Loving Your Lies (2 page)

But Debby disappeared even before the bobby
grabbed me again and pulled me back to the car. “This one’s
mental,” he whispered to Riley.

Bearing down on my molars until my jaw hurt,
I scowled at the two men.

The taller officer shoved me into the
backseat and slammed the door shut. My body shook as the truth of
my dire situation washed over me.

The officers climbed into the front seat. My
gaze hardened once more as Riley inched the car into London’s
traffic.

The tall one curled his lips as he looked at
me through the cage partition. “I always wonder what drives kids
like you to steal. Doesn’t the system provide you with all the
luxury you need?”

I gathered my saliva to make a good spit at
him. But that wouldn’t exactly help my situation, so I struggled to
swallow my anger along with the phlegm. He wasn’t the only one in
London who rated homeless children as lower than dirt.

“I get a kick out of riding in a police
car,” I replied, my tone dripping saccharin sweetness. “It’s always
the highlight of my week.” The steel around my wrists dug
uncomfortably into my back. I shifted a few times, ending up
propped against the door with my legs pulled to my chest and my
dirty boots resting on the worn-out beige cushions of the backseat.
The heat of early August had warmed the cabin like a sauna. In the
stuffy air, tickles of sweat rolled down the valley between my
breasts.

At a traffic light, my gaze drifted past a
bus and skated over a black woman inside. She carried a baby,
trying to cool the kid down with puffs of her breath. A sigh
escaped me. She’d never let her child down and send her off to an
orphanage to fend for itself. Her child would grow up in a cozy
home, with a loving mother, far away from the kind of mess I was
stuck in.
Always falling into a pile of crap.
I cleared my
throat to stop it from constricting.

Riley pulled up in front of a narrow,
familiar brick building. Seconds later, he opened the car door for
me. I decided my butt had grown roots as I scowled at his blotchy
face. It seemed the heat troubled him even more than me.

“What? Does the
Skillful Dodger
need
an invitation to get out of the car?”

“What? Is Mr. Donut actually referring to
Dickens?” I pulled a wry face then scooted over to climb out. “You
better read the book again, moron.”

With the damn cuffs on, getting out was a
bitch. I bumped my head against the door frame. Pain exploded in my
skull, followed by a shower of stars dancing behind my eyelids.

Just another bright spot in my crappy
day.

“That serves you right,” Riley snorted
between hiccups of laughter.

“Lord, let him choke on his giggles,” I
mumbled with my gaze raised skyward. With my wrists crossed in the
small of my back, I tugged up my hand-me-down jeans that always sat
loosely on my hips.

The taller officer marched into the
building, holding the door open like a gentleman. If only I had my
hands free to open the door on my own and then slam it in his
goddamn face.

Riley fought to keep up with my quick
stride, but I beat him to the stairs.

“Don’t worry, I can find the way myself.” I
climbed the steps to the first floor where the main office was
located. Unfortunately, I had to wait for one of the oafs to open
the door.

As Riley and his partner arrived on the
first floor, my exaggerated sigh drew their attention. One flight
of stairs had Riley gasping like a puppy.

The tall cop planted a hand on my shoulder.
“No need to hurry, lass. You’ll meet justice soon enough.”

I shrugged his hand off. “I’ve got news for
you, Riley and Riley’s partner. I’m only seventeen. That means I’m
not old enough to face legal punishment for a minor crime
like…borrowing a sweater.” I gave them a wide grin, which didn’t
come as easily as I had hoped when Miss Mulligan’s warning rang in
my ears.

“Borrow?” Riley puffed. There was amusement
in his tone, but his pissed face confirmed I would be walking out
of here. I turned my face away and exhaled, relieved.

Riley twisted the doorknob then walked into
the office first. Shoulders squared and back straight, I followed
him into the room with the high, arched ceiling. The sun shining
through the narrow but tall windows blinded my eyes for a second,
while the stench of sweat and police dogs bit my nose.

A handful of cops lingered behind wide
desks, sipping from coffee mugs and chatting to each other. No one
glanced at us, so I avoided the German shepherd sprawled out on the
floor and strode down the aisle between two straight lines of
desks, directly to the reception.

Hip against the counter, I gazed down at the
black-haired guy with designer stubble. His bright eyes stood out
against the dark blue of his uniform.

“Hi, Quinn. How you doing? Sorry, I’d shake
your hand, but I’m afraid that right now—” I twisted and raised one
shoulder, displaying my shackled wrists. “I’m slightly
indisposed.”

Quinn rubbed his hands over his suntanned
face. The moan came through muffled and somewhat choked. “Shit,
Jona! Tell me you were part of a sick party gag and now you’re here
to get trick cuffs removed.” He peeked through the slits between
his fingers.

A sheepish smile crept to my face. “You
might want to take a second guess.”

He lowered his hands and folded them on the
desk. “Why can’t you keep your butt out of trouble? Kids your age
are supposed to hang out in parks, not at police stations.”

Quinn was a nice guy. Big eyes, styled hair,
and muscular body, I guessed he was no more than ten years older
than me. Once, I asked him for his real age, but he just told me he
was ‘old enough to know better’.

Unlike my relationship with Debby, I did
consider Quinn a real friend, even though he worked for the police.
And not just because he’d made a stop at McDonald’s to buy me a
sandwich when he’d volunteered to take me back to the orphanage
after his shift. He was someone who saw me, the teenager, and not
the criminal.

During the one year we had known each other,
he had never passed on a chance to try to talk sense into my
rebellious head. And today was no different. His nostrils flared as
he heaved a hopeless sigh. “What did you do this time?”

Riley punched his fist on the countertop,
the purple sweater clenched between his chunky fingers. “
Jim
Dawkins
here went fishing at Camden Market.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jack. It’s
Jack
Dawkins. Someone should smack a copy of
Oliver Twist
over
your head.” I’d have volunteered if I had a book within reach that
was thick enough to leave a dent in his bonehead. And, of course,
if I wasn’t currently cuffed. I cast Quinn a meaningful glance.
“Why are you surrounding yourself with idiots?”

Riley started forward with fire in his eyes,
but Quinn held him back by his arm. “Thanks for bringing her in,
but I better deal with her now.”

The stout officer snarled but finally
trudged away, throwing off steam that would make Thomas the Tank
Engine proud.

Once Riley and his partner disappeared,
Quinn regarded me with wry sympathy. “You know, Abe will have your
head for this.” He paused as I gulped.

Stealing a Nintendo from
Stanton
Electronics
eleven months ago had gotten me the first chance to
see a courtroom from the inside and make the acquaintance of Judge
Abraham C. Smith. I liked to call the balding judge a special
friend, even though
a plague
had become his choice
description for me.

Minor offenses cultivated our friendship
extraordinaire
ever since. Although Miss Mulligan
continuously saved my butt, the last time I saw Abe, he had sworn
he would lock me away for the next five hundred years if I showed
up in his office again. I had half-expected steam to come out of
his ears. He’d sent me out of his office with a glare as sharp as
Superman’s laser vision. I wasn’t too keen on meeting him again
anytime soon.

Quinn stood up and placed his palm on my
shoulder. Unlike the other officer’s hand, I allowed Quinn’s to
stay. “Let’s fill out the forms, kiddo, and then we’ll call Miss
Mulligan. I can’t get off right now, so your warden needs to come
here and pick you up.”

My stomach dropped. I could picture the
freckled beanpole freaking out when she heard about me being at the
police station—again. My eighteenth birthday was only seven weeks
away. Six weeks and five days to be exact. She wouldn’t make her
threat real and turn me over to the hands of law so close to my
release from the orphanage, would she?

*

A couple of hours later, Miss Mulligan led
me through the wide double doors of the institution. My eyes were
focused on the gray linoleum floor, but the whispers and
contemptuous stares of my fellow inmates didn’t escape me.

“Go to your room,” Miss Mulligan ordered.
The effort it took for her to control her temper reflected on her
red face. “I’ll make a call to Judge Smith now and deal with you
later.”

Calling Abe? Thank Goodness, she was on my
side after all. I knew her tactics from the past. First, she called
the court and tried to reason with the officials, promising to make
up for the damage, or in this particular case the stolen sweater.
Then she’d take me to a hearing where I would show my good will and
act very, very sorry. In the end, I might get away with being
locked in my room for a couple of weeks and probably no TV.

Acceptable.

The warden came to my room on the third
floor that evening to inform me the dreaded audience with my friend
Abe was set for next Tuesday—and to tell me she would be the
happiest person in the world the day that I turned eighteen and
left the orphanage for good.

There was no reason not to believe her.

The four days between my capture and the
meeting at court I spent in my sparsely furnished room with dirty
white walls. Curled up on the worn metal cot, I stuck my nose deep
in a book, my feet shoved under the thin blanket. The weak bulb of
the lamp placed on the stool that served as my nightstand provided
hardly enough light to decipher the letters on the pages at nights,
but that didn’t stop me.

I read the story of Peter Pan and how he
taught Wendy to fly above a sleeping London. Bloody hell, I should
leave my window open and beg for someone like him to come through
and carry me out in his arms. But then again, with my problem of
vertigo, I wouldn’t have made it past the windowsill.

On Tuesday morning, I dressed in the best
pair of black jeans I owned, fixed the hole over the right knee
with a safety pin, and scrubbed my scuffed boots. A dark gray
hooded sweater with ragged cuffs that ended two inches above my
wrists had to do on top.

Miss Mulligan, dressed in an abominable pink
suit, escorted me in a taxi to the court. I was to meet Abe in the
smaller, almost private office where minor cases were handled
behind the big hall.

As we strolled down the hallway, the
distinct scent of lavender and cherry blossom floated in the air.
The smell set off an ice cold trickle at my nape, waking memories
of painful days long ago. I knew only one person who used to wear
this particular perfume.

I stopped dead and whirled around. Miss
Mulligan sent me a puzzled glance. Breathing deep, I inspected the
hallway up and down, but the one person I searched for was nowhere
in sight.

A long breath wheezed from my lungs. I must
have been mistaken.

In front of Judge Smith’s office, a guard
stood watch. He let us in when we showed him my nice and official
invitation. He frowned at my hands shoved deep into my pockets, but
I ignored him and followed Miss Mulligan through the door.

Wide windows on two walls brightened the
beige-carpeted office. A small number of people gathered on one
side of the room close to the door, some sat next to the judge’s
big desk. I caught a glimpse of Quinn’s encouraging eyes and felt a
cloud of calm settle in my chest for a moment. Then my gaze zeroed
in on Abe.

He looked up from a stack of papers on his
desk as soon as I crossed the threshold. His disapproving eyes sent
shivers down my back, but even as my warden slowed her pace, I
walked straight up to him.

‘
Never show weakness or fear
.’
Debby’s advice rang in my ears.

“Jona Montiniere, it is.” Abe adjusted his
small round spectacles and gave me a quick once over.

Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my chin and
displayed my best let’s-talk-shop grin. “Hello, Abe. Is business
doing well?”

The judge ground his teeth. “You keep me
busy enough,” he grumbled through his beard.

I always wondered how it happened that men
lost the luxury of hair on their heads, while stubble still
sprouted wildly on their faces. This was not the best moment to
bring up the prickly topic, though. Not with Abe already gathering
momentum.

He scanned his papers again, shoving the
glasses further up his nose. “This is the twenty-third time in less
than one year that I have you standing here.”

At the word twenty-third an awed whistle
came from the seats. I cut a quick glance to Quinn, who cocked a
brow.

“Is there anything you can say in your
defense?” the judge demanded.

I pouted, Quinn only shrugged.

Next to him sat Riley, who stuffed the last
bite of a doughnut with pink icing into his mouth. It brought a
grin to my lips, and I turned back to Abe.

“I’m a kleptomaniac and have a medical
certificate for legal pilfering in London.”

Riley coughed, slamming a hand to his chest,
but it was the deep chuckle from the back of the room that drew my
full attention. First, I only glanced over my shoulder. But
glistening sunlight blinded me, and I pivoted around sharply.