Page 35

A car beeped outside on Central Street, the sound rattling the windows in Billy’s apartment, breaking up the silence.

Then Billy broke it again.

‘I’m sorry, we’re going to what ?’

He stared at her, sandwich clutched between his hands, open-mouthed, matching the bite mark in the bread.

‘We’re going to break into Mason Construction,’ Jet said, pulling her jacket zipper all the way to the top, one-handed. She could do it now, if Billy started it off for her, pulled the two halves together, up a few inches. ‘You really should listen the first time.’

‘I did listen, I was just giving you a chance to reconsider.’ He abandoned the sandwich.

‘I’ve considered,’ Jet said. ‘Reconsidered.’ Grunting as she stepped into her shoes again. ‘And re-reconsidered. Luke is hiding something. There’s a reason he doesn’t want me to have that list of employees; he’s not that forgetful. What’s the time now?’

Billy tapped his phone screen. ‘Nine-forty.’

‘Perfect,’ Jet said. ‘No one will be there. All ours.’

‘And what will we be looking for?’ Billy folded his arms, hugged them over his chest, wearing the same shirt Jet had borrowed last night at the bar.

‘That damn list,’ Jet hissed. ‘And the reason Luke is being so cagey about it. He didn’t know about Nell Jankowski, but there’s something going on at Mason Construction, I’m sure of it.

Why Sophia felt she had to poison my dad to make him retire sooner, stop him poking around.

She said Luke couldn’t wait. And I want to know why.

Because maybe it’s the same reason someone took a hammer to my head five days ago.

It’s all connected to the company, so that’s where we’re going. ’

She moved toward the closet, her dead arm catching on the back of the couch, making her stumble. Or maybe it was the fact that everything had doubled again, her eyes tripping over the interwoven edges, Jet trying to find her way through, somewhere down the middle.

‘You got a flashlight?’

‘Er, yeah.’ Billy pointed. ‘Should be in that closet, maybe on top of the tool kit.’

‘Duct tape?’ Jet asked, pulling the closet door open, missing the handle the first time, scrabbling to its left.

‘Why do we need duct tape?’

‘Billy.’

‘In one of those side pockets, I think.’

Jet found the flashlight resting on top, the tape just on the shelf beside. Struggled to hold them both in one hand as she avoided Mrs Finney’s eyes in the framed photo above.

‘And you’ve got the flashlight on your ph-phone.’ She nodded toward it, on the counter. The nodding unbalanced her.

‘You going to eat anything before we go?’ Billy asked. ‘The sandwich I made you?’

‘Not hungry.’ She leaned against the wall, tried to blink the world back together. Blink. Stitch it. Glue it. Hell, duct tape it. Blink.

‘Jet.’ Billy softened his voice, already cloud-soft. And what was softer than a cloud? ‘You sure you’re OK to do this? You don’t look –’

‘– I’m not dead yet,’ she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

‘No,’ Billy whispered.

‘Not quite.’ Jet forced out her old-man laugh, gruff and breathy, stopped because it hurt her head. ‘You ready?’

‘To break and enter? To commit a crime?’

‘ I’m committing the crime, Billy.’ She hooked her good arm through his. ‘You’re just the getaway driver. And the get-there driver. You’re my Emotional Support Billy.’

‘Physical support too, huh?’ he said, arm tensing, holding Jet up, taking half her weight.

‘Just for the stairs. I’ll be good in a minute.’

‘Can’t believe we’re really doing this.’ He scooped up Jet’s truck keys from the counter, and his phone.

‘Best week of your life, huh, Billy?’

‘You said it, Jet.’

The trees loomed over them, thickening the darkness, hiding the moon. They shook their leaves, some kind of ancient warning, snatches of sugary red and fiery orange in the headlights. One perfect leaf dropped onto the windshield, making Billy swerve.

‘Nervous?’ Jet said.

‘Nope,’ he answered too quickly.

They were on Hartland Hill Road, the road out of town, not quite out of it yet, and they never would be, because Dad’s offices were coming up on the left.

‘Pull up over here.’ Jet pointed through the windshield. ‘Don’t go down the drive. There’s a camera on the gate.’

Billy pulled off the road, tires scraping gravel, coming to a sudden stop in the grass, his foot clumsy on the brake.

‘Careful!’ Jet said.

‘We’ve already had this discussion.’ Billy pulled up the parking brake. ‘If I’m driving, you’re not allowed to criticize.’

‘Actually, we said I was allowed to criticize twice per trip. I got one more left.’

‘Not my fault anyway,’ Billy said. ‘Brakes are too sensitive.’

Jet gasped, placed her left hand on the dashboard, leaned forward to whisper: ‘He didn’t mean that, baby.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ Billy turned to her, across the darkness, whites of his eyes and whites of his teeth.

‘I’ll go inside, cover the cameras, turn off the security alarm.’ Jet swallowed. ‘Go find some incriminating spreadsheet or something, which explains Luke’s behavior, points right to my killer, and we solve my murder and go home and get a large beer. Easy-peasy.’

‘No problemo,’ Billy answered.

‘Keep the change, ya filthy animal.’

‘Yippee ki-yay,’ Billy said, leaving the best bit for Jet:

‘Motherfucker.’

‘OK, let’s go.’ Billy opened his door, stepped out.

‘You’re coming in?’ Jet got out. ‘I thought you were staying in the truck?’

Billy smirked. ‘And let you have all the fun?’

‘Ah, so you are having fun? It kinda suits you.’

Billy’s smile deepened, pushing out one side.

‘But wait, really.’ Jet grabbed his arm, wearing the duct tape like an oversized bracelet. ‘You know you can still get in trouble, right? I’ve got a get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s called dying. You don’t.’

Billy looked down, gently pressed Jet’s bandage, one corner that was peeling off.

‘I’m obviously coming in with you,’ he said. ‘I go where you go. Best friend shit, yeah?’

Thank fuck, because Jet really hadn’t wanted to go in alone.

Not that she was scared – no, remember, she couldn’t get scared anymore.

But it was just nice, to have a Billy again.

She grinned at him, her gut unclenching, heart spinning, both at home when Billy was right here beside her.

How had she forgotten, for so many years, this easy feeling she only had around him? Nothing to prove, and no reason to try.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll make up a handshake later.’

Billy flared his nostrils. ‘You’ve forgotten our handshake?’

‘Come on.’

Billy hesitated, glancing back at the powder-blue truck.

‘Won’t someone spot the truck, driving past? Not exactly subtle.’

Jet shrugged. ‘Nah. They’ll probably think it’s just two teenagers, screwing around, because his parents are religious and hers are light sleepers.’

‘Your mind,’ Billy muttered, shaking his head, following her down the drive.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘You can keep it, when I’m gone. Pickle it, in a jar.’

‘Jet, stop.’

She did stop, because the gate was right up ahead.

Jet grabbed a handful of Billy’s shirt, dragging him off the drive and into the tree line.

‘Camera faces this way.’ She didn’t let go of him. ‘We can sneak up behind it, cover the lens with tape.’

‘Have you done this before?’ Billy whispered.

‘What?’

‘Crimes?’

‘No,’ Jet snorted. ‘But I’ve watched TV, so …’

They walked slowly, together, skirting the thick undergrowth that lined the drive, eyes on the gate, the big white-and-blue sign that read: Mason Construction. A little boxy logo of a house, two windows and a roof.

Jet pointed out the small white camera, mounted on one of the posts.

They approached it from behind, hidden in the shadows, in its blind spot.

‘I’m too small,’ Jet said. ‘And one-armed. Can you …?’

Billy took the duct tape from her wrist, pulled a section free – hissing like a trapped wasp – and tore it off with his teeth. He reached up and around, pressing the tape over the front of the camera, adding another piece to be sure.

Jet walked over to the gate, stepped in front of the taped-up camera, and flipped it off.

She’d only said it as a joke, but maybe she really was having fun.

Billy too, joining her in front of the blind camera, raising his shirt up, flashing the pale flesh of his tight belly, even giving it a nipple.

Jet laughed, crashing into him.

Billy held her up, pointing to the keypad in the middle of the gate.

‘You know the code?’

‘Yeah.’ Jet clicked on the flashlight, pointing the beam at the metal keypad, trying to ignore that she saw two beams where there should be one.

‘I came to work here, actually, for a couple months, after I left Boston. Had to leave because Luke was too annoying about it, thought he’d start pissing in all the corners, claiming his territory. I didn’t want to be here anyway.’

She handed Billy the flashlight, freeing up her hand.

Pressed her finger to the buttons, the metal cold, stinging her skin.

‘022492,’ she said aloud as she punched it in. ‘Emily’s birthday.’

The gate buzzed, grating in her ears as it swung open, letting them through.

‘Breaking and entering,’ Billy muttered, following Jet as she turned the corner, the brick-and-metal building sitting there, waiting for them against the dark sky.

‘Just entering for now,’ Jet corrected. ‘Haven’t broken anything. Yet.’

They passed a parking lot, regimented rows of white vans with the Mason Construction logo emblazoned on the side. A small army, Woodstock’s own.

‘There’s a camera on the main entrance too.’ Jet pointed, Billy’s flashlight following her finger. ‘Careful,’ she hissed, ‘don’t let it see the light. If you hide behind the wall and reach over, you should be able to get the tape on it.’

‘Yeah, I can do that,’ Billy said, sizing it up. ‘You wait here.’

He passed the flashlight back, fingers grazing hers, and hurried over to the wall, using it as cover. He tore off a long bit of tape, dropped the roll into his pocket, and pressed his back to the wall, pausing to shoot two thumbs up at Jet.