“It’s for VCR tapes, I think,” Ema said. “We still have something like it in the theater room.”
I stepped into the room. On the shelf above, there were dozens of tapes, lined up like books. I started to pull them down from the shelf.
“I don’t think they’re for a VCR,” I said.
Uncle Myron had old VCR tapes of his high school games in the house. These tapes looked slightly different. They were a little smaller, less rectangular. I hoped to find something on the labels, but the only thing written on them were numbers.
“Mickey?”
It was Ema. Her tone made my blood go cold. I turned slowly toward her. Ema’s eyes were wide. Her hand was resting on top of the television.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“The television,” she said.
“What about it?”
I saw her swallow. “It’s warm,” she said. “Someone was just using it.”
We both froze again, in this dark, dank space, and listened.
Another noise. This one was real. No mistaking it.
Ema looked down at the attached tape machine. She pressed a button and a tape ejected from the machine. She jammed it into her purse and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
I didn’t argue. We hurried back into the tunnel, this time heading toward the garage. We had gone about ten yards when I heard the noise behind me. I stopped and turned to look back.
Luther was there.
He stood at the far end of the tunnel, glaring at us. For a moment, none of us moved. Even down here, even in this faint light, I could still see the sandy hair and green eyes. I flashed back to the first time I had seen them-the day of the car accident. I was lying injured, woozy, not sure what had happened. I looked to the side and saw my father lying very still. A paramedic looked back at me and shook his head.
That paramedic was down at the end of the tunnel.
Luther’s hands formed two fists. He looked enraged. When he took a step toward us, Ema grabbed my arm and yelled, “Run!”
I didn’t move.
He took another step.
Ema said, “Mickey?”
“Go,” I said to her.
“What?”
“Go!” I shouted.
I wasn’t leaving. I wasn’t letting him escape again. This Luther, this man I didn’t know, was my father’s sworn enemy. That made him mine.
My father’s grave might not have held any answers. But I bet this guy did.
I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight again.
Luther and I faced each other like two gunslingers in an old Western movie. I wasn’t sure what move to make. I had spent most of my life overseas, in a variety of countries, and my father had insisted that I learn the various martial arts. I was big. I was strong. I knew how to fight.
But most martial arts work by using your opponent’s aggression. I had never learned, for example, how to sprint toward an opponent in a tunnel and take him down. I knew better how to counter an attack like that, how to roll with my adversary and incapacitate him.
So I waited another second for him to come toward me.
He waited too.
I wondered whether he knew how to fight. It didn’t matter. He was not getting out of here. He was not getting near Ema. It was just the two of us.
No reason to wait any longer.
I started to calculate the distance and figure an angle of attack-go low, take out the legs-when I heard a voice behind us.
“What the-?”
Someone was coming down via the trapdoor in the garage. I thought maybe I recognized the voice.
“Kasselton police! Everybody freeze!”
It was Chief Taylor, Troy’s father. He hurried down the ladder. I glanced for a second, no more. I kept my eyes on Luther’s. He kept his eyes on me. But I turned away just for a second.
“For the love of…” Chief Taylor’s mouth dropped open as he looked around in disbelief at the tunnel. “What is this place?”
Another officer was coming down the ladder behind him. I quickly turned back to Luther.
Luther started to run the other way.
“No!” I shouted.
“Freeze!” It was Chief Taylor again. The beam of his flashlight was on me. “Mickey Bolitar! Freeze right now!”
I didn’t listen. I sprinted toward the end of the tunnel. When I veered right, I saw the door-the steel-reinforced one in the basement, maybe?-slam closed.
Luther had run through it.
I ran toward it. I put my hand on the knob.
“Okay, Mickey,” Chief Taylor said, standing side by side with another officer, “that’s far enough.”
They were there. I had my hand on the knob and tried to calculate how long it would take to open the door and run through it. Too long. Taylor and the other officer would be on me.
That was when we all heard the scream.
The two police officers turned toward it.
“Help! Oh, help!”
Suddenly I got it. The scream and call for help had come from Ema, but I could tell, from the exaggerated tone, she wasn’t in real danger.
Genius that she was, Ema was intentionally diverting their attention from me!
I didn’t wait. I pulled open the door and ran through it. I was back in the basement. It was darker now. I heard a crunching noise above me. I used my flashlight app and shone it upward.
I saw Luther’s leg on the top step.
I ran and leapt toward it. I grabbed the ankle and hung on for all I was worth. I was actually suspended in the air, my grip on his ankle loosening, when I felt his other foot stomp on my arm. I didn’t care. I hung on.
“Let go of me!” Luther shouted.
“Where’s my father?”
“He’s dead!”
I didn’t believe him. And I had a plan.
If I could just swing my legs to the stairs, I would have enough leverage to pull Luther down to the concrete basement floor.
“Let go of me!”
“No!”
I pulled and arched my back, aiming my legs for the stairs. Behind me I heard the door open.
“Freeze!”
It was Chief Taylor again.
“He’s getting away!” I shouted.
But Chief Taylor and the other officer wouldn’t listen. They tackled me instead. I tried to hold on, tried with everything I had to keep my grip, but I could feel my fingers slip away under their combined weight.
“He killed my father!”
I crashed to the ground. Above me, I saw Luther smile and slip away.
“Stay put,” Taylor yelled.
“He killed my father! Stop him!”
“What are you talking about?”
But it was pointless. We were belowground. Luther was already off and running. Chief Taylor stood. The other officer flipped me onto my stomach and snapped the cuffs on me.
Ema came through the door. “Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything!”
“You’re both under arrest,” Taylor said.
“For what?”
“A neighbor saw you break into the garage. That’s a crime. You’ve wiggled out of plenty of trouble, Mickey, but not this time.”
“Listen to me,” I said, “you have to find that man.”
“I don’t have to find anyone,” Chief Taylor said. “I told you to stop. You didn’t. You ran away from a police officer. You resisted arrest. I’m sorry, Mickey. You’ve gotten too many breaks.”
Ema tried. “But if you’d just listen to us-”
Chief Taylor spun toward her. “Do you want me to cuff you too, missy?”
“What?”
“Turn around.”
“You’re kidding-”
“Turn around!”
Ema did so. I watched in disbelief as Chief Taylor cuffed her too.
“I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you.”
They led us back down the corridor through the tunnel. Again I saw Taylor looking around as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. “What is this place?” he asked me.