Joyride (22 page)

They creep along, and Arden slowly unzips the backpack and eases the cans out of it. He crouches down by the trunk and ties the string connecting all the cans to the exhaust pipe. Motioning for Carly to get in position in the woods behind him, he fixates his thumb on the go button of the air horn.

And presses hard.

In the moonlight, he sees the silhouette of Deputy Pardue jump to life in the front seat. Arden takes off for the woods behind him. “Carly?” he whispers.

“Over here,” she returns. She's just a few feet away. They squat in the light brush, watching their prey. The engine to the patrol car roars to life. Arden can hardly contain himself. A deep laugh swells up inside him.

“Be ready,” he says. “It will be fast.”

And it is. Deputy Pardue puts the car in gear and doesn't even get onto the highway before the sound of the cans stops him. He opens the car door, putting one leg, then both outside the vehicle. He stands, then, shining his flashlight toward the back of the car, walks toward the trunk at a steady pace.

“Go!” Arden whispers, and they both take off, Arden to the driver's side, Carly to the passenger's side. He puts the vehicle in gear before ever shutting the car door.

“Arden, you son of a bi—” he hears Pardue roar.

But they are already gone.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Carly squeals beside him. “I can't believe we just did that!”

Arden rolls down the window and shouts his adrenaline rush into the night. Feeling unstoppable, he grabs Carly's hand and gives it a big sloppy kiss. “Darlin', believe it!” He starts flipping buttons on the dash until the woods around them are illuminated with electric blue.

She snatches her hand away from him and covers her mouth with it. “Ohmigod. Pull over. We have to give it back. Now. Arden, please. I'm freaking out here.”

She really is freaking out. She's got her knees pulled tight to her chest. Back and forth she rocks, the seat belt the only things restraining her from dumping herself into the floorboard. This is the first time Carly Vega has ever looked small and frightened. He turns the lights off. “Geez, Carly, you should have told me if you had any reservations like this.”

“I did! I specifically said—”

“But you went through with it!” He runs a hand through his hair. “You always say no and then you're the first one out of the corral!” God, what has he done?

“I know! I'm so sorry. You've got to pull over. I can't do this. I can't. I have so much to risk. I should have told you sooner.”

“Told me what sooner? What have you got to risk?”

“It's my parents. They're not dead.”

“
What?
” And what does that have to do with stealing a sleeping deputy's patrol car?

“Arden, how fast are you going? You need to slow down.”

But it's too late. The blue lights are already flashing behind them.

 

Twenty-Three

The room has no windows, no creepy two-way mirrors. Just a single camera in one of the ceiling corners. A card table with a fold-up chair on each side, no cushion. It's not meant to be comfortable here. The institutional décor, the cold temperature, the hard metal chairs. It's all meant to be intimidating.

And it's doing a great job, by my standards.

They're leaving me here on purpose, to contemplate what I've done. What I've lost. What I've thrown away with two otherwise capable hands. They're leaving me here to stew in my guilt.

I knew though. Deep down. Didn't I know? Yes, of course I did. As soon as Arden proposed the idea, I knew we would get caught. In my very being, I knew. We have been too cocky. Too risky.

And this was the end-all of risky pranks.

I wonder where Arden is right now. Is he in a room like this, waiting to be interrogated? Or is he already in the comfort of his own bedroom, sitting in his tattered recliner, thinking about how close he came to juvie tonight? But that's not fair of me. I know that wherever he is, he's worrying about me.

The same way I should be worrying about him.

It's just that
he's
not trying to smuggle his parents across the border. He hasn't entrusted his blood, sweat, and almost-tears to a man who gets off on wearing a clown mask and wields a power complex like a machete. Arden will never see the inside of juvie, because of who his father is. Me? I'm a shoo-in. A shudder runs through me.

I am the stupidest person on the planet.

Just as I'm on the verge of a panic attack, the worst of all my imaginings happens: The door opens and Sheriff Dwayne Moss strides in. Slowly, he pulls out the other metal chair from the table and takes a seat. “Carly,” he says, leaning back. “Imagine my surprise at seeing you here.”

I swallow. Hard. I want to cry so badly. What do I have to prove to this man? Who cares if I cry in front of him? It's what any sane person would do. But I just can't. Not now. Not ever. “Sheriff Moss.” My voice is shaky. I've got to get a grip.

“You seem upset. Want to talk about it?”

“Nope. I want an attorney.” That's what they ask for on TV. Plus, the state trooper who arrested me mentioned something about me having the right to one.

“Nope.”

Can he do that? “I … I have the right to an attorney.” Now I'm just reciting what the state trooper told me.

“Oh, you'll get an attorney. When I'm good and ready for you to have one.”

“You can't do that.” I point up to the camera. “That thing working?”

His smile is unfiltered evil. “Unfortunately, a work order has been put in for it. About ten minutes ago.”

Rage. It sifts through my body like ravenous magma. I stifle the urge to jump across the table. After all, the camera is under repair. It would be his word against mine.

The sheriff twists his wedding ring around and around his finger, watching it like it's evidence being processed in the investigation of a murder. “Arden has always been a spontaneous person,” he says, amused. “Even when he was knee high to a grasshopper, he'd come up with the craziest of ideas and act upon them without thought to the future. I reckon you could say he's always viewed life as one big joyride.” Sheriff Moss tucks his thumbs in his pockets and studies me from across the table. “Bet you can't guess where my son is right now.”

When I say nothing, he laughs. “No? Well then, let me help you out. He's on his way home. Charges all dropped. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘high cotton,' Carly? I didn't think so. To explain it accurately, let me illustrate. Arden is high cotton. You? You're burlap. Are you reading me?”

Against my will, a tear slips down my cheek. I've never felt so helpless in my entire life. I'm at the sheriff's mercy. And the sheriff is fresh out of mercy.

“You're going to jail for a very long time, you little tripe. I'm going to personally see to it. By the time you get out, Arden will have moved on to about twenty new flavors of the week, though let's just hope he doesn't take an interest in your particular flavor again, eh?”

“You racist bastard,” I say, through clenched teeth. What have I got to lose now? He already said I'm going to jail for-basically-ever. I might as well say my peace. But before I open my mouth again, I see it. How could I have missed it before?

A scar.

On his hand.

Between his thumb and his index finger.

A scar of evil.

“You,” I say, withering on the inside. “
El Libertador
.”

Sheriff Dwayne Moss stiffens in his chair.

All of it, the whole picture, falls together in my head like a puzzle. “You're double-dipping,” I half yell. “With one hand you take our money to bring over our families, and with the other you deport them, playing the county hero.”

“Carly—”

“You might send me to jail for the rest of my life, but you? I'll make sure every reporter in the entire nation knows about what you do. Anyone who will listen. The word privacy will be a pipe dream to you. Maybe you won't spend a day in jail for what you've done, but your days preying on desperate, decent people are over, I swear it. You wait until you
decide
to let me have an attorney, you piece of—”

“If you talk, I'll have your family killed. Including Julio.” He leans across the table so quickly I think he's going to grab me. “Only you? I'll let you live. Just so you can get the full sense of suffering out of the ordeal.”

My mouth snaps shut.

“Good. Now that I have your attention, I assume your rant is over, Miss Vega?”

I nod. Chewing off my own tongue seems appropriate right now. How could I have done that? Knowing who I was dealing with? Not only the sheriff, but
El Libertador
? Who do I think I am?

“Of course, I don't want to kill your family. I'd much rather negotiate. It might surprise you, Carly, but I'm a nonviolent sort of man.”

“Naturally.” My head is spinning. Negotiate. What is there to negotiate? What do I have that he wants? He already has all of my money. Every dime. He has my family. He knows where Julio lives; he can get the address from my driver's license, even if he doesn't already know. I have nothing left to interest the man.

Then the answer pops into my head. The answer's face. The answer's lips. The answer's smile.

Arden.

My blood drains down to my feet. To the very tips of my toes.

The sheriff nods. “You'll stay away from my boy. You'll never see him again. You'll do whatever it takes to make sure he stays away from you. Break his heart, whatever. What's more, you'll never speak a word of this to anyone. Ever. In exchange, I'll pretend this never happened. Any of it. You'll walk out of here a free young lady. The charges disappear. Your family will arrive as expected. They'll never be deported again.”

He makes it all sound so simple. It's just that I'm in love with his son.

“And Julio?” I can barely whisper.

“Julio? Are you asking if Julio gets to live? I told you, I'm nonviolent—”

“Save us both time and answer me.” I feel like the life has been sucked out of my body and all that's left is a hull of something that used to float around Arden.

The sheriff seems to sense his victory. He leans back, folding his hands behind his head. “Julio will be none the wiser.”

The tears flow freely now. I don't care about this man's expectations of me. I've lost a limb. A lifeline. My heartbeat. “You have a deal.”

 

Twenty-Four

Arden paces the six-by-four-foot interrogation room two strides at a time, waiting for his father, waiting for word on Carly, waiting for anything besides this vexing silence. The only noise in the room is his own cussing, and that's toward himself.

If he had an iota of common sense, he wouldn't have pressured Carly to go. He'd already noticed that she wasn't herself; he should have taken that as a sign to back down. He should have made her talk about it, even though she can be more ill-tempered than a stump full of fire ants when pushed.

But what gets to Arden the most is that Carly has been right about him from the start. She's the one going down for this, not him. She's the one waiting minute after torturous minute to see how badly she's screwed up her life by listening to him. All he's waiting for is to find out when he'll be sent home, how long it will be before his father wipes the slate clean for him. All while Carly catches charges. Real charges that could change her life.

He presses his forehead against the cold cinder-block wall. This whole time, she's the one who shouldered all the risk. He had nothing to lose. She had everything. Her grades. Her relationship with her brother. Her two jobs that she absolutely needs. She risked it all. And he let her.

I'm such a selfish jackass
.

Arden checks his watch. It's been two long hours since they were hauled to the station. Two hours he's been separated from Carly. Two hours his father has had to break her down.

He's ready to pull his hair out when the door opens.

His father closes the door behind him wearing a grim expression.

“What did you do to her?” Arden says immediately. “If I find out—”

“Sit down, son,” his father says quietly. This is worse than screaming. This calm and controlled speech is how he used to talk about Amber after she died. “Carly is fine, for now. We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”

Arden sits. Something is off. Way off.

His dad sighs, as if the weight of the universe lies on his massive shoulders. Arden wants to strangle him, but at the same time shake him and make him talk. “I'm afraid your little girlfriend has been keeping some secrets from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't I recall her one visit to the house wherein you told me her parents were dead?”

“She was about to tell me about that. Before we got pulled over.”

“I doubt she was about to tell you all of it.”

Arden hates the self-satisfied grin on his father's face. “You don't know anything about it.”

The sheriff chuckles. “Here's what I know, son. Carly's charges don't end with your little escapade tonight. She's being charged with trying to smuggle her illegal immigrant parents over the border. Her brother, Julio? He's in on it too. They're both in a lot of trouble, Arden.”

Arden buries his face in his hands.
Oh no. This is what she was going to tell me. This is what she was risking.

And I've ruined it all for her.

“Dad, please. Don't do this.”

“Don't do what, exactly?”

“I know you can make this go away. I know you've got your connections. Make this go away for Carly.”

Slowly, the sheriff nods. “I suppose I could, couldn't I?” He leans forward, folding his hands on the table. Arden wonders if this is how he interrogates other suspects. Eerily poised, like a rattler about to strike. Do they cave?
Will I?