The Escape Diaries Part 19

"Jesus, Mazie."

"But then the brewery sort of caught on fire."

"The old Brenner brewery? You can see the fire all over the city. You started it?"

I was tired of being blamed for things I hadn't done. "I just told you," I snapped. "It was the Janitors. And stop s.h.i.+ning that thing in my face."

He aimed the beam down. We stared at each other, our faces skull-like in the backsplashed light.

"We can hash this out later," Labeck finally said. "Let's get the locker first."

"You know about the locker?"

He started moving along the rows of lockers, s.h.i.+ning the flashlight at the numbers.

"The station sent me to the stadium to film the sports idiot doing player interviews. When I came out, the parking lot was empty-except for my car. The car you stole-"

"Borrowed."

"Oh, excuse me. Big difference. Anyway, these two kids were standing next to it, arguing-"

"Eddie and Rico?"

"Yeah. They weren't too happy when I showed up demanding to know what the h.e.l.l they were doing with my car. The kid with the weird hair jumped me, said he'd kill me if I didn't tell them what I did with you. But we got it all straightened out, once I had them both down on the ground with my knees in their kidneys-"

"G.o.d, Labeck-you didn't hurt them, did you?"

He snorted. "Mazie, that Arguello kid isn't exactly a cream puff. Anyway, they told me how you suddenly disappeared while they were in the can. They figured those guys you called Janitors must have taken you. The only thing we had to go on was the pickle factory. I figured I'd rush over here and play superhero. I told the sports prettyboy to drive the truck back to the station, then I took off in my car. Great plan, except for the part where the car runs out of gas two blocks later."

"Uhh . . . I guess that was sort of my fault."

"It took me an hour to walk to a service station and come back with a can of gas. Then I headed onto the freeway and got locked in the world's worst traffic jam. Total gridlock. I-Forty-three was closed down because of blowing smoke. They said on the radio that traffic's backed up to the Illinois border. It took me two hours to get to an off-ramp."

He aimed the flashlight at a locker. "I think this is it."

We both gazed at locker number 1019. It was an ordinary-looking locker. Gray metal, about the size of a file drawer, with a built-in keyhole lock.

"It'll be empty," I said gloomily. "It's been four years."

"Don't be too sure." Labeck yanked on the door, which didn't budge. "I've seen calendars in this place dating from 1978. Where's the key?"

"Kim Jong and General Custer took it."

He heaved a deep sigh. "I'm not even going to ask. Move aside."

He reared back, raised his right leg, kicked the locker in.

"Jeez-why don't you just destroy the whole place?"

He yanked open the stove-in door and dragged out the locker's contents. A denim jumpsuit that smelled like fermenting pickles. A pair of beat-up sneakers. A handful of coins. A crumpled time card. Labeck shone the flashlight on the card. "Luis Ruiz," he said softly.

Labeck handed me the coins. This was it? Disappointment washed over me, leaving me feeling sick. Two quarters and a dime? That's what I'd been risking my life for?

Labeck turned the jumpsuit's pockets inside out, but found nothing.

I peered into the locker and spotted something stuffed into the back. Groping for it, I retrieved a battered Spiderman backpack. Labeck hovered as I unzipped it, fingers shaking with excitement. Inside was a plastic 7-Eleven bag, knotted at the top, probably containing the moldy remnants of a lunch Luis had never gotten to eat.

"We'll look at it later," Labeck said. "Let's go."

Labeck hauled the locker loot while I carried m.u.f.fin. Moving cautiously, we left the building and crossed the parking lot to his car. The pa.s.senger-side window of the Volks was smashed.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I punched it out."

"I think you have anger issues."

"I have don't-want-to-stand-around-waiting-for-a-locksmith issues. I smashed the window so I could get in the car." He tossed Luis Ruiz's stuff into the backseat, then turned to me. "You do have my car keys, right?"

I folded my arms and gazed off toward the ca.n.a.l.

"Never mind. I suppose Wild Bill Hick.o.c.k took them. Here, hold this." He thrust the flashlight at me.

I slapped it back at him. "Want me to tell you where you can shove that?"

Labeck stared at me, bewildered.

"Hold this! Move aside! I'm here to rescue you! I'm sick and tired of you giving me orders." I was hissing like an angry cobra.

Labeck looked around nervously. "Mazie, quiet down-"

"Don't tell me what to do!" I knew he was right; I knew I ought to be quiet, but suddenly everything I'd endured over the last twenty-four hours bubbled up and I was so furious I wanted to run around like m.u.f.fin, biting and snarling. "I was doing just fine until you arrived and started bossing me around!"

"Mazie, there's a guard not fifty feet away-"

"How do I know you're not one of them? You might be planning to b.u.mp me off now that you've got the locker contents."

Labeck matched my scowl with one of his own. Then he took a deep breath and muttered, "I have no plans to b.u.mp you off, Mazie Maguire-you'll just have to trust me on that. Now will you please s.h.i.+ne the light on the dashboard so I can start the d.a.m.n car-notice the please-a request, not an order."

That was as close to an apology as I was likely to get, I figured. s.n.a.t.c.hing up the flashlight, I shone it into the car's interior. Labeck, who was built way too big for a small car, grunted with the effort as he squeezed into the s.p.a.ce beneath the dashboard and began jabbing wires.

Something sparked. Labeck cursed, sucked on a finger, and the engine started.

"Where'd you learn to hot-wire a car?" I asked.

"From the president of your fan club." He uncurled himself from beneath the dash, backed out of the car, and worked his cramped shoulders.

"From Eddie? Where is he?" Using Luis's backpack like a whisk broom, I swiped broken gla.s.s off the pa.s.senger seat. "If the Janitors go after him and Rico-"

"Mazie, relax. Get in. Please get in. Those two will be okay. I told them they ought to hide out until things cool down. They're going to stay with one of Woody Woodp.e.c.k.e.r's relatives for a couple days."

I hoped Eddie and Rico had enough sense to keep a low profile, but neither of them had exhibited much common sense so far, so my expectations weren't very high.

"Where are we going?" I asked as Labeck got behind the wheel.

"Back to my place." He shot me a look. "Or is that being too bossy?"

I shrugged, secretly grateful Labeck was willing to take me in again, but not in a mood just now to express my grat.i.tude. We pulled out of the factory parking lot, m.u.f.fin in my lap, Luis's pack in the backseat, and Labeck driving at exactly the speed limit, not wanting to risk being stopped by a cop. He kept to side streets, probably because the freeway was still a mess. He looked over at me. "You okay?"

"Peachy-keen."

"Your hand is bleeding."

"Oh, it's nothing. It's just where they tried to chop off my fingers."

"Christ, Mazie."

I smiled to myself in the dark. Labeck cared. I was pretty sure he was on my side.

"Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning."

I did. I was too tired to care whether I could trust Labeck 100 percent. I was willing to shoot for 90 percent. He was a careful driver, but a couple of times, as I described the events of the past thirty-six hours, he almost ran into parked cars.

"Brenner?" His voice rose. "Brenner as in United States Senator Brenner?"

"He said I was nothing but a big disposal problem."

"That son of a b.i.t.c.h. I'm going to kill him."

I knew Labeck was indulging in a bit of testosterone-fueled chest-pounding, but I appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. A guy going off to slay giants on my behalf-if I hadn't been so exhausted, it might have been kind of s.e.xy.

The sky to the north was a smoldering rose, the fire reflecting off the plumes of smoke rising high into the night sky. It was spectacular, but looking at it made me feel sick. That could have been my ashes floating upward in those clouds of smoke. By the time I'd brought Labeck up-to-date on everything-being rescued by Claudette and Bobby Ray, escaping from the hospital, meeting up with Rico and Eddie, being kidnapped by Racing Sausages-we were nearly back at Five Points.

"What did you do to this guy?" Labeck asked, sounding dazed.

"To Bear? I don't know. But it has something to do with the Instamatic snapshot. You were right about Brenner, Ben-I never should have trusted him."

A silence, then: "So you're calling me Ben now?"

"I'm calling you the name that was on your s.h.i.+rt. It is your name?"

I could see his face, illuminated by the glow of a stop and go light. He was smiling.

"More or less."

More or less. Well, wasn't he the man of mystery?

Escape tip #28: Boys will be boys- except when they're girls.

We cruised slowly past the Oriental Theater, where patrons were lining up for the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Almost everyone was in costume, mostly in Frank-N-Furter getups, with a few Riff Raffs and Little Nells in the mix. Labeck suddenly cut over to the curb. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. A towering figure in the movie line looked over toward the car. Then the person-male, female?-clopped over on six-inch platforms.

"Boney!" the creature warbled in a ba.s.s voice that at least answered the gender question. He was wearing a frizzy auburn wig so wide it wouldn't have fit through most doorways. Eyeliner had been applied by the quart, lipstick scrolled on far beyond lines where lips ever existed. In heels and wig, he was in LeBron James territory.

"Looking sharp tonight," Labeck said.

"I try." He batted his long fake lashes. Stooping, he peered in through the broken pa.s.senger window, eyeing me curiously.

"Doing 'The Time Warp' tonight?" Labeck inquired.

Coquettishly, the guy fluffed out his French maid's skirt. It was black satin over a net crinoline that stuck out at right angles and barely covered his crotch. Frilly garter belts held up fishnet stockings. His torso was crammed into a low-cut maid's uniform top that exposed a werewolflike mat of chest hair. He did a curbside b.u.mp and grind and sang in a robust falsetto.

"With a bit of a mind flip, you're into a time slip . . ."

Labeck clapped.

The guy curtsied. "You ought to come down and catch the show tonight, Boney-you and cutie pie here." He stuck a large hand clad in a lacework glove through the window. We shook, his grip surprisingly gentle. "I'm Magenta."

"Oh, right. The Patty Quinn character. From Rocky Horror."

The mascara-studded eyes widened. "You know Rocky?"

I nodded. During our single-girl days, Gloria and I had spent a lot of Friday midnights at the Oriental, singing along to "Sweet Transvest.i.te" and "Eddie's Teddy." Wa-a-y before the Glee Johnny-come-latelies had co-opted Rocky.

"What happened to your hair, sweetie?" Magenta asked. "It looks like someone styled it with a blowtorch."

Close.

"Anything weird going on in the 'hood?" Labeck asked.

"Narcs, thugs, suburbanites? No, baby, everything's cool." Magenta's eyes cut to me again, and I had a sinking feeling that lights were going on behind the inch-long feathery fringes. "I got your back, Boney babes."

"Come up after the show, okay?"