Pretty Wanted (14 page)

I walked up to a tall, skinny kid with dark hair and a blue Granger T-shirt and requested to see the manager.

“You mean the volunteer coordinator?” he asked in a snotty voice. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. A college student, probably. “The campaign manager is a little bit busy, I’d imagine.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. How was I supposed to know all the lingo? “Yes, the volunteer coordinator.”

“She’s right over there. The woman holding the clipboard? Her name’s Maria.”

Tre and I followed his pointing finger over to an athletic-looking woman with cropped brown hair and thick-framed glasses, over which she glanced at us as we neared.

“We’d like to volunteer,” I told her.

“Fantastic.” She shook our hands and introduced herself. “I just need to you to fill out these forms.”

She handed us our very own clipboards and pens, and Tre and I sat down in metal folding chairs. I wrote my name as Jennifer Price. Tre wrote his as Stephen Graham. Generic people. We put down fake addresses for other places, mine in Illinois, and Tre’s in New Jersey, hoping they would think we were college students, too.

We gave Maria back the forms. “So when can you start?” she asked.

“We’d like to start today,” I said quickly. “As soon as possible. But we don’t have much time—probably only an hour.”

She nodded. “We could use some help on the phone banks, and also door-to-door canvassing. An hour of that would be great if you could spare it.”

“We can do the phones,” I said, hoping to stay close to the information.

I could feel Tre’s eyes burning into the side of my face but I didn’t dare look.

“Here’s the script and a list of numbers,” Maria said. “Make a note beside each one, stating if they were home and if they committed to donate or vote. You can sit down over there at one of those tables and get started. If you need any help, I’ll be wandering around.”

“Um, I don’t have a phone,” I said, remembering that Aidan had our disposable in his bag, and that Tre probably didn’t want to risk being tracked here on his.

“That’s okay. We have extra over there.” She pointed to a table where a number of landlines were arranged.

When she walked away, disappearing into a glass-walled office, Tre pinched my arm and I got the full burn of his straight-on gaze. “Are you cray? How are we going to find him if we’re stuck here on the phones all day talking to cat ladies and shut-ins?”

“We have to have a cover. A believable one. She wasn’t going to just tell us where he is,” I said. “Besides, it won’t be all day. I have a plan.”

He gave me a slow headshake, which I knew by now could be roughly translated as “You’re pushing it.”

“I’ve got this,” I said. “Just give me a little bit of time.”

We sat down and I picked up one of the campaign’s phones and started with the first name on the list.

“Is this Mrs. Callahan? I’m Jennifer, and I’m calling on behalf of the David Granger campaign. This runoff election is very important to St. Louis and the people of Missouri in general. We were wondering if we could count on your vote next month? We can? Great. And would you be interested in making a small, one-time donation of twenty dollars to help us get through the final push of our campaign? You would? Fantastic.”

After a while, I started getting the hang of it. It was amazing, really, how easily some people were convinced to part with their money. (Especially when I thought of how hard I’d worked back in Paradise Valley to pick pockets.) Maybe they were all wealthy. Or maybe that was a testament to the power of David Granger. Everyone I talked to seemed to be a fan. One woman gushed to me about the new community center he’d helped establish in her neighborhood, how it had gotten the kids off the streets and reduced the crime rate, how she’d met Granger himself when he came to the ribbon-cutting and he was the sweetest man. He had that effect on people, apparently.

Tre was next to me, mumbling through his calls and eyeing me in between. He was clearly not enjoying this.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get into the spirit,” I said.

“No,” he said. “I really don’t. I just need to sit here and do this thing, until you get what it is you’re looking for. Anything else goes beyond our agreement.” He picked up his phone and dialed another number.

As I worked, I kept my eye on the office. Maria was sitting at a desk typing things into her computer and answering her own phone. Finally, she stood up to leave and I saw my opportunity.

When she was gone, I made my move. Her office was overloaded with stuff, stacks and stacks of papers and files—the natural habitat of a workaholic. I inched past the rolled-up poster tubes and the cardboard cartons of blue and red T-shirts. On the wall behind the desk was a whiteboard calendar scrawled with daily events. Today’s date:
November 28
. At four
P
.
M
. there was a private event, a speech scheduled at the High School for Technological Arts.

Bingo.

“Can I help you?” Maria was back and standing in the doorway.

“I was looking for you, actually.” I gulped down some air.
Don’t blow it.
“I think we’re done for the day so I wanted to thank you.”

She frowned. “That was fast.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “We only had a short break today between classes.”

She gave me another look but she seemed to be buying it. “You go to Wash U?”

I nodded, feeling my face warm.
Please don’t ask me any more questions
. I didn’t know how far I could take my fake story. And part of me was sad to lie. It felt good to contribute to something bigger than myself, a real cause. In another world, if I actually lived here, if I wasn’t on the run from the police, I would’ve loved to volunteer on a regular basis. But in this world I had other things to accomplish.

“Did you see those kids on campus yesterday?”

“What kids?” I asked, the words garbling in my mouth. She was talking about us.

“The ones from—” Another volunteer, the first one we’d seen, was proudly handing her a stack of clipboards. She paused and in that moment I rehearsed a thousand denials. “Oh, thanks, Nate. Is this all of them?”

Then I saw that he was ready to start talking shop. “We really have to go,” I said quickly, seizing on the distraction. “But thanks again!”

I moved away, but not as fast as I wanted to, not wanting to draw her suspicion. She tucked the clipboards under her arm. “Don’t forget to take a T-shirt on your way out.”

Even better.

I grabbed three shirts, including one for Aidan, and then nudged Tre. “You’re off duty.” Then I added under my breath, “And we need to jet.”

I didn’t explain, and I didn’t have to. He nodded and we headed for the door.

Outside, we found Aidan, still ogling the puppies. A particularly fuzzy blond one was gnawing on a small bone and staring back at us with liquidy brown eyes.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I asked.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he asked, and I could tell by his dreamy expression that he had been and he was smitten.

“He’s pretty darn cute.”
And so are you.
I handed him the shirt. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have to get going.”

“Where to?” he asked us.

“The High School for Technological Arts. If we leave now, we can get there before Granger’s speech starts.”

No buses this time. The school was on the north side of town, and too far to walk. We hailed a cab, which let us out in front. The school was already packed, cars spilling out of its lots and lined up, end to end along its driveways. This was probably the biggest event they’d seen all year.

Aidan pointed to a few news vans with satellite dishes. “Willa, are you sure you want to do this?”

We were walking into the line of TV fire. I drew in a breath, feeling my heart pound out a quickened beat. I hadn’t considered this possibility. But that was stupid of me—of course there would be news media at an event like this.

“They’re not here for us. So we just have to be careful not to attract attention,” I said.
You know, exactly what we didn’t do on the last campus we visited
. I thought of Maria, and how it would have only taken a few more seconds to put it all together. How we were saved by the nerdy volunteer in the nick of time. Gaah. How much longer could I do this?

The snow had let up a while ago but the air was still damp. Our breath preceded us in clouds as we approached the front entrance of the imposing three-story brick building. It was nothing like Valley Prep with its elegant landscaping and fountains. No, despite the fancy-sounding name, this was an inner-city public school, with bars on the windows, metal detectors, and a distinctly get-your-butt-into-homeroom vibe.

At my insistence, all three of us had our T-shirts on so we could better blend into the crowd. We followed the swell of people in through the door and down a long hallway lined with trophies and student artwork. Men in suits were standing at either side, directing traffic. Security guards. The calendar said it was a private event, after all.

How were we going to get to Granger?

I stood on my tiptoes to get a better view of what was ahead. The crowd narrowed into single file as the people entered through the open auditorium doors. Inside, a huge banner with David Granger’s name billowed across the stage, and a campaign sign was mounted on the podium. Hundreds of people were already seated and the room was filled with the ambient buzz of anticipation and chatter.

We pushed our way down to the front where the first several rows were blocked off with ribbons for VIPs. A very large black man wearing a gray suit and a headset was blocking the steps up to the stage.

“We’ll meet you back here,” Aidan said.

“No, we won’t,” Tre said definitively. “We’re coming with. She needs us.”

“Here goes nothing,” I said under my breath. I turned to face the stage.

“Excuse me sir, we’re late,” I said, trying on my best girly charm. “Can you tell us the best way to get backstage? We’re supposed to be back there helping out.”

He gave us the once over, with the small, slow-moving eye of a tortoise. “You working for the campaign?”

“That’s right,” I said.

He glanced at Tre and Aidan, then back at me, holding my gaze for what felt like an eternity. Yet again I played through the potential scenario—him pinning my arms behind my back, his fellow guards wrestling Aidan and Tre to the ground. The news camera operators rushing over to capture it all, barking out questions as we were dragged away. This guy boasting in a bar later that night about how he’d caught the Sly Fox.

He blinked again, his face unnervingly wall-like.

“Behind me,” he said finally, moving his heft aside. We walked to the side of the stage, through a metal door marked
EXIT
.

It was just as bustling back there, with dozens of people running around, carrying more clipboards, wearing buttons. Small clusters of men and women in suits were conferring about issues and key words, polling results and TV spots.

“So where is he?” Aidan asked.

“The green room. Don’t you know? There’s always a green room for celebs and ballers,” Tre said. “And they usually have the fancy stuff in there, like champagne and truffles.”

I doubted the part about the truffles, but it was a nice image. He was pro social equality, but that didn’t mean he had to live sparsely. I mean, wasn’t that the point, that everyone should be able to enjoy the pleasures in life and not only the 1 percenters? I thought of the clothes in anonymous packages I’d sent to Mary, Alicia, and Sierra, underwritten by the money and stuff I stole from the Glitterati. The idea was to spread the wealth, and I still believed in that, even if my little plan seemed kind of silly now.

We wandered through the crowds, pushing past two women with coiffed hairdos and tastefully bright pantsuits. At least we fit in with our pro-Granger gear. No one seemed to bat an eye at us.

Finally, I spotted him. He was standing in a corner, holding a piece of paper and reading it over his bifocals. He had the same blondish hair and slightly pink complexion I’d seen on TV, only in person he seemed a bit older, his face more chiseled by time.

“This is it,” I said, angling my chin in his direction. “Be right back.”

“Are you sure you want us to leave you?” Tre asked.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“We’ll wait here,” Aidan said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the cinder-block wall.

“Good luck,” Tre said.

Emboldened by my two-guy support team, I walked toward Granger. Just like with Toni, I mentally practiced what I was going to say. I had to get the words exactly right. And there were a lot of them. But that visit seemed almost quaint by comparison. This was a million times scarier.

Before I could make it there, one of the pantsuited women got to him first. “We’re going to need you in Dutchtown tomorrow,” she was saying as she scanned her phone. “There’s a barbershop meeting at four.”

“I can’t do it,” I heard him say. “I have another appointment.”

“David, we really need you there.”

He turned to her and his tone was taut suddenly, almost vicious.

“And I said I
can’t do it
, Libby. Tell them I’ll come another day. Your job is to protect my schedule, so do your job.”

The woman, Libby, shook her head and walked away, simultaneously pecking something onto her screen. “Okay, D.”

D.
I guess that was what everyone called him. I now felt surer than ever. This was our guy. My guy. Or at least my mother’s guy.

“Excuse me. Sir?”

“Yes?” He turned to me and gave me a dazzling smile. If there was a testy exchange with his aide it was already forgotten, bad vibes turned off in a flash. “Can I help you?”

His voice was clear, even as water. His skin seemed to crackle with electric energy, like one of those plasma globes. I felt myself inadvertently straightening my posture.

He held out a hand and I took it slowly. It was tight and broad, strong fingers that dwarfed my own. “David Granger, how do you do.” It was uncanny, the way his warm gaze made me feel exposed and yet somehow comforted at the same time. Was that because we were related, possibly? Or just because he had some weird personal magnetism?