The Spider Thief (4 page)

“I know, right?” Mauricio said. “Who would’ve thought Prez would have a cold million dollars in cash?”

That stopped Ash’s thoughts like they’d hit a brick wall. “A million dollars?”

“That’s what DMT told me.”

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“What are you asking
me
for?” Mauricio said. “What did Andres want, anyway, that was worth all that?”

“The spider.” The words came out hoarse. “Andres wanted the gold spider.”

“Huh.” Wind whistled through Mauricio’s phone. “What gold spider?”

Ash wiped a hand across his face. He squeezed his temples with his thumb and middle finger, as if the pressure could somehow force out the answer.

Of course Mauricio wouldn’t remember the spider.

Ash had found it because, as an eleven-year-old, summer vacation meant finding new things to fill the long days. The three of them—him, Mauricio, and Cleo—been playing in the stale air of the attic, digging behind torn boxes of Christmas ornaments and a rack of plastic-wrapped clothes on wire hangers. Behind all of that was an aged wooden box, its scuffed corners turned brown by dirty hands years before.

It was heavy, Ash remembered that. Nearly too heavy for his young arms to lift. He’d slid it out beneath the light of the single bare bulb and its dusty cobwebs.

In that hot light, the wall-mounted bulb so close to his face, he worked his fingernails under the edges of the box lid. It was jammed shut. Not nailed, but fitted so tightly that it seemed like it was never meant to be opened.

It took work, and a little help from the dull Swiss Army knife he carried in his pocket. But he pried the lid out and lifted it off.

There, nestled in wads of dried grass, was the single most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. A gold spider, blazing in the light of the bulb. Huge, shimmering, crafted with such lifelike skill that it seemed too perfect to be the product of human hands.

And those eyes. Those emerald eyes, burning into his, as if the spider were watching him. Sizing him up.

Afraid to touch it, he’d turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Mauricio! Cleo! Come look!”

After that, nothing would ever be the same again.

“Ash?” Mauricio’s voice came through the phone, jolting him back to the present. “You okay?”

Ahead, the highway sign peeked through the trees, telling him which way he was headed. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ash absently rubbed the bumpy rash on his hand against the seat, remembering Mauricio and Cleo lying unconscious on the attic floor all those years ago, pale as corpses. He remembered the rich points of light reflected onto their skin by the gold spider, where it gleamed next to Mauricio’s limp hand. The hand with a spreading red rash.

Mauricio would never remember the spider. It had been wiped out of his consciousness the same way Ash had lost the last two weeks. From a brush with the spider. Which meant only one thing.

He must have touched the spider at the preacher’s house. His mom had brought it there all those years ago, hoping to break the curse, but obviously the preacher had failed.

The curse was still unbroken. And it had brought him back here.

Ash had to find out why. Fast.

Cleo

Sitting in the driver’s seat of her big beige sedan, Cleo chewed on her pen. She flipped through a thick stack of faxes and printed-out emails, wondering if she had lost her mind. She had no concrete evidence telling her that Andres was headed to this particular area. But he’d been sighted on the move in Nevada and then Utah. There was a chance he could be headed to Colorado. A slim chance, but she was willing to risk it.

Somewhere, according to the report, Andres had picked up a black 1977 Trans Am. She had no earthly idea why. Whatever happened to inconspicuous?

But somehow it fit Andres’s M.O. He’d been known to deal in old cars from time to time, always from private parties, never auctions. She tossed the file aside and rubbed her aching eyes. Too much information rattling around inside her brain already.

She was just down the road from her mom’s house, but she didn’t want to be there. Instead, she chose to sit in the comfortable confines of her car, in the shade, pretending she still had a job to do. The truth was, her career was basically over. She’d be lucky to get a job working mall security now.

She shook her paper latte cup. Empty. She could kill some time driving back down the street to the new Safeway. They had a Starbucks there now. She shook her head. This wasn’t the same town she remembered growing up in.

An old red car pulled away from the corner gas pump and came around to the exit. It was a Ford Galaxie, she saw from the fender script. The car looked vaguely familiar.

A brown dog happily hung its head out the window. A scruffy-looking guy sat behind the wheel. For a moment, he looked just like Ash, and her heart skipped a beat.

But that was ridiculous. What would Ash be doing here, now?

The Galaxie’s giant tail light flashed for a turn signal, then the car glided away, trailing rivulets of water from the windows. Out of habit, she read the number off the old green and white license plate.

The thought occurred to her that she could follow him. Wait for a convenient moment to pull up alongside, roll down the window. And then what?

Oh, sorry, thought you were this boy I used to know.

Sure, that was a grand idea.

She got out of the car and stretched. Much more of this and she’d drive herself insane.

Something about the Galaxie stuck with her. It was probably nothing, but she was sure she’d seen the car around here somewhere, maybe when she was a kid. Considering this was a small town, somebody else might remember it, too. She could knock on some doors, ask around. But these days, most residents were transplants from out of state. They wouldn’t know anything.

She speed-dialed Graves instead.

He answered in the middle of taking a breath. Music tinkled in the background. “Well, hey, I was just worrying about you.”

“Hey,” she said, caught off guard. She’d expected a little more hostility. The last conversation they’d had—an argument, really—had consisted of a few accusations and a lot of four-letter words.

“You okay?” he said warmly.

“Yeah. Um, listen, I was wondering if maybe you could do me a favor. Run a license plate for me?”

“Whoa, whoa.” He chuckled. “You know what I’m doing right now?”

“I hesitate to ask.”

He sniffed. “I’m eating. A delicious tray of unagi. Some plum wine. It’s making my day, it really is.”

“Eel meat sushi. Yum.” Cleo made a face. “Just like Mom used to make.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“It’s fantastic,” Graves breathed. She could see him now, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit. Dark brown skin and darker eyes that always held something back she could never quite puzzle out. They weren’t seeing each other anymore, so she tried to pretend like they never had. It didn’t work very well.

She tried to stay mad at him. “We’ve had this sushi conversation before, Graves. Soy sauce and raw fish do not a meal make. You want to run this license plate for me or what?”

“Easy, girl. The words ‘administrative leave’ mean anything to you? Go on, take some time off. Paint your toenails or something.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Graves. Maybe you and I can go out for a mani-pedi together.” She listened to the sound of Graves chewing, saying nothing, and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry about the other day, okay? I appreciate your concern. I do.”

“Is that a fact? Because Snyder will have my butt in a sling if she finds out I helped you work this Andres angle.”

“It’s not an ‘angle,’ Graves. He’s a murderer. And I’m going to prove it.”

“I hear you, and when you say it like that, I want to believe you. I got your back,” he said, sounding genuinely worried. “You know that, right?”

She hesitated. “Just this one favor.”

“You’re really going to do this?”

“I have to.”

“Sure you do,” he said, his voice tight. “Just promise me, when this all comes down on your head, promise my name will never come up. Nobody finds out I was anywhere near this.”

So much for having her back. “Got it. My lips are sealed.”

He let out a long breath. “All right. So, the license plate. Who’s driving this mystery car of yours?”

*

Cruising down the highway, with no sign of the gunmen, Ash finally started to relax. He turned the little chrome knob through the AM stations, getting mostly static, punctuated by occasional Spanish music and then a severe weather warning for the county. He kept going until he landed on a rock song from high school. He tapped out the rhythm on the steering wheel.

Back in school, just goofing around one afternoon, he and Mauricio had come up with a whole routine for this song. It involved giant sunglasses and plastic salad bowls on their heads. When they showed their dad, dancing around the living room, he laughed so hard he nearly choked. They had to stop just so he could breathe and wipe his eyes.

Ash had desperately wanted Mauricio to get out his camera and record them, so he could show it to Cleo, maybe impress her. Mauricio had flatly refused to be a part of that. Not with a salad bowl on his head.

In retrospect, Ash figured, maybe Mauricio was the wiser one.

The radio signal faded to static, and he couldn’t dial it back. Clouds swarmed the sky, dimming the late afternoon sunlight to steel gray. He shut off the blast of static and listened to the wind and the thrumming of the engine. The Galaxie ran better with a new tank of gas.

Mountains glided past the chrome-trimmed windows. Green ranks of pine trees climbed into the distance, fading to bare brown rock and finally white peaks with jagged blue crevices. Ahead of him, the gray ribbon of highway narrowed in the distance, a steady uphill climb. The traffic was sparse, mostly scattered commercial trucks. A yellow sign warned of falling rocks.

His cell phone rang. He wrestled with the window crank, cutting off enough of the wind to have a conversation. The screen said “Unknown Caller.” A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

Was he better off answering, or tossing his phone out the window? No idea.

The phone kept ringing. He stared at it, frozen, wondering who could be calling. He needed some kind of lead. Some way to get out of this. But could he get it without letting on how much he didn’t know?

Steeling himself, he answered. “Yeah?”

“‘Bout time you picked up,” said a rusty voice. Billiard balls clicked in the background.

Names and faces flitted through Ash’s mind as he tried to place the voice. He had a talent for remembering people. It had kept him alive more than once.

“Where you at?” the voice said.

“Prez,” Ash realized out loud.

“You expectin’ somebody else?”

Ash cleared his throat. “I’m on my way back to Denver right now.”

“You got my money?”

“Well.” A million dollars, Mauricio had said. “Well, Andres has the money, I’m pretty sure.”

“‘Course Andres has it. He suppose to give it to
you
.”

That didn’t make any sense at all.

“Right,” Ash said. “Well, uh, the deal pretty much fell through. So I think you should talk to him about it. You guys meeting anywhere soon?”

“Huh. That suppose to be funny?”

Ash wasn’t sure. “No...?”

“You damn right it ain’t funny. I take it you are a man of resources. Way Mauricio talks about you, I’m expectin’ to see you walk on water. If you can’t, well, I imagine you and him just might drown.”

“You just leave my brother out of this,” Ash said. “You and I can work this out.”

“Got my man DMT sittin’ on Mauricio right now. You know that?”

A cold fear shot through him. “Don’t do anything to Mauricio. You hear? He’s not part of this.” Ash prayed that much was true. “Just leave him alone.”

“Well now, that’s all up to you. All you got to do is walk in here with my money. Just like we agreed.”

His throat went dry. He remembered what Mauricio had said about it. “There’s something wrong with the money!”

“Damn straight there is. Why you think I want it back?”

Ash paused. That didn’t make any sense, either.

The highway crested the pass and dropped down the other side. A wall of rock rose up beside the highway, cut diagonally by shadow as the hazy sun slipped behind the ridge. Prez’s voice blurred into electronic noise.

“Prez? Hold on.” Ash slowed down and pulled over onto the rock-strewn shoulder. Moolah perked up his ears. Ash shifted his grip on the phone. “Prez?”

Bits of words buzzed out of the phone, too faint to hear. He turned off the ignition key and pressed the phone hard against his ear. “Don’t you do anything to Mauricio. Prez? You hear me?”

The phone forced out a few more syllables and then beeped twice. He checked the screen. No signal.

“Damn it.” He tried to call Prez back. Nothing.

He sagged back in his seat, defeated, and buried his face in his hands. How had he gotten his brother into this? What kind of scam was he running? How had it all gone so wrong?

Moolah whined and climbed back up into the front seat. He swiveled his head back and forth, looking out the window and then at Ash.

“Been cooped up too long?” Ash leaned across the wide seat and opened the door. Without hesitation, Moolah jumped out and started sniffing the bushes along the side of the road. Above, the sky darkened as clouds rolled in. Looked like a thunderstorm was on its way.

Ash gave the phone another try and then tossed it on the seat, fed up. “It’ll be okay, buddy,” he called to Moolah after a minute. “Let’s just get Mauricio and get out of here. What do you say? Let’s head to Texas. Get some steaks.”

At that last word, Moolah came back to the open car door, his tail wagging.

“You act like I never feed you. I know I must’ve fed you this morning.”

Moolah gave him a begging look, his eyes big.

A pickup truck blew past on the road, buffeting the Galaxie with wind. Tires screeched. Ash’s head snapped up.