The Conviction (5 page)

“Give me back—”

The man’s hand shot out, grabbed a bunch of Jake’s shirt beneath his chin, and spun him. The next thing Jake knew he was being shoved toward the door, the man gripping him by the collar, the way someone lifts a cat off the ground. Caught unaware, Jake’s feet shuffled forward before he had time to dig in his heels.

“Get your hands off me. Let go of me. I’m going to sue you for assault and battery.”

Jake grabbed the doorframe, used it for leverage, and spun behind the man. He brought his arms up and under the man’s armpits, locking his fingers behind the man’s head. It wasn’t easy, because the man was tall, but Jake had perfected the wrestling move over three years and it caught the man completely off guard. “T.J., get my license!”

T.J. stood stunned.

“T.J.!”

The man reached back, grabbed Jake’s wrist, and bent suddenly forward at the waist. Jake felt his feet lift from the ground, his body going heels over head. He landed on his back on the boardwalk. The next thing he knew he was tumbling into the street. He got to his feet in time to see T.J. running from the store.

“You come back and I’ll call the police and have your ass put in jail,” the cashier said. Then he turned and walked back inside.

T.J. stood on the boardwalk, mouth agape. “Nice going,” Jake growled. He started down the street, T.J. jogging to catch up. Jake wheeled on him. “I told you to get candy. You get one candy bar? Don’t you know anything? Are you that stupid?”

“I didn’t know you were going to do that.”

“You don’t get
one
thing. You get a bunch of stuff so the guy doesn’t pay attention to the beer. He just wants the money. You made it too obvious.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Now I lost my license. Do you know what it cost me to get that? And I have to spend the entire night with you without anything to drink or smoke.” He imitated T.J.’s voice, an octave higher. “I know. Maybe we can grab our fishing poles and pretend there are fish in the creek, or look for footprints where Joe Blow Bad Guy once stepped.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t get my license back.” Jake walked faster. “Just shut up. Don’t talk to me. It’s bad enough I have to spend the night with you.”

T.J. startled awake. The silhouette stood in the frame of the open door, a shadow backlit by the light of the moon. He nearly screamed, thinking it the cashier, or maybe the police, but the shadow did not walk into the room. It walked out, closing the door. When T.J. looked to his left he saw Jake’s empty bed.

He threw off the covers, slipped his feet inside his high-top tennis shoes, leaving the laces untied, and grabbed his fleece. By the time he pulled open the door Jake had reached the end of the parking lot, a shadow turning left, toward town. T.J. looked for the key to the room, but it was not on the dresser where he had put it that night. He left the door open a crack and stepped down onto the porch. His shoes crunched the gravel despite his attempts to step lightly. At the edge of the parking lot he paused and looked around the corner. Jake continued toward town, twenty yards ahead. T.J. contemplated going back, waking his father and David, but that would get Jake in trouble, and Jake already hated him. When they returned from the store he’d spent the rest of the night lying on his bed with his earphones on, eyes closed. T.J. tried to talk to him, but Jake had shut him out. He
finally gave up and pulled out the paperback he’d brought, reading with the television on.

T.J. kept enough distance so Jake wouldn’t hear his footsteps. At one point Jake turned and looked back down the road, but T.J. slipped into the shadows of the trees and tall grass, waiting until Jake walked on.

The streets of Truluck had gone to bed, the town blanketed by a night sky overflowing with stars. Jake stopped outside the general store and T.J. moved behind one of the posts holding up a wooden awning over Candy’s Ice Cream & Treats, watching. Jake looked around before pulling something from his pocket, holding it by his side as he walked up the steps onto the boardwalk. T.J. crept closer, squatting. Whatever Jake had in his hand, he used it to smash one of the windowpanes in the door. The glass crunched and clinked as it hit the wood boardwalk, the sound carrying. T.J. looked about but the streets remained deserted. Jake reached through the hole, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He’d come back to get his license.

T.J. ran farther down the street to the alley between the pharmacy and the general store, fear making him sick. He again considered going back to the lodge but instead crept up the wooden steps onto the boardwalk and looked inside the storefront window but did not see Jake at the cash register. When he pulled back he noticed the sticker in the lower corner, the kind people put in their windows or on a sign staked in the lawn to let robbers know their home is protected by a security system. The realization came at the same time he saw the headlights of the car moving swiftly down Main Street.

Silent alarm.

He contemplated running. Instead, he went inside the store. “Jake? Jake?”

Jake materialized out of the darkness, holding a six-pack of beer and a bottle of vodka. “What are you doing here?”

“The police are outside; this place has a silent alarm.”

Jake moved to the window, looking out into the street. “Let’s go.” He hurried down a narrow hall at the back of the store into
a room with a desk squeezed amid stocked shelves and an old-fashioned sink with exposed pipes running along brick walls. Jake pulled open the back door but hesitated when something else caught his attention.

“What are you doing?”

Jake shoved the vodka bottle and six-pack against T.J.’s chest. He had no alternative but to take them or have them crash to the floor. Floorboards creaked inside the store. A light swept across the darkness at the end of the hall.

Jake returned, holding a rifle and a box of shells.

T.J.’s knees weakened.

Jake smiled. “Come on, we’ll have some fun.”

“No, Jake, put it back.”

“Don’t be such a pussy.”

Footsteps approached. The beam of light crept farther down the hall. When T.J. turned back Jake had already fled out the door into the alley.

They ran into the foothills, high stepping through waist-tall brown grass and scrub. T.J.’s ankles turned on the uneven ground and his chest burned, but panic spurred him on, following until Jake stopped in a grove of oak trees with bent and gnarled limbs. The moon shone through the gaps in the branches in strips of light. Jake fell back against a trunk, chest heaving, gasping for air. He looked at T.J. and started to laugh. “Damn, that was fun.”

T.J. thought he must be crazy. “Fun? How was that fun?”

Jake pushed away from the tree, threw out his arms, making a cross in the blue light, the rifle still in hand, and screamed. “Ahhhh!”

T.J. felt his heart leap into his throat. “What is wrong with you? They’re going to hear you!”

“Relax,” he said. “No one is coming.” He set the gun against the trunk and walked to where T.J. stood, relieving him of the beer and vodka. Up until that moment, T.J. had forgotten he still carried it. Jake tossed a can to T.J. and sat in the grass. He nearly dropped it.

“I don’t want one.”

Jake popped the top on a second can, beer foam spraying, and
covered the opening with his mouth, drinking in gulps. He sat back wiping the foam dripping from his chin with the sleeve of his jacket. “Just drink it,” he said. “We earned it.”

T.J. didn’t open the beer. “You shouldn’t have done it, Jake. You shouldn’t have broken in.”

“He shouldn’t have taken my license.”

T.J. paced. “We should go back.”

“We’ll be gone before they figure it out. You heard your dad. We’re leaving at the crack of dawn.”

“What about the police officer?”

“That? That wasn’t a cop. It was a rent-a-cop, a security guard with a flashlight. They can’t do anything.”

T.J. looked about. “I don’t know, Jake.”

“Just drink it. One beer isn’t going to kill you.”

“You broke into that store. You stole this stuff.”

Jake reached into his pocket and produced his license. “But I got this back.” He took another drink. “Look, it’s not like I stole money.”

“You stole a gun.”

“He deserved it for taking my license.” He lay back in the grass. The crickets chirped and the insects buzzed. “Peace and quiet,” he said. “I sure do like camping.”

“We should go back.”

“Just drink your beer.” Jake got up and took the can, popping it open, and handing it back. He held out his own can until T.J. tapped it. “Thanks for not running off and leaving me. I owe you.”

It was the first decent thing Jake had said to him all day. T.J. nodded and took a sip.

Jake frowned. “Not like that. Drink it like a man.” He put his can to his mouth and tilted it up, throwing back his head, drinking until beer trickled down his chin onto his shirt. When he had finished he crushed the can in his hand and belched loud and long.

T.J. raised the can to his mouth and Jake put his hand on the bottom, tilting it up as T.J. drank. “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Not able to keep up with the flow of beer, T.J. began to cough and sputter, choking. He pulled back, beer frothing down his chin.

Jake laughed. “Damn, you really are a rookie. I am going to have to teach you some things on this trip.”

He untwisted the top of the vodka bottle, took two gulps, and grimaced. “Wow, this is rotgut shit.” He handed the bottle to T.J.

Not wanting to be called a pussy again, T.J. took a sip. The vodka felt like sandpaper sliding down his throat.

“Drink the beer now. It will help.”

T.J. did as instructed.

“Now take another drink.” When T.J. hesitated Jake said, “Might as well. We can’t bring it back to the room with us.”

T.J. drank vodka and chugged beer. Jake popped open two more beers and handed him one. They got to talking, Jake telling him how school sucked big time and how he’d had a girlfriend, but he dumped her because she was too needy. T.J. didn’t have a lot to say but he listened and tried not to say anything to make Jake call him a pussy again. Before T.J. knew it, he had crushed his third can. The vodka bottle was nearly empty.

His legs felt unsteady and the trees kept shifting. “I’m dizzy,” he said.

Jake laughed. “You’re buzzed, dude.”

“I feel sick.”

“No, man, you’re just buzzed.”

“You’re blurry.”

Jake stumbled, laughing so hard he fell into the grass. “Wasted, man. You are totally wasted. Isn’t this more fun than sitting in the damn room?”

“Hell, yeah,” T.J. said, his outlook brightening.

“You know what’s even more fun?” Jake held up the rifle and got to his feet. “Shooting targets.”

“You’ve done it?”

“Lots of times. My uncle Charlie takes me to the driving range.”

T.J. laughed in a burst.

“What?”

“You said driving range.”

“I did?” Jake laughed and patted him on the back. “You’re all right, you know. I thought you were a dork, but you’re all right.”

“Thanks—”

“For a pussy!” Jake shoved him in the back. “Come on.”

He led them higher up into the foothills where the oak trees and scrub became more dense. He stopped in a small clearing. “Look at that!”

“What is it?”

They walked closer. It was the frame of an abandoned car, rusted and riddled with bullet holes. It had no tires or glass, the headlights like hollow eye sockets on a skull.

“Target practice!” Jake said. He turned and paced, counting to ten. “Okay,” he said. “Me first. Then you. Then me.” He leveled the gun, put the stock against his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. The kick caused the barrel to jump, the shot echoing like a canon blast.

“Damn, I think I missed.” He handed T.J. the gun.

T.J. mimicked Jake’s movements but when he pulled the trigger nothing happened.

“You have to cock it, like in the movies. Cock the handle.” T.J. cocked the handle of the rifle and snapped it back. “Try it now,” Jake said.

T.J. took aim, pulled the trigger. The gun kicked so hard it flew from his hands and landed in the grass, but a metallic ping rang out.

“I hit it,” he said, turning to Jake. “Jake, I hit it.”

But Jake was not looking at the car or at T.J. He was looking straight ahead, slowly raising his hands.

FIVE

M
ULE
D
EER
L
ODGE
T
RULUCK
, C
ALIFORNIA

S
loane awoke to the sound of running water, Molia in the shower. Molia said he wanted to get an early start, and he wasn’t kidding. Judging by the light outside the curtained window, it was just after dawn. Sloane swung his legs over the side of the bed and gave his body a moment to wake. The cool air brought goose bumps to his bare skin but helped revive him. He hadn’t slept much, and in those brief periods when he had drifted off, sleep had been more fitful than sound. If he was having trouble waking, he could only imagine how difficult it would be getting Jake out of bed. He’d need a crane. T.J., on the other hand, was likely up, showered, and packed, anxious to get going.

Sloane had checked on the boys after they returned from the general store, but whatever spark had lit Jake earlier in the evening had extinguished. He returned surly as ever, and T.J. also did not seem happy. When Sloane asked what candy they had bought Jake muttered, “The store was closed.”

Sloane padded barefoot across the room and out onto the porch. The temperature was brisk. When he knocked on the door to room 7 it popped free from the jamb, confirming his suspicion that T.J. was up and eager to set out. “Jake? T.J.?” Even in the dark, with the shades pulled over the windows, he could see the two empty and unmade beds. He flipped the light switch. The two candle sconces above each bed flickered on. Two backpacks remained against the wall. He checked the bathroom and also found it empty. Exiting the
room, he walked to the end of the covered porch and looked down to the bank of the creek but did not see either boy.

Reentering his room, Sloane found Tom Molia in his shorts, using a towel to dry his hair.