“But you have property in New York,” I say. “And here. Anywhere else?”
“A vacation home,” he says. “And Dad’s buying a bunch of property in east Faulkner, but that’s for business.”
“What property?” I ask, drawing back in surprise.
“The mall,” Royal says. “He wants to put in a casino.”
“Holy shit,” I say. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“No,” he says. “And it’s not a done deal. This would be the first one in Arkansas, and the gaming commission is giving him shit, and the governor is balking, so… Don’t go spreading it around, alright?”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid Royal will hear it. I’m not sure if Mr. D could take down the Dolces with this, but it’s pretty fucking big. A lot of people here are in love with their image of Faulkner as a small town with family values, a simple place where people still live by the rules of a bygone era. They don’t want to admit that gangs have already encroached into the neighborhoods on my side of the tracks, that drugs and violence are a part of life there.
But a casino… That’s not something that belongs in a small town. It’s garish and commercial and everything the town thinks its not. Probably everything they said about the mall when it was built in the eighties, but people are used to that now. It’s a part of the nostalgia of the town now. Gloria said it was closing, but I didn’t really think much about it. I sure as fuck didn’t realize Royal’s dad was buying it. It blows my mind that someone can buy an entire mall to begin with.
But it gives me one more week, buys me more time. So, the next day, I tell Mr. D about the mall and the casino, and once again, he asks me if I have proof beyond pillow talk. Again, I don’t.
Gloria wants to hang out on Saturday, and then there’s a basketball game, and a party. The next week, things are back to normal. But it’s halfway through January, and I’m terrified of losing my scholarship. So, that week after Royal drops me off at a respectable hour for the second Thursday in a row, I borrow Blue’s car and head to school at quarter to midnight.
I park on the side of the road a block away even though it’s raining, and I walk to school, not wanting Royal to see the car if he’s there. When I step into the parking lot, I have to dart back into the shadows of the trees to avoid being seen. A half dozen cars sit parked in the side lot where Colt got beaten that day, and two guys with umbrellas stand outside Royal’s car smoking pot, if the scent in the air is any indication.
I huddle next to a tree, praying the rain drowned out the sound of my footsteps. My heart is hammering so hard I can barely make out their voices over the thudding in my ears and the patter of water on asphalt. I hold my breath as a familiar little Tesla comes whipping into the lot and pulls up beside Royal’s car. Baron and Duke get out, slinging backpacks over their shoulders.
“Ready?” Duke calls.
“Yeah,” Royal answers, stepping away from the Rover.
I’m so excited I’m shaking. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s forty degrees and I don’t have an umbrella. But this is it. What I’ve been waiting for. My one chance to be free, to get the last information I’ll ever have to give my puppet master. I’m not leaving until I get something real fucking good, because I’m done being Mr. D’s puppet, his eyes, his snitch. Once I get this, I’m delivering it, and I’m walking away. Forever.
Whatever it takes, I’m getting in there tonight. I know better than to go through the regular channels, though. I can’t go to the Midnight Swans meeting and ask to be a recruit, like a boy might. Royal will throw me out on my ass. I’ll have to be sneakier than that.
I watch as Royal unlocks a side door and holds it open, gesturing for his flock to enter. He glances around and then steps into the darkness within, pulling the door closed after him. Only when they’re gone can I let out my breath. I wait a few minutes and then creep forward until I reach the cover of the cars. I’m pretty sure no one else is coming, but you can’t be too careful. After a stealth look around, I race through the rain to the door of the building. I’m not surprised to find it locked. A quick examination tells me this isn’t the kind of lock that can be picked with a bobby pin or credit card. No surprise there, either.
I move to the window on the right side of the door, a big glass pane overlooking the lot. Inside, I can just make out a science lab from the scant light spilling in from the hall. Even those are turned low, just the security lights the school leaves on all night. I push at the pane, knowing Willow Heights has the kind of windows that open, but it’s locked. Moving along the wall, I check each window. Each one is locked.
I’m not about to give up, though. I keep moving, checking each window of the next classroom and the next, until at last, I find one that gives. Jackpot. I knew at least one of the teachers would be too busy and distracted to check every window before leaving each day. I pull the window open, then pry the screen out with my pocketknife. Then it’s smooth sailing. I scramble in the window and drop to the floor, making sure to land on my toes to keep quiet. Then I replace the screen, close the window, and tiptoe into the building. My wet shoes squeak on the tile, so I slip them off and make my way in my socks.
There’s something spooky about the darkened, silent halls of a school, as if the ghosts of our daytime selves somehow haunt the place. I’ve walked the streets of Faulkner on my side of town a hundred times, but I’ve never felt as jumpy as walking down the empty halls of this rich prep school at night.
I’m fully exposed as the only person in the hall, and all the classroom doors are closed and probably locked. If one of the Swans comes out, I’m fucked. I hurry toward the library, my heart thudding in my ears. Even the soft scuff of my socks on the floor sounds magnified, echoing through the long hall and off the wooden lockers. When I reach the library, I find it locked, too.
Well, fuck.
I kneel in front of the door, shake my wet hair out of my eyes, and examine the lock, relieved to find it’s not as sturdy as the one on the outside door. I give a silent thanks to Lauren, my ex who taught me how to pick locks like a regular delinquent. At least I got one good thing out of that relationship. Five minutes with the metal pick in my pocketknife, and I’m inside.
I wince at the squeak when the door swings open, but at least the floor is carpeted in here, so my footsteps are silent as I sneak across the room. I’m almost to the section of bookshelf that pulls away when it groans, light spilling out a crack along the side. I dive under the circulation desk, my heart thundering in my ears, just as the door swings open.
Fuck fuck fuck.
The light falls against the wall in the direction the door opens, but enough of it makes its way to the desk that I know I’ll be fucked if someone looks this way. I hear muttering and footsteps as someone crosses the library. Holding my breath, I slowly ease myself further under the desk, out of the path of the light and into the shadows.
The door rattles, and then the footsteps cross back to the basement. “It’s locked,” calls a voice that I’m pretty sure belongs to DeShaun. Then he pulls the bookshelf back into place, plunging the library into darkness. Thank fuck. I close my eyes, melting back against the wood in relief. For once, I’m going to reign in my habit of bludgeoning my way through life and have patience.
If I charge into the middle of the meeting, they’ll probably never let me in as a member. If I wait until they leave, I can sneak down there and get a good look around, maybe find some clues about what they’re up to.
The one time Royal went down there with me and then freaked out, he left through another door. Which means there’s more to the basement than the one room I’ve seen. I curl into a comfortable position with my back braced against the underside of the desk, put in my earbuds, turn on Harlow and the Honey Badgers, and settle in to wait. It’s late, but I’m too wired to worry about falling asleep.
At least an hour passes before I hear the groan of the bookcase swinging open again. I fumble my phone out of my pocket, cursing myself for keeping it on. I barely manage to shut off the music and hide the screen before voices fill the library.