Exposed (6 page)

“God, you mean? You're sure we're looking for the same guy?” Jake asked, barely allowing himself to believe that this man could have the information he was looking for.

“Oh, sure. God. He only comes a few times a week. Not regular at all. And never the same time twice. Likes to keep us all guessing. Playing God, you know.” At this, he broke out into a phlegmy cough that sent Jake back a few paces. “He'll be here tomorrow at six.”

“Six in the morning?” Jake confirmed. He wasn't sure how willing he was to deal with God in the park at six in the morning, even if that wasn't the most macho thing to admit.

“Yuh-huh. Then you can get your hit of invincibility,” the man said, his lips stretching across his teeth to reveal one capped gold and one rotted, stripped away to a vile shade of mottled gray. Jake shivered.

“But you know, he only deals with the top dogs,” the man continued. “No amateurs looking to score dime bags of weed,” he scoffed.

“Yeah, I know,” Jake said, trying to infuse his voice with more tough guy than he was feeling. What was wrong with him? He'd faced way worse than this with Gaia. At the very least, he could handle this freak show, who looked like he hadn't eaten in days. “So thanks, man, for the lead. I've been looking for this guy for a while. I'll be here tomorrow.”

“Sure,” the man said simply. He pursed his lips together as if deep in concentration. He leaned in toward Jake, who paused, tense.

“I AM GOD!!!” the man shouted at the top of his
lungs. Spittle sprayed across Jake's cheeks. Reflexively he pushed the man off him.

“Whatever, dude,” the man said angrily. He hooked his hands into his jeans pockets and strode off, frustrated.

Freak Show had been his best bet, his top lead, the only one who really seemed to know what Jake was talking about. But that had been before his raving-loony outburst. Now what? Did that make his claims less believable?
Big fat DUH
, Jake decided.

But he was going to have to come back tomorrow anyway. Pretend to be a “top guy” drug dealer or something. Tomorrow at six. Based on little more than the ramblings of a crazy man.

Because right now, the ramblings of a crazy man were all he had to go on.

Here
we go again.

I don't know why I'm surprised anymore. The routine is so established, I could recite it in my sleep: Get abandoned (in one form or another) by the people that I love. Try to get by on my own. Meet someone new who somehow manages to crack my overriding suspicions and worm their way into my good graces. Develop a rapport with said new person. Become vaguely dependent on said person, at least to the extent that I grow to expect him or her to be around.

GAIA
Discover that the person in question is, in one way or another, out to get me.

Good times.

Granted, I was not in top form when I met Skyler Rodke: I was reeling from the aftereffects of serving as Dr. Rodke's little science project. (Voluntarily, no less. Yeesh.) So okay, the whole “getting to know someone and slowly coming to trust them” was
a bit compromised. Clearly I wasn't using, uh, my best judgment. But still…

Just once, couldn't someone be a genuine friend?

Oh, I know there've been people in my life who haven't had an agenda or an ulterior motive. Like Sam, or Ed, or Mary. People who cared about me and, inexplicably, just wanted to be with me.

Yeah, those were the people who got shot, or killed, or otherwise hunted down in the streets.

Welcome to my life.

So here I am, stomach filled with gourmet bagels and OJ, creeping down an uptown street, flattening myself against building walls at the slightest indication that Skyler is going to turn around and spot me. I promised him I'd stay in his apartment. He didn't disbelieve me when I told him so. He's that used to me taking his orders at face value. But a perfect pattern is destined to repeat itself ad
infinitum, and like everyone else, Skyler is out to betray me.

I follow at close range—ten paces behind. My worn-in sneakers are soundless against the asphalt, my drab, peeled-from-the-floor-of-my-closet ensemble does nothing to set me apart from any other pedestrian up here—I could pass for any other nondescript student or dropout. When he turns, I turn; when he crosses the street, I cross the street; when he pauses, I duck down and hold my breath. But he doesn't know that I'm following him. Because I've gotten very, very good at this.

I've had to.

And you know what the kicker is? In the whole miserable time since my uncle betrayed my father and we relocated to the Berkshires—in the face of everything that's happened since then—I've given up any sort of expectations of having a normal life. I mean, please. I'm not a moron. I can recognize a sealed
fate when it hits me over the head. But somehow, somewhere, in the furthest recesses of my heart, I guess I really am a sucker. Because although I no longer harbor expectations of a normal life, there's still a part of me that hopes for…

No, I can't. It's too ridiculous.

But … nonetheless, there it is—I still hope for a happy ending.

I
never was much for fairy tales. Maybe it was a guy thing, but the whole “happily ever after” always struck me as seriously fake. Me? I prefer a good action movie, where the muscle-bound hero bursts through the door packing high-octane explosives, taking down any bad guy who dares to get in his way.

Happy endings are for losers.

JAKE
When I first met Gaia, I expected her to be just like all the other good-looking girls I've encountered in my life—shallow, vain, and most of all, interested in me.

I couldn't have had it more wrong. When I first met Gaia Moore, she couldn't have been less interested in me. Which, to be honest, was a little bit baffling. But also refreshing. It was nice to be the pursuer for the first time ever, nice to feel like I had to expend a little effort.

And once I got to know Gaia,
it became obvious why she couldn't be bothered to spend all day in front of the mirror, brushing her hair or putting on another coat of lip gloss or whatever it is that girls do when guys aren't around. Gaia had bigger fish to fry.

Going to Siberia with her was a major trip (no pun intended—ha ha). Whatever bad blood is between her father and her uncle, it isn't going to be healed overnight. The stakes were high over there—we weren't just playing at action heroes: we
were
action heroes. Just like when I helped Gaia to escape from that fake loony bin out in Fort Meyers, Florida.

I know Gaia hates her life sometimes, and I guess I can understand why, but I gotta tell you—to me, it's less of a burden and more of an adventure. I do care about Gaia, and sure, I wish that all of this excitement weren't at the expense of her happiness and her stability, but
even with those caveats…

It's a pretty freakin' good time.

Take this afternoon, digging around in the park, questioning all the freaks and weirdos about the great and powerful “God.” Most guys I know talk tough but wouldn't have the balls to walk up to random psychos and strike up a conversation. But I can. I've had practice. I'm coming up under the best. Gaia can say what she wants about her uncle “Loki,” but he's taken me under his wing and shown me some amazing things. He's turned me into some kind of James Bond, something bigger than any of the dorks from my old dojo could possibly appreciate.

It sucks that all of these spy games are somehow at Gaia's expense. It sucks that she feels so put upon, that she can't enjoy these experiences. I don't like to feel guilty while I dig around behind her back, damaging whatever trust may still remain between us.

It sucks, yeah. But you know what?

I'm not going to stop anytime soon.

I can hear what you're thinking. I know you probably think I'm a liar, untrustworthy, insensitive to my girlfriend's feelings, yadda, yadda, yadda. You might be right. But that doesn't change anything. Because when all is said and done, like I said—I'm having a hell of a good time these days.

And in the process I just might be saving Gaia's life.

Memo

From:
C

To:
L

Re:
J

J was spotted in Washington Square Park, inquiring about a drug supplier, code name “God.” Expressed intention to return tomorrow at 6
A.M.
to meet with God. Follow him?

Memo

From:
L

To:
C

Re:
J

J is not a threat. He is not to be harmed. However, you are encouraged to continue your surveillance. Report back promptly as new developments unfold.

which was always a good time

sticky metal bin
GAIA PRESSED HERSELF AGAINST THE wall of the dank alleyway, not daring to breathe. Given that she was cuddled up next to a Dumpster that was giving off a not-so-fresh scent, this was probably for the best. On the other side of the Dumpster, Skyler was on the phone. She had no idea who he was talking to. But he was arranging a meeting.

Up Close and Personal
She had followed him to a very sketchy back alley on 121st Street, no less, where Columbia University buildings slowly gave way to housing projects and shady-looking storefronts. Skyler had ducked off of Amsterdam Avenue, and Gaia had flattened herself against the front of the building, where there was no possible way for him to see her. She kept a sharp eye out but didn't see anyone else go into the alley, which seemed odd to her. She crept into the alley and saw that Skyler was partially obscured by the huge, smelly Dumpster. And so she had sidled on up to the opposite end of it, listening.

Then she heard Skyler speaking, and it became clear—he was making a phone call. A phone call that, for some reason, he wasn't willing to make at home.

“It's me,” she heard him say loudly. Though he
didn't identify himself by name, he made no effort to disguise his voice. For a few moments all was quiet. Gaia physically ached to hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying. More than anything, she longed to race at Skyler and pin him down, demanding to know why. Why he had suddenly become one of the many people who were out to screw her, what he had to gain, who his allies were. It was a physical reaction; she had to exert fierce concentration to prevent herself from rushing forward and giving herself away.
Why?
she thought, the blood pounding in her temples.

After what felt like hours but in reality must have been mere moments, Skyler spoke again. “I see,” he said tersely. “Aha. Okay. Well, I suppose we'll have to meet,” he said brusquely, the voice of authority. Gaia's ears perked up.
Meet?
Another opportunity for her to do some recon. Another opportunity to follow and perhaps, with any luck, uncover. This was good. This was information she could use. This was an opportunity to take an active role in defeating Skyler at his own game—before he could bring her down.

Another pause, then, “Right—Bowery and Bleecker. Northwest corner. Number 45 Bleecker, room 314.”

Corner of Bowery and Bleecker
, Gaia repeated to herself, fishing a ratty-looking pencil from the depths of her messenger bag and hastily scribbling the address on the back of a gum wrapper she'd found.
Sure, she had a photographic memory and all, but this was no time to take chances.
45. Nwst corner
.

“One-thirty. Not tomorrow. Day after. Right,” Skyler finished. Gaia dutifully jotted down the time. Her ballpoint pen cut waxy trails in the paper, but it worked. “I'll be there,” Skyler promised his mystery contact.

Gaia shivered.
So will I
, she promised silently.
So will I
.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I heard you.” He paused, listening. “Back at the apartment. I promise,” he answered to an unknown query. Then, “She has no idea.”

She has some idea, loser
, Gaia thought angrily.
And she's gonna take you down, that's for sure
. 45 Bleecker. That was easy. She'd be there. But for what? What was Skyler up to?

As if in response, he spoke again. “Later. She's at the apartment, waiting for me. But I'm gonna head to Queens for a while…. Easy, take the 1/9 down to Forty-second Street and switch over to the N/R.” Pause. “I know, I know, but I don't think I'll be able to get there faster. A cab will take too long. There's always bridge and tunnel traffic. It's no big.” He laughed shortly.
“Trust me
, she'll stay put. Yes, even if I'm gone awhile. Trust me,” he insisted, “she won't even blink.”

Gaia heard a quick beep as his phone clicked off. Thinking fast, she dropped soundlessly to her knees
and then to her stomach. As she imagined that Skyler was dropping his phone back into his jacket pocket, she slid on her stomach underneath the Dumpster. That way he wouldn't see her when he turned to leave the alleyway. Also, she could get up close and personal with the underside of the bin. Which was always a good time.

Grimly determined, she breathed through her mouth and squirmed underneath the Sticky metal bin. It was a small price to pay, she reasoned, for getting to the bottom of Skyler's bull.

That, and getting even.

GAIA STEPPED INTO SKYLER'S apartment and deposited her MetroCard—the one she'd used to jimmy his front lock open—on the kitchen counter. The front of her sweatshirt was caked with sticky Dumpster grime, and suspiciously tinted flecks of some unidentifiable substance clung to the tips of her ponytail. But at least her efforts hadn't been in vain. She knew where Skyler was—that was to say, out somewhere in Queens—and that he wasn't coming back until much later. She knew he thought that he could pretty much stay out as long as he needed to and that she'd basically be waiting for him whenever he returned.