Mojo (Page 74)

I’m like, “Wow, you must be some kind of actress to fool all those people into thinking you were this fabulous, funny, heart-of-gold chick.”

She smiled. “That’s easy. People want to believe you’re good—all you have to do is throw them a few scraps to confirm it.”

Next to me, Randy started sobbing. “Why is the floor covered with water? There’s too much water.”

I patted him on the back. “There’s no water, Randy. It’s just your imagination. Hold on, buddy, you’ll be all right.”

That wasn’t easy to believe, though. My body ached all over. My stomach began folding itself into little squares. The hallucinations multiplied. For a second, I could’ve sworn I glimpsed Audrey in the hall behind Ashton and Tres, but she disappeared back into the liquid darkness.

“It won’t take long now,” Ashton guaranteed. “Hector thought he saw water everywhere too.”

“What about me?” Dickie asked. “You think you’re gonna make me take some of that Dragon whatever stuff you gave them? Because that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Now, now,” Ashton said. “How could we make you take it? You’re the one who gave the overdose to them.”

“What? I didn’t give them nothing.”

“Yes, but that’s how it’s going to look to the police when we get done.”

Just then Randy puked on the floor in a rolling brown wave, and Tres is like, “Dammit, can’t you at least use the trash can?”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s it. We’re leaving.”

Ashton pointed her pistol directly at my face. “I wouldn’t try it. That would be inconvenient.”

“You can’t stop all three of us,” Dickie said.

“Oh, you don’t think so?” She waved the gun in his direction. “Let me be clear—I’ll gladly shoot you first if I have to. The shape these other two are in, even Tres can take care of them. The only problem we’ll have then is figuring out which Dumpster to throw you in.”

I stared at the black barrel of her pistol. The idea occurred to me that it might be made of licorice. All I had to do was take a bite out of it. But then a better idea hit me.

“You know what?” I said. “I don’t even think you have real pistols. I know all about your Gangland squirt-gun wars. You’re not fooling me. If Randy and I decide to leave, all you can do is shower us with Kool-Aid.”

Ashton smirked. “Really? Do you want to try me?”

“Come on, you can still claim Hector’s death was just an accident. You don’t want real murders hanging over you.” I took a step forward.

She cocked her head to the side. “Last warning.”

I took another step, and she pulled the trigger. The gunshot banged so loud I swore I heard it with my kneecaps. A bullet dug into the floor just in front of me.

Her lips moved, but with the ringing in my ears I couldn’t hear what she said. Randy crouched next to me, throwing up again. Tres grinned with satisfaction.

Then the image of Audrey flashed in the corridor again. But it was no hallucination. She blazed into the room like a comet with pigtails, crashing straight into Ashton’s back. The gun flew into the air and the two of them hit the floor.

Tres’s eyes popped wide. His hand trembled as he attempted to train the gun on the three of us in front of the desk. For a split second, I looked straight into the barrel, into that deep black hole, and then I screamed.

I screamed and it filled every inch of Gangland as I charged. The pistol fired, and for all I knew the bullet got me straight between the eyes. It didn’t matter. I was on top of Tres, pinning his arms to the floor, looking into his eyes, the sounds of scuffling around us.

“Get off of me, you fat pig,” he yelped, but I just kept staring into his eyes.

“You lose,” I said.

And then my stomach came unfolded, and I puked and puked, in a dazzling display of yellow and gold, straight into his pale turtle face. Somewhere the Beatles were playing “Here Comes the Sun.”

CHAPTER 44

But it wasn’t “Here Comes the Sun.” It was the wail of sirens. Shouts and the noise of stampeding feet battered the air. Trix’s voice sounded like a trumpet. Colors whizzed everywhere. Then I was on my back, the light in the ceiling showering me with warmth. A huge face replaced the light, but I didn’t recognize it. Jigsaw pieces of voices whirled around me. Then another strange face appeared. “Can you hear me?” said the face. “Can you hear me?” Was that another Beatles song? I couldn’t be sure. Hands grabbed hold of me, and I lifted into the air. Everything swirled. Straps snapped across my chest and legs. Wheels whirred underneath whatever I was lying on. Staring up, I rolled into the darkness, and then the ceiling of Gangland’s main room gazed at me in awe. Outside—blue sky shimmering. A shake and a clatter, and I lowered down the concrete steps, and people surrounded me.

“Open the ambulance door,” someone shouted.

The image of my own funeral popped into my mind. The place was crowded, but it was too late for that to matter.

Then Audrey appeared, tears singing in her eyes. “You’re going to be okay,” she cried. “You’re going to be okay.”

I closed my eyes, held on to those words, and forgot all about measuring my life by how many people showed up for my death.

I woke up in a hospital bed the next day. Every muscle in my body ached. My stomach felt like a sumo wrestler had used it for a trampoline. For the first time since I had the flu in seventh grade, if someone had set a burger down in front of me I couldn’t have taken a single bite, not even if it came from Topper’s. There was a tube stuck to my arm dealing out saline solution. Flowers crowded the side of the room where the window let in the afternoon light.