Minders (29 page)

Like two days earlier when they’d been on the third floor of the former Petite Trianon Theater, checking out a gilded frieze that ran along the balcony. Mason had said, “So this is really your hobby? I’m not sure your job can be your hobby.”

Ford had shrugged off Mason’s comment, cantilevering himself off the side with a rope secured to the balcony railing. “I like finding things that have been lost and rescuing them.”

Mason handed him a pink tab to mark the part of the frieze they wanted to take. “Sounds like you have a guilty conscience.”

How could Mason know that
? Sadie wondered uneasily. Miranda had said the same thing, and she’d been right, but Miranda was… Miranda.

For a moment Ford’s hearing got muffled and the sound of his breathing was louder in her ears. Then everything was back to normal, and Ford said, “Why would you say that?”

“It’s been my experience that people who feel the need to rescue others generally have some guilt they’re working through.”

Bright splashes of yellow, blue, and brown made a blurry image of James and Ford and Cali grinning at a motel pool. The dots became smaller, the image more distinct, and Sadie caught the sticky feeling of humiliation, saw a bed with a pair of red and blue flowered swim trunks on the end of it. Cali, tangled in its blue comforter and obviously naked, turning to look at the door and saying in a voice a little too loud, “Ford, I thought you’d left?” Ford backing out of their motel room, not even realizing he’d dropped the milkshake he was bringing her—strawberry, her favorite—until it was dried and tacky on his hand, still staring at it when James came bounding out in his red and blue floral swim trunks and did a cannonball into the pool, the three of them laughing together like nothing ever happened.

Abruptly the image vanished into blankness and Ford was saying to Mason, “My brother wanted to rescue everyone, be a hero, and he never felt guilty about anything in his life.”

Sadie was thunderstruck. James had slept with Cali, and Ford had known about it. Knew about it.

But not consciously
. He’d repressed it, using mental alchemy to sublimate it into a single sensation: the sweet-tacky feeling of dried milkshake on his hand. The memory acted as the source text for the emotion, the sensation persisting even though—or maybe precisely because—Ford refused to acknowledge the event that caused it.

It was a thrilling discovery about how his mind worked, but also puzzling.
Why won’t you admit that James wasn’t always the great guy everyone says?
she wanted to ask him.
He’s dead. Who are you protecting from the truth?

Mason looked apologetic. “I could be wrong. Would it take some of the sting out if I said I have a lot of experience with guilt myself? Nothing like being the only survivor of a car crash on the first day of your family’s vacation to give you a pretty good dose of the GCs.”

“Guilty consciences.” Ford nodded. “That must have been—”

“Yeah.” Mason cut him off.

Ford steered back to safer topics. “Does that mean you think you’re rescuing me?” It was designed to change the subject, but it wasn’t an idle question. He tried to lighten it by adding, “Because you’re not really what I picture in my rescue fantasies.”

What
do
you picture?
Sadie asked, genuinely curious. After all the time she’d spent in his mind, she actually didn’t know the answer.

“Let’s make a deal,” Mason suggested. “I won’t try to rescue you, you don’t try to rescue me.”

“Sure,” Ford said, shaking on it. “Deal.”

Mason handed Ford another pink marking tab. “You used the past tense about your brother.”

“He’s dead. Murdered. A little more than four months ago.” Ford hoisted himself back over the railing. The blankness that followed the memory of Cali and James spread in his mind, taking on mass, becoming milky.

“That’s tough. Grieving is hard, and four months is recent. Was he a good brother?”

Without thinking, Ford said, “Everyone loved James.” Through the milky whiteness Sadie saw dots forming the image of a rope, taut now, held in a black-gloved hand. “He was perfect.” He picked up one of the toolboxes and started for the stairs.

Mason grabbed the other toolbox. “Perfect. Wow.” He said it with admiration, not contempt. “What was that like?”

The image in Ford’s mind evolved. The fingers of the black-gloved hand opened and the rope slipped away, swallowed up by the whiteness. “Great,” Ford answered. The whiteness vanished, his mind cleared, and his gaze raked the interior of the theater. “It was great.”

Sadie felt Mason’s eyes on him, but all he said was “Looks like we’ve tagged the whole building to take with us. I should probably just buy the place.”

Show-off
, Sadie thought.

“Right,” Ford snickered, stopping when he saw Mason had his phone out. “Are you serious? You can buy a building on your phone?”

Mason laughed. “No, but I can find out who owns it, what else they have, get a feeling for what they’d take for it.”

Sadie could tell Ford was impressed. He was thinking about it, about what it would be like to have that kind of money, when Mason loped toward him, holding out his phone. “Place is owned by MRP. Know anything about them?”

Mr. P
, Ford said to himself, rephrasing it slightly, and Sadie felt his pulse pick up. “I might know something. Do they own anything else?”

You’re jumping to conclusions
, Sadie cautioned him.
MRP could be someone’s initials. A development company. A real estate trust.

“They own about twenty buildings, all in City Center,” Mason reported. “Mostly derelict theaters and factories. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of MRP with holdings like that. They must keep a very low profile. I’ll forward you the list.”

The phrase “very low profile” echoed from Ford’s mind to Sadie’s. Or MRP could be the Pharmacist, she admitted. But why would an invisible criminal mastermind want a bunch of abandoned buildings?

• • •

The Old Turkish Baths were number fourteen on the list. Willy’s party was in full swing now, and several hundred people filled the main floor. Sadie heard Ford wondering if the Pharmacist might be one of them, when his eyes stopped on a beige cowboy hat in the middle of the dance floor.

Bucky
? their minds asked in unison.

Sadie felt Ford’s heart rate pick up as he navigated across the dance floor toward the hat. The crowd got denser as he got closer, and when the DJ started a new song everyone threw their hands in the air, blocking his view.

His eyes flicked back and forth over the heads of the dancers, and out of his peripheral vision Sadie caught sight of the hat alongside them.
To the left
, she shouted, and Ford turned and spotted it, almost as though he’d heard. He dove through the crowd, grabbing for it.

“Hey, what do you think—” The frosted blonde who was wearing it swung toward Ford, indignant. Her outraged expression softened when she saw who it was. “Mr. Ice!” Kansas squealed, leaning close to give him a kiss on the lips that turned a little sloppy.

You’re getting lipstick on you
, Sadie warned him.
Kind of a lot, and not really your color.

When he finally pulled himself free he said, “Hi, Kansas. Nice hat.”

“Thanks.” She giggled. “Willy gave it to me. It’s a little big, but that just means I have to make my hair bigger.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” She winked at him. “But don’t ask me to take anything else off. Willy’ll get jealous.” She flipped the hat off in one neat move and handed it to Ford.

Sadie wondered if she’d practiced that.

He peered inside, and Sadie held her breath. After less than four seconds Sadie heard him think that it definitely wasn’t Bucky’s, but she had no idea why and could tell he didn’t either. It was just a gut instinct. Disappointed, he handed the hat back to Kansas and ducked away before she could kiss him again.

You could be wrong, Sadie pointed out. The gut is not the most reliable organ for thinking.

Grabbing a handful of napkins, he made a beeline for the first mirror he spotted to wipe Kansas’s lipstick off his face. Four napkins and five minutes later he was checking to make sure he’d gotten it all when Sadie heard him ask himself why. There was no girl whose feelings he had to worry about. If he came home with lipstick all over him it wouldn’t matter.

His eyes shifted to the reflection of the crowd behind him, everyone laughing and dancing. Maybe he should just go. If he left now he’d be home in time to watch the fireworks on the roof with Lulu.
If
he could convince her to go up there. With Copernicus.

You are not going to spend the fourth of July with your dog
, Sadie heard him reprimand himself.
Have some self-respect. You are going to stay at this party and have a good time.

You forgot to say “or else,”
Sadie told him.

He stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, turned slightly to one side, and said aloud, “You are Mr. Irresistible,” so sarcastically that Sadie almost choked laughing. He did it again on the other side, sounding more bored than sarcastic. The third time he started with his chin lowered to his chest and raised his face slowly to meet his own eyes, saying in a cheesy television announcer voice, “You are Mr. Irresistib—”

The words died. Sadie’s breath caught. All of a sudden she wasn’t watching him look at himself, she was looking at him.
Really
looking at him, their eyes meeting, hers and his.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but it happened. She felt it, felt him. Felt his gaze holding hers. Felt him look at her, into her. Felt him see her the way she’d longed to be seen without knowing it, with intensity and interest and surprise, as if he’d found something he’d been seeking for a long time. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and her body lit up with the thrill of their connection.

Not bad
, she heard him think. Before she could agree his hand came up to rub the shadow of stubble he’d let grow on his chin and he said aloud, serious now, “Pretty irresistible.”

Sadie’s cheeks burned with mortification. He hadn’t been looking at her or through her or for her. He’d been looking at himself. Smiling at himself.
Of course
. She shook herself. How could she have been so stupid? God, she was embarrassing. At least he would never find out, since they would never meet.

There was some comfort in that. In knowing they would never see each other across a crowded room, at a party, at the mall. Never bump into one another and have a moment of recognition, never have a casual conversation, share a coffee, accidentally let their knees brush. She would never turn at a movie and see him laughing in the seat next to hers, never watch his lids lower so his lashes touched his cheek in the moment just before a kiss. Never be seen by him at all.

She swallowed back a knot in her throat.
Yes, that’s a real relief.
He ate Meatballz for dinner and liked to punch walls and cheated at poker—at least she assumed he cheated, because she still couldn’t figure out how he’d guessed all those hands her first day with him. She wouldn’t even know what to say to him if they met.

“Hey, Ice,” Willy’s voice bellowed, and turning from the mirror—
finally
—Ford saw him beckoning from a bar set up at the edge of the dance floor. “Get over here. You look thirsty.”

When Ford joined him Willy gestured with a bottle of beer over the heads of his guests. “Isn’t this something?”

“It sure is,” Ford agreed. “How did you find this place?”

“Linc put me onto it,” Willy said. He signaled the bartender for two beers, then leaned against the bar and faced Ford, his expression serious. “Heard about your dustup the other night. Don’t worry, he’s not coming, parties aren’t really his thing anymore.” The bartender set the beers in front of Willy, and he pushed one toward Ford. “But you might want to keep out of his way. Don’t know what you did, but he’s a little loony about it.”

“I just—”

Willy put up his hands. “Don’t know and don’t
want
to know.”

“Got it,” Ford said, taking a sip of beer. It was cold and tasted good to Sadie. “What happened to him? He used to want to be a priest.”

Willy took a swig of beer. “Way I see it, there’s two parts to being a priest. Part where you save souls. And part where you give out punishment.” His eyebrows went up suggestively. “Who’s to say which part appeals most to Linc?”

Sadie watched Ford’s mind flip through images of Linc from childhood. Linc breaking up a fight between strangers at a dance, Linc persuading James not to steal the principal’s car. Sadie heard him thinking that none of it went with what Willy was saying, but neither did the angry guy who’d sworn to kill him. Ford shook his head. “I don’t understand why you all do it.”

“Do what?” Willy was looking out at his guests.

“Work for him. For the Pharmacist.”

Everything about Willy changed. He pulled himself up to his full height and turned to face Ford. He would have looked terrifying if his eyes hadn’t seemed so afraid. “Don’t say that name,” he whispered, his gaze darting left and right.

“Why don’t you and Linc go against him? The two of you, with all your friends, could overthrow him.”

“Takes a lot of trust, what you’re saying, Little Ice. The right incentive can make a man do strange things.”

“But you’ve been friends forever. You must trust Linc.”

“Your brother did,” Willy said with a sad smile. “James trusted Linc. Told him what he was planning. Trusted Bucky too.”

Sadie felt Ford’s heart skip a beat. “What are you saying?”

Willy looked at him hard. “Only that old friends are one thing, survival is another. You do what you got to in order to take care of what you love.”

Ford said, “I think the Pharmacist killed James.”

Willy cleared his throat. “This is no kind of talk for a party, Little Ice.”

“You’re right,” Ford agreed, and Sadie heard him thinking that if Willy knew more he’d tell him. “Did you propose to Kansas yet?” he asked.