Let Johnny go.”
“What do you want?” Nick said, not releasing his grip on the knife or on Johnny. Mollie took the floppy disk out of her pocket.
“It’s not what I want. It’s what you want.”
“What’s that?”
“What do you think it is, Nick?” Mollie said. “I was feeding your stupid fish when the earthquake struck. I don’t know why, but for some reason I had the presence of mind to think it was important to save the computer files. The rest of the room was destroyed, but we saved these.” Johnny winked at her. “And we know what’s on them.”
“You saved my fish?” Nick said. “How are they?”
“They were all right,” Johnny said. “They needed a little salt is all.”
“Hey, you know, I was worried about you kids down there. I really was,” Nick said. “I was working with the police to help with the rescue.”
“Sure you were, Nick,” Mollie said. “I guess we didn’t need your help after all, though, did we? Now you need our help.”
“How?” Nick said.
“If you let Johnny go, I’ll tell you,” Mollie said. “We’re not going to turn you in to the police, Nick. Not unless you refuse to cooperate with us.” Nick looked suspicious. He let Johnny go. Johnny rubbed his neck.
“All right,” Nick said. “What’s your price?”
“You can pay us what you owe us,” Mollie said, holding the floppy disk up over her head. “There are twelve of these, containing all the names of all the people you suckered into buying your phony insurance. You give us what you owe us, and we’ll give you the disks. You don’t, and we’ll give them to the police. I’m sure there’s enough evidence here to send you to prison for the rest of my adolescence, if not yours.”
“And what is it I’m supposed to owe you?” Nick asked.
“Two thousand a week,” Mollie said. “That’s what you said we could earn. There were seven of us, and we each worked two weeks. Let’s round it off to thirty thousand dollars.”
“What makes you think I can get my hands on that kind of money?” Nick protested.
“You were leaving the country, and from the looks of it, you weren’t planning on coming back anytime soon. You must have some cash stashed away somewhere. Meet us with the money tomorrow night at midnight in the high-school parking lot. Come alone or the deal is off.”
Nick dusted himself off. He threw the knife down, straightened his tie, and scowled at Mollie.
“I knew you were a smart kid when I hired you,” he said. “Let’s just hope you’re not too smart for your own good. You got a deal, but if you’re lying to me about anything, anything—you’re dead.”
“See you tomorrow night, Nick,” Mollie said. “‘Do your job and we’ll all be happy campers.’ That’s what you say, isn’t it, Nick?”
When Nick was gone, Johnny gave Mollie a hug and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks for saving my neck,” he said, staring into her eyes.
“That makes us even,” Mollie said.
“Tomorrow night at midnight?” Johnny said. “What happens then?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Mollie said. “I should know that, shouldn’t I? We need some sort of plan I guess.”
“Great,” Johnny said. “Another Mollie Fox plan to look forward to.”
“I’ll think of something,” she said. “We’ll think of something. I hope. No, we will. Really.”
“The best-laid plans of mice and men …,” Johnny began.
“Did you say mice?” Mollie said. “That gives me an idea. Let’s find the others.”
CHAPTER 17
“The Truth Line is temporarily closed tonight, because all the monitors are busy. If you need to talk to somebody, try your friends or your parents. We will be back in operation soon, and a new number will be posted at school. Thanks. This is a stupid recording.”
It was 12:03 when Mollie saw the headlights, a drab gray Ford Taurus Nick must have rented at the airport. It was odd to see him driving such a plain car, but rewarding somehow. As he got out, Mollie saw Gina Jellico sitting in the passenger seat.
