“Theo!”
“Shut the fuck up.” Wayne advanced toward Auggie, stepping over Orlando without seeming to see him. “We’re going to go for a ride now. I am not going to let you ruin everything.”
“Everything is ruined,” Auggie said, backing up until his back hit the dresser. “Everything in your life that you loved is ruined. Orlando will never forgive you. Your family will never forgive you. You’ve lost the business. You’ve lost Deja.”
“The game’s not over until it’s over,” Wayne said. “Fourth-quarter comeback. Bottom-of-the-ninth win. I’m not letting it end like this, not when I’ve worked so hard.”
He was three feet away and coming closer.
“I get that,” Auggie said, “but you don’t understand how badly—”
When Wayne grabbed him, Auggie lunged forward instead of pulling away. His fist connected with Wayne’s throat. Wayne’s eyes bulged, and he wheezed and stepped sideways.
Darting around him, Auggie broke for the hall. Wayne hit him from behind. It wasn’t some brilliant, technical move; he just clubbed Auggie as hard as he could between the shoulder blades, and Auggie smashed into the jamb. White light and pain erupted in his head. He tried to recover. His hip checked the wall, and he stumbled again. Then Wayne caught up, raining blows onto Auggie’s back and shoulders and head until Auggie went down. He hit the floor less than six inches from Orlando, and a distant part of Auggie’s brain was surprised to see Orlando’s eyes open and staring at him.
“You little faggot,” Wayne wheezed. He knelt on Auggie’s back, and Auggie felt something pop and then a sharp pain. Big hands closed around Auggie’s neck, tightening, and an alarm sounded inside Auggie. No air. He couldn’t get any air. He arched his back, trying to buck Wayne off, but Wayne was much bigger and had him pinned. Blackness fuzzed the edge of Auggie’s vision. He reached back, clawing at Wayne’s face, and for a moment, the incredible pressure closing his throat eased.
Auggie gasped raggedly for air. He couldn’t move because Wayne’s weight still pinned him to the ground, but he could breathe. Then the hands were back.
“Don’t let him do this, Orlando,” Auggie shouted as he pried at the fingers. “Don’t let him—”
The haze of black static came more quickly this time. He raked his nails on Wayne’s hands and arms. He tried to get his face again. He remembered diving as deep as he could when Fer had taken him to the beach the first time, the ocean water black and stingingly cold. The tremendous pressure in his head.
And then the weight on him was gone, the pressure was gone, and Auggie was sucking in breaths of air. He flopped onto his back, crying, the pain in his throat so great that he couldn’t bring himself to shout for help. Somehow, though, he sat up.
Orlando had Wayne in some sort of wrestling hold, and to judge by Wayne’s contorted expression, it wasn’t a comfortable one.
“Hey, uh, Augs,” Orlando said, the casual words belied by the strain in his voice. “Could you, um, call the cops? He’s really strong.”
24
The cops had Theo in for questioning most of the night, while Auggie and Orlando went to the hospital. By the time John-Henry and his partner, Upchurch, had finished interviewing Theo, it was close to dawn.
John-Henry followed him out into the steel-gray light of the parking lot. “Just between us, Theo, we tracked down the collectibles.”
“What?”
“The collectibles, the ones that Wayne claimed Cal sold to pay for his drugs. We think Wayne dumped them at the basketball expo—chucked them in the trash to make it look like Cal had either run off or been robbed. Someone dug them out of the dumpster, and when he sold one, the owner of the pawn shop logged it on a received-property database. We just saw that it had been flagged. A couple of uniformed guys are going to meet up with the local police and get the full story, but we think we’ll be able to tie it to Wayne.”
“That’s good, John-Henry.”
“I know this is pretty inappropriate, but have you heard anything from Cart?”
Theo shook his head.
“He’s missed all his shifts this week. He left a message with dispatch saying he quit, but it was so strange that they kept him on rotation just in case it was a joke.”
“Fuck.”
John-Henry put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “That’s not your trouble to carry. I know it doesn’t help, me saying that, but I thought you should hear it.”
“You’re right,” Theo said. “It doesn’t help.”
He walked to the hospital. The morning was cool. The air was wet. Dew dimpled the blossoms of a bed of tulips. From the Wahredua Family Bakery came the smell of yeast and hot oil—the day’s doughnuts, already getting started—and an old Chevy rolled past him, a pair of steel balls hanging off the tow hitch, their rattle oddly musical when the Chevy went over a speed bump.
The hospital gift shop would still be closed, so Theo stopped at a twenty-four-hour Walgreens and bought flowers and a cheap glass vase. When he got to the hospital, he navigated and lied until he found Auggie’s room. Auggie was asleep. The flowers were daisies. He put water in the vase. He added the contents of whatever was in the little packet of nutrients and preservatives that came with the flowers, clouding the water. Then he sat in one of the vinyl-backed chairs and fell asleep.
He was on the floor, his arms tied behind his back. Somewhere far off, Luke was yelling, calling his name. Only then the voice was Auggie’s.
Theo jerked awake.
The morning light made him squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Auggie lay on his side, watching him. Bruises covered his neck in grape-sized blotches. With one of those waking-up noises that couldn’t be helped, Theo wiped his mouth, checking for drool. A yawn caught him. When he finally managed to talk, all he could think of was, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Auggie said with a smile.
“How are you? Wait, don’t answer that. Does it hurt to talk? Just nod your head.”
“It’s ok. My voice sounds funny, and it’s not exactly pleasant.”
“How’s your head?”
“Ok.”
“How’s your—”
“I’m fine, Theo. I just want to get out of here. How are you?”
“Me? Jesus, he barely touched me. He caught me by surprise and hit me pretty hard. While I was still out of it, he gagged me and tied me up; I’m surprised he didn’t stomp my face in just to get revenge.”
“I guess being quiet was his top priority.”
“Thank God.” Theo’s gaze dropped; he wadded up the plastic wrapper that had come with the flowers. “Guess I let you down again, huh? Right when it mattered the most.”
“You were there with me. You trusted me to do something dangerous and important. Things didn’t go like we planned, but you didn’t let me down.”
“Great.” He was staring at the crumpled plastic. “Now I’ve immediately stopped feeling so fucking awful.”