Philip nodded slowly. “That’s a damn good idea, Angel.”
Naomi grumbled something under her breath, but didn’t protest, though she made a big production over smashing her own phone and tossing the remains into the water. Philip rolled his eyes at her antics, but he followed suit. As we returned to the car Kyle suggested that it might be best if Philip didn’t drive, and, considering the incident moments before, no one argued. Kyle took the wheel and less than ten minutes later my phone was sealed within a priority mail box—addressed to myself at the Coroner’s Office, because I didn’t trust my neighbors not to steal packages left on my porch. The self-serve machine spit out the correct postage, I dumped the box into the slot, then returned to the car.
“Damn it,” I muttered as I climbed back into the car. “I think I forgot to turn it off.” When nobody responded I realized the others were focused on Kyle. Still in the driver’s seat, he was dialing a number on his phone—which had obviously not yet been destroyed.
“Calling Rachel,” Kyle said. “Giving notice.”
I shot a baffled look at Naomi but she simply gave a helpless shrug in response. Philip appeared equally confused, so apparently I wasn’t the only one operating without a clue.
“Rachel?” Kyle said. “Griffin here.”
Kyle must have turned the volume up because I had little trouble hearing Rachel’s voice. “Griffin,” she snarled. “You need to come in so we can discuss this situation.”
“That’s not happening,” he replied. Calm. Assured. “You have an insider. It isn’t me. It could be you. Griffin out.”
“Me!” Outrage and fury filled her voice. “Griffin, this isn’t over. I swear I’ll hunt you down and—” Whatever else she had to say stopped as Kyle crushed the phone in a zombie-strength grip.
There was a moment of silence. “Nice finish,” I finally said. “Kind of like dropping the mic and walking off stage.”
Kyle and Philip turned bewildered looks my way, but Naomi gave a snort-laugh. “So,” I continued. “New York City. We flying there?” I kept my tone as light and casual as possible, though my level of inner freakout climbed a few more degrees. Not only had I never set foot in an airplane, but I didn’t even want to think about how much something like that would cost.
“We’re not flying,” Naomi said, to my relief. “It would be too easy to nail us on arrival. We’re driving. We were deciding where to pick up a vehicle since we have to ditch this one.”
They’d already discussed this, I realized. When I was off mailing my phone. Not that I had anything useful to contribute, but it still bugged me. “You gonna buy a car?”
“No time for that,” she said, “and it could still be traced. We’ll have to ‘borrow’ one.”
The look I gave her was nothing short of dubious. “You intend to steal a car, and then drive it to New York?”
“I have vehicles stashed in long term storage in a few cities—including New York—for emergencies, but not here,” she said, totally matter of fact about having excess cars she didn’t use. “None of us have any here,” she went on, “so yes, we need to steal one.”
My level of dubious went up a couple of degrees. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to steal a car. And then drive it on roads and through intersections and on highways—”
“Jesus,” she interrupted with a scowl, “not a car that’s going to be reported any time soon.”
“How do you know?” I shot back.
“Because we’ll pick it up from an impound lot or long term parking at the airport,” she said. “Chances of it being missed over the next week will be miniscule. We’ll obey all traffic laws and not give any cop a reason to pull us over.”
“But what if it does get reported?” I pressed. “What if we do get pulled over, or get in a fender bender? Hell, what if we go through an intersection that has one of those cameras that’s linked to the stolen car database, and the cops get notified?” Jeez, I did not want to once again experience the joy of being arrested for possession of stolen property.
Philip glanced my way. “It’s a definite risk, but I don’t see that we have any other option.”
I fell silent and stayed that way for a couple of minutes. I had an idea, but I knew damn well everyone would think it was really stupid. Screw it. “I know where we might be able to get a car.”
“Where, Angel?” Kyle asked, without a trace of condescension or impatience.
“My ex-boyfriend,” I said. “He fixes cars.”
Chapter 10
It was true, Randy did fix cars. Of course, he also dabbled in various illegal activities related to cars and parts and that sort of thing, but that wasn’t worth mentioning. It didn’t really matter at the moment, and they could probably figure that part out on their own.
Naomi’s eyebrows lifted. “Randy?” she asked, disbelief thick in her voice. She’d heard a few of my tales about my ex. “Why would he help you?”
But Kyle lifted a hand. “Give her a chance to tell us,” he said to Naomi, eyes on me.
I shot him a grateful look. “I don’t know for sure that he would,” I said. “I’d have to feel him out first, but, well, we go way back.” I shrugged. “We dated, like, forever, and if we could get a car from him, then we wouldn’t have to worry about getting hooked for having a stolen car.”
“It’s worth a try,” Philip said, and Kyle gave a nod. “Where do we need to go?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s Friday, so he’s probably at Pillar’s Bar, on Kapp Street.” That was the bar where we used to hang out the most. It was also where some asshole put a date rape drug in my drink, which led to my becoming a zombie in the first place.
“Got it,” Philip said, making a turn. About ten minutes later we pulled into the gravel lot. The old neon sign on the roof simply spelled out BAR in big block letters like a beacon to outsiders. Everyone around these parts knew it was Pillar’s, so why waste money on the sign? Over thirty cars and pickups crowded the lot, along with half dozen motorcycles up near the entrance. Randy’s 1968 red Dodge Charger sat in the first space at the end of the building, where he always parked. Nothing had changed.
An odd curl of nerves wound through my belly. I hadn’t set foot in this place in over a year, and I hadn’t spoken to most of the people from that old life in just as long, including Randy. “It might be best if I go in by myself,” I said.
“Probably so,” Philip agreed. He reached into the bag resting on the console and pulled out a packet, handed it to me. “Eat that first. I’ll be right outside.”
I obediently sucked it down, then scraped my fingers through my hair to get it to lie down in a slightly more orderly fashion. “Wish me luck,” I said, then slipped out of the car and headed toward the entrance. I heard a car door close and looked back to see Philip following me.
“I’ll be right outside,” he repeated.
My nerves eased slightly. “Thanks.”
The people clustered by the door gave me a glance then returned to their cigarettes and low conversation. Music poured out when I opened the door, like hot air on a cold day. I quickly stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me, feeling as if I’d let all the music out if I left it open.
The four piece band on the crude stage against the back wall kicked out a decent version of a Blake Shelton song while a cluster of worn lights flashed to the beat of the music, sending weak pulses of red and blue through the haze of cigarette smoke. Loud conversation, drunken laughter, and the occasional crack of pool balls surrounded me like a comfortable blanket. How much time had I wasted here?