King of Forgotten Clubs Read online

  I dragged my feet the entire way back to the sushi place.

  Annabelle was waiting for me, her hair blackened with soot. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t get it,” I said, searching the ground for the clutch Irma had tossed, hoping it might contain some clue to her identity. I’d looked everywhere. So far, nothing.

  Annabelle’s eyes flashed fire. “You ditched the job and left me, you mean.”

  Uh-oh. “I stopped to help a girl having an asthma attack, is all.”

  “What girl?”

  “Irma.” I probably should’ve scrapped the truth completely and used a more realistic name.

  The fury pouring off Annabelle was palpable. “So you blew me off for Irma-the-blond-with-bad-lungs and couldn’t even call me?”

  “I lost my phone,” I lied. I should’ve thought about calling. Smooth move, Higgins.

  “We’re done here.”

  My lungs constricted. “Annabelle.” I caught her arm. “It isn’t like that. Look.” Annabelle was right. I needed to trust her. “Irma’s a fugitive or something. She jumped through my window last night then disappeared. Then she shows up at a fancy sushi place? I had to talk to her. And here’s the thing—I don’t think she’s running. I think she’s scheming something. I just need to figure out what, and I can head her off and find her again.”

  Annabelle studied a spot past my shoulder. “I get it completely.”

  I got the sinking feeling that I’d just said something terribly wrong.

  “Some girl that shows up in your bedroom is obviously more important than the girlfriend you just broke up with yesterday.”

  “That’s not what I was trying to say.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  I took a step back. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Annabelle had pulled out a machete and started hacking.

  “We broke up yesterday, Pak. Yesterday.” Her voice broke. “I thought that maybe that would matter to you. That I might matter to you.”

  “You do.”

  She pushed me away. “Forget it, Pak. I shouldn’t have come here at all.”

  “I’m glad you did.” It was a weak acknowledgement of what I really felt. The words I should’ve said were, I need you.

  She shook her head as she walked away.

  And so the great Pak Higgins screwed things up again, proving that some humans don’t strive for a better life at all. Some of us just try to get by without stabbing ourselves in the eye.

  And some of us can’t even manage that.

  I sat on a bench, notebook and pen in hand, halfheartedly trying to figure out where Irma would show up next. I didn’t know what to do about Annabelle. I missed her. I didn’t know how to be around her without making a mess of everything. And I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that Irma needed me.

  I doodled in my notebook. Soccer. The bad part of town. A fancy restaurant. My pants.

  I knew where she’d be.

  “Smile.” I clicked the camera button on my phone.

  Irma didn’t smile. “How did you get here?” she whispered.

  I sat down next to her in the sand. The crowd passing on the boardwalk didn’t give us a second glance. “Walked. Like everyone else. Venice Beach isn’t exactly hard to get to.”

  She bristled. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

  “I didn’t. Now I’ll take my pants back.” I held out my hand.

  Her face turned stoplight red. Understandable, seeing as how she was wearing them. “No.”

  “Later, then. How about we pass the time with some questions? Who are you trying to contact?”

  “You can have your stupid pants back.” She began tugging at the hem.

  “I don’t want them back. Stop it. I just want answers.”

  “What is it you want to hear? That I’m in trouble and need someone to save me? Because I don’t. I’ve got it under control.”

  “You don’t know where your contact is. You’re throwing open doors, hoping you’ll find the right one before the lion eats you.”

  “You don’t even know I have a contact!” She stood up. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  I tried to think of something clever and pithy, something that would instantly win her over to my side. All that came out was, “Because I need someone to help me.”

  We watched each other from across a foot-wide gap of air.

  She sat back down. “My contact’s name is Vince. I don’t know where he is. Just places he might be.”

  “Could they have gotten to him?”

  She slid a strand of hair between her teeth. I tried not to find it sexy. “Yes.”

  “You’re only putting yourself at risk by looking. You need a new plan.”

  “I know. It’s just… This is the only one I’ve got.”

  She was more like me than anyone I’d ever met. We both clung to broken things because we were afraid of what would happen when we let go. I wrapped my hand around hers. “We’ll figure it out.”

  She still didn’t look at me. “And you? What are you running from?”

  I cringed. I’d been hoping to avoid the question. “Myself. My family. I don’t know.”

  I leaned back on the sand. She sprawled out beside me. The smell of laundry detergent and peppermint washed over me.

  “It’s like, running is just what I do. Because I know how to run. I trained for cross country for a month once, because… it doesn’t matter why. Anyway, I know how to run. What I can’t figure out is how to stop. So I just keep running.”

  “I think…” Irma studied me. “I think you’ve been trying out that medical marijuana.”

  I laughed. Irma’s golden hair spilled across the sand. If I stayed on that beach with her for one more second, I’d end up doing something I would regret.

  “You know what we need?” I asked.

  “Better parents?” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Stir-fry. Everything is better with stir-fry.” And maybe some good advice. Well, passable advice, anyway. Or at least, occasionally not destructive advice.

  “Where are you taking me?” Irma’s smile showed dimples. The sight was a bit disconcerting. I had never pictured her with dimples.

  “Just this place. It’s not much farther. They don’t usually do takeout stir-fry, but I know people.” I decided to keep from her just how well I knew those particular people for another minute.

  Irma hooked her arm through mine. “You seem like the type that would know people. Are they dangerous?”

  “Depends. Are you working on any schemes for high school popularity or boyfriend stealing?”

  She flushed. “No.”

  “Then you should be fine. But stay close to me, just in case.” Not that she could get much closer. Her arm kept brushing mine, sending shockwaves of heat through my system.

  “I can do that.”

  On second thought, maybe I should have told her to stay farther away.

  Irma took a moment to realize I’d stopped walking.

  “We’re here,” I said.

  She spun in a circle. “Where? Is it in an alley? Oh, is it all swank and modern?”

  “Not exactly.” I fought back a smile.

  It still took her a moment to register. “You brought me to a gas station?”

  The sheer amount of horror in her expression was worth the walk. “The best gas-station-slash-pizza-joint in the city.”

  Irma was speechless. I pulled her toward the bright red Cheesey’s sign. Actually, it was missing the C. We walked through the front door.

  Irma took in the single table next to the trash can with wide eyes. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “Entirely.”

  Sam didn’t even look up from the textbook he had propped open on the counter. “Pak.”

  “I’ll take the usual. Plus one extra.”

  The door to the back burst open. “Pak!” Birdie hurtled through it. Her hair was black for the day, and she had some sort of fake beauty mark on her cheek. “Did y
ou see—” She stopped short, staring at Irma.

  “Umm, this is—”

  “Rachel.” Irma stuck out her hand.

  I wasn’t sure how to keep up with the name changes. “Right, Rachel. This is Birdie. And that’s Sam.” I gestured vaguely.

  “So nice to meet you,” Irma-Rachel said. “From the way Pak was talking, I was expecting hardened criminals.” Did she sound disappointed?

  Birdie smiled at her, then shot a glare at me. “Those charges were dropped. So lovely to meet you, girl I’ve never seen before.”

  What? I mouthed at Birdie. I needed a primer on Things Those of the Female Persuasion Find Offensive.

  “So,” Irma-Rachel said, “can we get our stir-fry?”

  Based on the color that hit Birdie’s cheeks, I was pretty sure that was offensive.

  “We don’t serve stir-fry,” Birdie said.

  “And you still don’t work here,” Sam said. “I’ll get it.”

  Birdie looked as if she was trying to decide who to murder first. “Did you see Annabelle today?” she asked a little too loudly for a sane person. “I thought she was going to see you.”

  “Umm, I guess. For a minute or two.”

  Her wrath settled squarely on me. “And where did you meet Rachel?”

  I was beginning to see the connection. “I’m helping her work on a project. For school.”

  “In July?”

  “Summer classes?” It was a pathetic lie, but I was desperate.

  “I flunked math,” Rachel offered. “He’s tutoring me.”

  Wrong choice.

  And Birdie, of course, noticed immediately. “Because we all know what a genius Pak is at math.”

  Sam walked out of the back with a takeout box. Thank the food gods. “I’ll add it to your tab,” he said as he handed me the box.

  I tried not to look too eager to bolt for the door. I really did hate how much I liked Sam and the endless tab he never asked me to pay.

  “See you later,” I called as I dragged Irma-Rachel through the door. Birdie would probably be speed-dialing Annabelle before it clicked in the latch.

  Annabelle. The thought hit me like a sucker punch. She’d be furious. She’d be… hurt. And somehow that was worse.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  How to Plan

  Exhibit F: I test the strength of glass walls.

  We sat in our cardboard corner, surrounded by notecards and takeout.

  “I’ve been on the defensive this whole time,” Irma said. “Maybe what I need to do is plan an attack.”

  I studied the way she swept her hair back, the flicker of her eyelashes. What was it about that girl that was so fascinating? “It would help if you told me what’s going on.” I shoveled a forkful of food into my mouth.

  Irma fingered the edge of a notecard. “If I tell you, you could make it worse.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” I really did believe that. I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything to hurt her. I guess I forgot, for a second, that I was me. “I haven’t gone to the police yet, have I?”

  Irma shook her head. “They’re not the real police.”

  Bingo. Information. “Where’d they get the badges from?”

  “Theft. Bribery. I don’t know.” Irma sighed. “They have money, resources. The police weren’t exactly turning a blind eye, but they couldn’t do much of anything until…”

  “Until you blew up mob headquarters?” I was beginning to worry that by siding with her, I was pitting myself against some sort of super mob. I had a vague fantasy about fighting gangsters in pinstriped suits before I snapped back to reality.

  “It’s not ‘the mob.’ Just a drug ring. A big one, I guess. Supplies half of western L.A. My dad’s testifying against them. They think they can get to him through me.”

  Maybe that was worse. “Why don’t you get real police protection?”

  She scowled. “I’ve seen the so-called police protection. That’s how you get killed. I’m safer on my own.”

  “You don’t have to be on your own.”

  She slid her hand over to mine slowly. “I know.”

  I ran my fingers along hers. “Irma.”

  “Call me Kali.”

  I smiled. “Is that your real name?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  I wanted to capture the way her lips tilted in strings and notecards, so I’d never have to be without it again. My cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

  “You should get that.”

  I leaned away to yank it out and snapped open the ancient flip screen. If I’d checked the caller ID first, I’d never have answered it at all. “What?”

  There was a breath-filled pause. Then, “Pak.”

  The sound of Mom’s voice went straight to my gut. “No.”

  “I need to talk to you,” she pleaded.

  “Yeah, well, you should’ve thought of that two years ago.”

  “Pak, please.”

  I ended the call.

  Kali sat watching me. “Who was that?”

  “No one.”

  “Funny. From the look on your face, I’d say it’s the very definition of ‘someone.’”

  It was easier to lie than tell the truth, to keep people out, to put up glass walls so they only think they’re sitting right next to me. But sooner or later, I just can’t resist throwing a stone. “My mom isn’t someone anymore.”

  “Harsh.”

  I tried not to stare at the way her eyes reflected the lamplight. “No. Harsh is sending me to an entire other country to get away from me.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “Some boarding school in France. I left. Didn’t exactly ask permission first.”

  “Does she know where you are at all?”

  “No.” I stirred what was left of my meal with a fork.

  She shuffled notecards. “You should talk to her. I mean, if I could talk to my parents, I would.”

  “That’s different.” Her parents hadn’t forgotten she existed once she got too old to be a stylish accessory.

  “It really isn’t.” A strand of hair tumbled over her shoulder. “I could try here.” She pointed at a scribbled location on a notecard. “Hide out until the trial is over.”

  “What happened to all those words about going on the offensive?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see how I could get anything through. They’d snatch me, and it’d be over before it began.”

  “Not necessarily.” I leaned forward, eagerness beginning to break through the frustration. There was nothing better than planning a job. “Find something they need, like a point in the supply chain. Hit it when it’s unguarded and run. Chaos ensues. Further attempts to find you are delayed. Everyone wins except for them.”

  “These aren’t the kind of people who leave things unguarded.” She rubbed her wrist. “Are you sure we shouldn’t move somewhere else? If they spotted us together they could figure out where we are.”

  “Please. The only thing we’re in threat range of is flying pizza from my roommates.” Something thunked into one of the cardboard walls and caused them all to shake. “Like that.” I pushed back against the wall. “Get your own room!”

  Instead of the chorus of stoned laughter I expected, there was dead silence. Something red was leaking through the cardboard. “Shit.”

  Kali was already on her feet and lunging for the window. I scrambled after her. The wall fell away.

  The fake policeman stood there, his cropped hair giving off an aura of deadly competence. All he needed was a leather jacket to complete the image. Sadly, the heat seemed to have prevented it. “Freeze.”

  My long history of ignoring authority finally came in handy. I jumped out the window after Kali, shielding my head with my arms. My shoulder hit the sidewalk hard.

  “Move!” Kali screamed, grabbing my hand and yanking me to my feet.

  I stumbled across the pavement, hunched against the pain trying to crawl up my spine. A car screeched to a stop inches from my foot. The street and sidewalk formed a confus
ing mesh in my tilted vision.

  The snap of a gunshot brought me back to my senses.

  I was never harboring a fugitive again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  How to Wreck

  Exhibit G: I lose the girl.

  I gasped for air as I leaned against the dirty brick wall.

  “We have to keep moving.” Kali fidgeted with a strand of her hair. “They’ll catch up to us if we stay here too long.”

  “You forgot to mention the part,” I paused to breathe, “where helping you would get me shot at. With guns.”

  “It’s not like they’d shoot at us with bows and arrows, now, is it?”

  I glared at her.

  “Come on. I know a place where we can duck off the street.” She tried to walk away.

  I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. “No more running.”

  “Fine, we’ll walk there. Can we just go?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. I need to know something first.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” She hopped from foot to foot.

  I tugged her closer. “It’ll only take a minute.” I reached out and ran a hand over her hair. It slid softly through my fingers.

  Kali made a noise deep in her throat and leaned forward. Before I let myself think through what I was doing, I pressed my lips against hers. She melted against me, and we glided across each other, frictionless.

  What were we doing? I pulled away from her. I felt as though I’d misplaced my common sense, and maybe my lungs with it.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, her words low and warm.

  We tangled together again, her fingertips hard against my back. I breathed her in. She was peppermint and root beer Chapstick and something unfathomable. It wasn’t enough. My hand slid down the smooth plane of her back, found the frayed top of the jeans that had been mine a week ago. Her leg wrapped around mine. We fell back against the wall.

  She tilted her head back, and I obligingly moved to explore the slope of her neck, inhaled against the silk of her hair.

  “Annabelle,” I said.