The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak (18 page)

I plunge my face into the icy water of the sink, but it
does little to wake me up. I'm about to fall over from fatigue. I'm sure I'll do great at the tournament. Provided my mom even lets me stay. And provided Clayton shows up. If that twit doesn't report for the morning meeting, I'm going to kill him.

I recall what Zak told me. How he wants to keep seeing me. When I'll be a college freshman. When maybe I'll finally have the nerve to tell my parents that they can't dictate my schedule anymore.

Then again, maybe Duquette's just talking. Once he meets my parents, maybe he'll decide he wants to date
someone less complicated. Guess we'll just wait and see.

I replace my hood and leave the bathroom. I'm at the end of a long, darkened hall, far from the regular festivities. I wait.

And wait. And wait. I check the men's room, but it's empty. I look back out in the parking lot. The rain has stopped, but Zak's not there. I turn my phone back on, but there's no call from him. I dial his number, but he doesn't answer.

My head is swimming. Surely, he didn't wander off. I mean, we're leaving in a couple of hours, right? He didn't run into some friends for one last party, did he? He would have at least called me.

I wait some more. Then I decided I'm sick of waiting. I go back to the lobby, keeping an eye out for the police. It's nearly empty, with just a couple of helmetless Stormtroopers slumped against a wall. The con is at its nadir. No one is around.

Don't do this, Duquette. Not now
.

I stumble toward a bench. If Zak doesn't call me and tell me where he is in the next half hour, then . . .

“Ana Banana! Ana Banana!”

The population of the earth is about seven billion. If I had to rank the people I most want to see right now, Strawberry would come in seven billionth.

“Ana Banana!” She rushes up to me. Her freckles
have smeared and one of her pigtails has come undone. “I have the most
dreadful
news!”

“Not now, Strawberry.”

“But the most un-smiley thing is happening!” She clutches her hands in front of her chest. “Gray skies are—”

I do not want to sit around talking to Duquette's psycho ex. “I'm busy!”

“But—”

“Go away!”

I turn my back to her, and am floored when she suddenly grabs me by the hair and won't let go. I'm painfully twisted back to face Strawberry. Her face is contorted with rage.

“Listen, you stupid slut,” she barks in a deep, almost masculine voice. “Duke's in trouble!” Her voice echoes through the cavernous lobby. She lets go.

“What? What kind of trouble?”

Strawberry's eyes are wide with fear. “I . . . saw them going up the stairs. Duke and some guy. They didn't know I saw them. Ana, he had a pistol jammed in Duke's back.”

“Strawberry, you're just seeing things. It was some kind of squirt gun, they must have just been playing around.” Even as I say the words, I can't convince myself. Zak wouldn't have ditched me unless something serious was happening.

“They weren't pretending, Ana Banana. Duke . . . he looked terrified. My phone's back in my hotel room.” She starts to sob. “Oh, this is so not jolly! This isn't jolly at all!”

How on earth has Duquette gone from quiz bowl alternate to hostage in less than twelve hours?

That Baggie of coke. Someone knows we took it. Someone needs it back, real bad.

“Listen, Strawberry—”

My phone rings. With a horrible sense of foreboding, I pull it out. Zak has sent me a video file. Strawberry huddles close to me as I play it.

The tiny screen is black. I hear the voice of an unfamiliar man.

Man: It's not working.

Zak: The light's on, it's fine.

Man: No it's . . . okay, here we go.

The image shifts rapidly, out of focus, as the phone is moved. It finally zooms in on a human face. It's Zak. He's up against a brick wall, smiling at whoever's filming.

Strawberry and I both let out a horrified yelp. Zak's forehead is cut and bleeding, and his right eye is swelling shut.

Zak: Hey, Ana, something came up. Go ahead and leave without—

The image goes blurry as the phone is moved rapidly.
It's impossible to tell what's going on. Suddenly there's the sound of a blow and Zak, screaming briefly.

My entire body grows numb. I clench hands with Strawberry, praying this is just some stupid joke from Zak.

The camera focuses again. Zak is lying on a concrete floor, clutching a bleeding mouth.

Man: You have some property of mine. Deliver it to the roof of Building A in one hour. If you do not show up, or if you call the police . . .

The image shifts again. Then a booted foot snakes out and catches Zak in the ribs.

Zak, Strawberry, and I scream in unison.

Man: One hour.

The screen goes black. There's a pause, but the film doesn't end.

Man: Wait, now how do I send it?

Zak: (laboriously) Tap the send icon.

Man: I don't see it.

Zak: Give it here.

The message ends.

Strawberry collapses to her knees and begins to hyperventilate, but I hardly notice.

Everything in my life—Clayton, my parents, Nichole—vanishes.

Zak is in trouble. Real trouble. Worse than anything either of us have experienced.

There's no one I can go to for help, no one who can take care of this for us.

I have to save him. It's all down to me.

Oh, dear God, it's all down to me
.

It's so very cold up here on the roof, but at least it's
stopped raining. I lean against a furnace exhaust port for warmth. With my one eye that still opens, I see my captor, sitting silently on an exposed pipe, softly illuminated by a security light.

He's not a bad-looking guy, considering. Older, unkempt, but kind of has a handsome, outdoorsy vibe going on. He just sits there, staring at me. With his pistol in one hand and my phone in the other, he stays there, motionless, incessantly whistling “The Entertainer.” He doesn't smile.

Well, I'm going to die. Of course, I've thought that
before. Several times this evening, actually. But my luck can't hold out forever.

I am so disgusted with myself for letting him call Ana. But when he demanded that I find someone to retrieve his bag, I panicked. Then he started hitting me with his gun, and I couldn't think. Hopefully, Ana will be smart enough to call the police or to just run off.

Surely she won't be dumb enough to come up here.

I rub my sore face. Still, he stares. This guy is desperate and violent. I should keep my mouth shut. But quite frankly, I'm sick of the mind games. I need to know what his plans are. I have to break the silence.

“So, you're a drug dealer?” I ask.

He nods.

“How's that working out for you?”

A smile twitches at his mouth. “Not too bad. The hours aren't the greatest, but it pays well. Been doing it since I dropped out of UW Tacoma about fifteen years ago.”

“Hey, I have a friend who's going there in the fall.”
This is going well. We're talking. We're bonding. Maybe he won't sink me in the harbor
.

The guy pockets my phone, then scratches his belly. “How about you, kid? You in school?”

“Senior. I'll probably start at the junior college next semester.”

“Probably? Shouldn't you have enrolled already?”

And now a psycho drug dealer is on my case about my education. I change the subject.

“So, is this your first time at Washingcon?”

The man stands and stretches, his pistol pointed toward Puget Sound. “You know, a lot of guys would be blubbering and begging right now.”

I shrug, playing cool to hide my raw terror. “Would that help?”

“Nope. And yes, this is my first time here, and I have to say, this is a weird place. But it's crowded and was a nice location to drop off my product. You should have left it alone, kid. What the hell were you thinking?”

“It was just a misunderstanding. I thought someone had forgotten their bag.”

“Lucky for me, I had someone watching. He realized you weren't the pickup man and followed you.”

Okay, now's the time to grovel. “I really, really didn't mean to interfere. You don't know how sorry I am.” And how desperately, desperately frightened I am. I've never been in this deep.

“You're going to be very sorry if your friend doesn't come through.”

Jesus, Ana, please be gone
. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Kid, do you ever shut up?”

“Not really. Which is probably why you're the third—third?—person to beat me up tonight. But seriously.
None of this is Ana's fault. If she can't get your stuff back, take it out on me, not her.”

He scratches himself again. I notice he does that frequently. “This Ana, is she your girlfriend?”

I ponder that for a moment. “It's complicated.”

“Freakin' kids today!” he suddenly bellows. “All this ‘it's complicated,' or ‘friends with benefits,' or ‘friend zone' and shit. Piece of advice, kid, you're in or you're out. Act like a damn man, not some kind of sad little puppy.”

Surprisingly, I'm indignant. “She saw me naked earlier tonight.”

“Good start. And listen, unless she tries something stupid, I'm not going to bother her.”

I know, just know, I should keep my trap shut, but I ask anyway. “And me?”

He grins and laughs. “I follow the traditions of the great Luigi Vampa.” He continues before I can ask. “Character in
The Count of Monte Cristo
. Outlaw. Whenever he'd kidnap someone, he'd give their friends a timeframe to bring in the ransom. And if they were late . . .”

I swallow hard. “Yeah?”

“He'd give them another hour.” He sits back down.

“Good man.”

“And then he'd kill the hostage.”

He resumes whistling.

Strawberry clutches my hand and whimpers as I lead
her back toward the security office. I have to get that bag back. If I can retrieve it, that guy will release Zak. We'll all be fine.

Unless Warren threw it away or turned it in. Or if the office is locked. Or if there's someone in there. Or if we get it back to the dealer, and he's still not satisfied.

We're almost to the office. I disengage from Strawberry. “Straw . . . Jen, look at me.”

She looks up, facing me with her round little innocent eyes. Her lower lip quivers. “What do you suppose that awful man will do to darling Duke?”

I really, really want to smack her, but I need her help.

“Something bad. Listen, I have to break into the security office and steal something. I need you to stand lookout.”

“Oh, Ana Banana, I don't think that's a berry creamalicious idea!”

A convention full of space commandos, ninjas, and Romulans, and this is who I team up with.

“Just follow me. This is for . . . for Duke. Please.”

She nods. We approach the security office. There's a light on visible behind the frosted glass. As we watch, a very young janitor emerges and dumps a wastebasket into his wheeled trash cart.

“Now!” I whisper. “Distract that guy!”

Thankfully, she doesn't argue. Leaping and prancing like a psychotic ballerina, she hurls herself toward the startled custodian.

“Dance for the morning!” she yells. “It's going to be a sunshiny, sparkly gumdrop of a day! Dance with me!”

“Er, hello,” says the man, his face a mix of amusement and fright.

“Dance with me”—she glances at his coveralls—“Duane! Duaney Wayney bo baney!” Grabbing him by the arms, she forcefully waltzes away with him, his wastebasket clattering across the floor.

Now's my chance. I dart through the door, into the
tiny alcove of an office. Around me, screens broadcast images of various rooms of the con. I glance at the monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of Zak. Except for a few tables of sleepy people playing dice games, no one is about.

I dive toward the desk and begin to yank open drawers. Fortunately, none are locked.

It's not there. I search the desk twice, but the bag of cocaine is gone. I poke through a file cabinet and another desk, but I realize with a rising sense of hopelessness that Warren has disposed of the drugs.

I peak around the door, but the hall is empty. I slink out, and look around. The janitor's cart is still here, but my companion is gone.

“Strawberry?” I call.

There's a clank and a grunt from a door marked
SUPPLIES
. It swings open and the janitor stumbles out, regarding me with a shocked expression. Ducking his head, he locks the security office and leaves the area quickly.

Peeking into the closet, I see Strawberry, tucking in her top. She glances at me with a wry smile.

“Tee-hee.”

We flee the hallway. When I see a door marked
STAIRWAY: ROOF ACCESS
, I stop.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks,
pulling her disheveled hair into a ponytail.

“It's gone.”

She pouts. “Is it time to call the police?”

I consider that. It would be so easy—just dial 911 and let someone else take care of my problems. Or I could track down Warren. Or Kevin. Or I could call my parents.

But I remember that terrible video, of that man kicking Zak. He's a desperate person, and if he realizes I've ratted him out, he's going to panic. Which would be bad for Zak. Very bad.

“Jen, listen to me.” My voice seems to cut through her haze and she looks at me with less of a lobotomized expression than usual. “Go to the front entrance. Stay there. If you don't hear from me or Zak by five thirty, call the police. Tell them everything.”

“What . . . what are you going to do?”

I take a deep breath and take the quiver from my shoulder. Removing my remaining blunt arrows, I reach into the bottom and pull out a small cloth sack. Something that came with the arrows, but I didn't think I'd use until I was out on the range.

Strawberry gasps as I begin to affix the hunting tips onto the arrows. The tiny barbed heads glint in the light of buzzing overhead fluorescents.

“Ana?”

I expect more of her ludicrous baby talk. Instead, she reaches out and wraps me in a huge, fruit-scented hug. “Please be careful.”

“I will.”

I replace my quiver. With my bow in hand, I vanish into the stairwell.

The roof door is propped open. It's cold and windy up here. I hide in the doorway until I can get a sense of where I am.

I scan the rooftop, searching for my friend among the exhaust ports, pipes, and electrical substations. Am I even in the right place?

What the hell am I doing up here? I should call the police. It's out of my hands. I'll end up screwing all this up anyway. I'm no superhero. I should go back, find the police, find Warren, tell them what's going on, and then just sit back while that psycho kills my friend
.

I nock an arrow. I have to do this. I cannot let Zak down.

I huddle against an electrical transformer, trying to locate this lunatic. If I can get the drop on him, get him in my sights, I can order him to release Zak. Just point the arrow at him, and he'd have to see there was no other way out. Because if he didn't . . . because if he pointed his gun at me . . .

These are real arrows. Hunting tips. Designed to shred the insides of a deer. If it came down to it, could I really shoot that guy?

Concentrate, Ana. This is for everything
.

Did a shadow move over there? Something . . . yes . . .

I creep forward, which is rather hard to do while keeping a bow drawn back. Just a few more feet.

“No! Ana! Look out!”

I whirl, but it's too late. He's right behind me. The man from the video. His gun is in his waistband, but it doesn't matter. He's so close to me, the tip of my arrow touches his belly. At this distance, it wouldn't hurt him at all.

He smiles at me. It's a warm, big brother type of smile. Gently, he takes the bow from my hand. He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Really?” His tone is almost humorous. I could almost believe this whole thing is some sort of joke.

Almost.

“Leave her alone!” As Zak staggers up behind this man, I know there is nothing funny about this situation. He's limping, holding his side. Even in the darkness, I can see the blood on his forehead, and his bruised eye. And yet he's stumbling forward, charging this guy.

The man throws my bow across the roof and draws his gun. He aims it at me.

“Get over there with your boyfriend.”

Trembling, with my hands raised, I join Zak.

I've failed. I've ruined everything. Whatever happens now, it's my fault
.

“Ana!” shouts Zak, as he staggers toward me. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is furious.

“I couldn't just leave you!” I yell back. Did he honestly think I'd abandon him up here?

The man with the gun chimes in. “Well, nice try, but it looks like you brought a bow to a gunfight. I take it from your Robin Hood act that you don't have my property?”

I look at Zak, as if he'll somehow tell me what to say. But I'm the one who screwed up. “I'm sorry. I couldn't find it.”

The man growls. “Kid, tell your girlfriend what Luigi Vampa did when the ransom wasn't paid.”

Why on earth were they discussing
The Count of Monte Cristo?

And then I remember the book, just as Zak answers.

“He'd . . . he'd kill the hostage.”

I look at the man, and Zak, and the gun with horrifying realization. Surely he wouldn't . . . not because of a stupid bag of . . .

Not Zak . . . dear God, not Zak.

Zak, surprisingly, only looks vaguely annoyed.

“Let Ana go. That was the deal.”

The man nods. “Okay. But I don't want her following us.” He removes something from his pocket. They look like a pair of those zip ties. “Tie her to that pole.”

I take a step back. “Zak, what about you?”

“Shhh, Ana.” Then, out of the man's line of sight, he winks at me.

He has a plan. Of course Duquette has a plan. It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be fine
.

Standing with his back to the gun, Zak loops both restraints around my wrists. He leaves them so loose, I have to keep my arms level so they don't slip off.

Excellent. As soon as they leave, I'll sneak out and get the police here. It's all going to be okay
.

Zak smiles at me and steps away. Unfortunately, the drug runner just laughs. Shoving my friend to the side, he yanks the ends of the zips until they are digging into my wrists. I can't move, I can't escape. Then, keeping Zak at bay with the gun, he pats me down. Small mercy, he doesn't feel me up, but he does take my phone.

“C'mon, kid, we're going for a ride.” He takes Zak by the arm and starts leading him to the exit.

Zak looks back at me. He's not smug. He's not confident. He's out of plans.

This isn't happening. Surely the man will just rough him up a little . . . there's no way he'd really . . . really . . .

“Ana!” Zak suddenly shouts. Heedless of the gun, he runs toward me.

“Zak?” My voice catches, a tear streams down my cheek.

“I just wanted to tell you . . .” I think he's about to cry as well.

“Yes, Zak?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.” He quickly turns away. The drug runner frowns.

“Freakin' kids today!” He looks at me. “He's all into you, but he doesn't have the balls to say it. Now move it!” He drags Zak to the stairs. I lose sight of them. I hear the door slam.

Falling to my knees, I begin to cry.
Zak, oh, Zak . . .

Oh, hell no
. No way. Zak Duquette is my friend and I'm damned if I'm going to sit here and blubber while some SOB takes him from me. Not after tonight. He's leaving with me. I'll shoot that monster if I have to, but I'm not going to let him hurt Zak.

Ignoring the three painful years of dental braces, I clamp teeth down on the thin plastic restraints and being to gnaw. They're tough and unyielding, but I don't care. I'll sacrifice every tooth in my head, but I'm not staying up on this roof.

I'm coming for you, Zak
.

I pull my head back to spit out a fragment of plastic. I then scream as a knife blade lunges toward me.

It's a pocketknife. It slices straight through the restraints.

I look up in shock at the boy in the trench coat and the familiar, glaring red-and-orange T-shirt.

“C'mon, Ana,” says Clayton. “We don't have a lot of time.”