Strange Lies Page 18

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “He can’t move right now,” Virginia said, reaching out to take the envelope. Mr. Cheek looked at her like he’d just noticed she was there.

  Just then a pair of nurses came into the room and examined the beeping machine. One of them injected something into DeAndre’s IV. The other began herding the Cheeks out the door.

  “DeAndre’s body is under a lot of stress right now. You people are obviously too exciting! Only boring visitors from now on, D!”

  “You hang in there, big guy! Hail to the chief!” Mr. Cheek called as he and Trevor were ejected into the hall.

  Virginia tried to seem invisible as the nurses fiddled with DeAndre. She opened the envelope from Mr. Cheek. There was a check inside. From what Virginia had seen of the body-shot bids, she expected the amount to be one thousand, maybe two thousand dollars. But it wasn’t. It was way, way higher. It was such a staggering number, Virginia thought she must have read it wrong.

  “DeAndre?” she whispered. He appeared to be falling asleep.

  “DeAndre needs to rest now,” one of the nurses said. “You should head back to your room, hon.”

  Virginia leaned closer. “DeAndre. DeAndre! Why is Mr. Cheek giving you two hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Hm?”

  “This check is gigantic. Why is Mr. Cheek giving you this much money?”

  DeAndre seemed barely awake. His voice was soft and halting: “Because . . . he knows . . . I’m not really . . . the chief . . .”

  Then the beeping stopped. DeAndre had closed his eyes. He almost looked dead—his face was so drained and lifeless. Virginia put the check back in the envelope, and tucked it into the pocket of her hospital gown, making sure the nurses didn’t see.

  “You can see him again later, hon,” one of them said.

  Virginia nodded and left. The hospital was a labyrinth, and it took Virginia a while to get back to her room. When she finally found it, she saw someone sitting on her bed with his back to the door. His shiny, straight hair fooled her for a second. Then she realized it was Benny.

  “Benny?”

  He whipped around. Then he stood up and crossed the room in two long strides. For a second it felt like he might hug her. But he didn’t. His eyes landed on her black cast. He looked furious, like he’d actually rather punch her than hug her.

  “What happened to you?” he demanded. “Why did you not call me?”

  Virginia sighed. She walked away from him and flopped facedown on the scratchy hospital bed. It was cool that she had a visitor, but not if he was just going to yell at her. He hadn’t even brought flowers or anything.

  “I was investigating Calvin, and I was in his car, and Big Gabe crashed into us, and I broke my arm,” she said into the pillow. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “VIRGINIA!” Benny shouted. Virginia was startled—Benny never shouted. She peeked up from the pillow and saw him kneeling on the floor in front of her.

  “WHY DID YOU NOT CALL ME?”

  “I dunno! I just . . . It felt weird. Because of . . . the thing.” Virginia buried her face in the pillow again.

  “Virginia, listen to me. I don’t care if you kiss me. I don’t care if you burn my house to the ground. I don’t care if aliens invade the earth. We are partners! You will call me!”

  “All right, geez, I’m sorry.”

  “Virginia, look at me!”

  She looked at him. Behind his glasses, Benny’s eyes were shiny and slightly red. Had he been crying? He was down on one knee, as if this were some bizarre proposal scene.

  “Virginia, you will never, ever not call me again. Repeat what I just said.”

  He was obviously serious. He was looking directly in her eyes, which for Benny was rare. He usually glanced around awkwardly or looked at the floor.

  “I . . . I will never ever not call you again.”

  “Good.”

  Benny stood up. He smoothed his pants and then sat down in the chair beside the bed. Virginia rolled onto her back, carefully lifting her arm out of the way. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Virginia looked out the window at the skyline. It was easy to forget sometimes that they lived in a city. Winship was hidden between a river and a small forest. The surrounding neighborhoods were all mansions and lawns. It was a twenty-minute drive to get anywhere remotely cosmopolitan. And even if you found a cool art gallery or something, it would be right next to some hick barbeque joint or a GRITS (Girls Raised In The South) outlet store. It was Atlanta, not Paris.

  “Does it hurt?” Benny asked.

  Virginia looked at her cast. “Yeah. Well, I mean, not too bad, considering my arm literally snapped in half.”

  Benny winced slightly. Then he said, “You know, fifty, sixty years ago, your whole arm probably would have been amputated. It’s amazing, the medical advancements we take for granted today. . . . Are you right-handed?”

  “Ugh. Yes. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to get anything done. My arm is stuck in this thing for two months.”

  “You’ll be fine. You’re an incredibly adaptable person.”

  “Really?” Virginia perked up. Benny hardly ever gave out compliments. Adaptable. It wasn’t the greatest compliment in the world; it wasn’t in the same category as luminous or brilliant or awe-inspiring. But she’d take it.

  “Adaptability is the greatest survival asset. Greater than strength, greater than speed, even greater than intelligence. It’s why the fox will never go extinct. It adapts to any environment, no matter how damaged. I read about a fox that lived in a mall parking lot.”

  Virginia felt her face heating up. Was Benny calling her . . . foxy?

  “And anyway,” he went on, “learning to be ambidextrous can benefit the mind immeasurably. I’ve been thinking of doing it myself. It rewires the right and left hemispheres of the brain and increases creative thought. Nikola Tesla and Michelangelo were ambidextrous.”

  “Cool,” she said. The fox. Maybe she could get it emblazoned on a jacket or something.

  “What’s that?” Benny pointed at her pocket. The envelope was sticking out.

  “Oh, I wanted you to see this. DeAndre’s here, in this hospital. I found his room and talked to him a little. Mr. Cheek and Trevor came in while I was there, and they gave this to DeAndre.” Virginia handed him the envelope with the check inside. Benny opened it.

  “Whoa.”

  “I know, right? There’s no way in hell they raised that from body shots. And when I asked DeAndre why Mr. Cheek was giving him that much money, he said, ‘Because he knows I’m not the chief.’ Wait, no, it was, ‘Because he knows I’m not the real chief.’ ”

  Benny sat thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, “Do you think you could draw me a map to DeAndre’s room? I want to talk to him.”

  “Why don’t I just go with you?”

  “No, you stay here. I don’t want to attract any attention. And I don’t want DeAndre to feel interrogated.”

  “Well, I don’t know how conversational he’ll be,” Virginia said. “He’s really spaced out. They sedated him.”

  “Perfect,” Benny said, standing up. “Sedatives can produce a mild hypnotic state, almost like a truth serum. He won’t be able to deceive me.”

  “Wait, tell me what’s going on first!” Virginia demanded.

  “I’ll be right back. Do not leave this room. When I return, I’ll have all the answers.”

  Critical care wing, 10:30 a.m.

  “For I know the plans I have for you,”

  declares the Lord,

  “plans to prosper you and not to harm you,

  plans to give you hope and a future.”

  —Jeremiah 29:11

  Benny scanned the messages on the giant “Get Well Soon” card by DeAndre’s bed. About half contained Bible verses, some seeming more randomly chosen than others. Benny had received a card like this eighteen months ago after his father’s accident, during the tense period when it was uncertain whether he would live or d
ie. The card had contained many assurances that Jesus was looking over his father, and wouldn’t make him an angel before his special time. Benny didn’t think his classmates had done it to mock him. It just boggled their minds that Benny didn’t believe in Jesus. Sometimes they forgot that Judaism was actually a religion, not just a set of stereotypes that marked him as socially alien. In a way, DeAndre was probably easier for them to relate to. Even though he was black and lived in Lakewood Heights, he prayed to the same god as them. And that seemed to be what was important.

  “Scooby?” DeAndre’s voice croaked. “It’s so awesome to see you!” Benny could sense the tremendous effort it was taking DeAndre to be enthusiastic.

  “Awesome to see you too, man,” Benny said back. The word “man” came unnaturally, but Benny thought the conversation would go smoother if he spoke the language of guys. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” DeAndre said. He’d closed his eyes, like it was too draining to keep them open.

  “How much are you really getting out of this? I can’t imagine you sold out for this little.” Benny held up the check, pinching it by the corner like it was a piece of garbage.

  DeAndre’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “Two hundred thousand dollars? This is nothing, DeAndre. This is loose change. Tell me this is the first check in an installment plan. Because if it’s not, you’re an idiot, and I don’t think you’re an idiot. So how much are you really getting?”

  DeAndre inhaled. “Oh my god.”

  “You are a client of Mystery Club,” Benny assured him. “Everything you say is strictly confidential.” He put the check back in its envelope and tucked it in a flower arrangement.

  “This is not a game, Benny. . . . This is not for your club.”

  “Do I seem like I’m playing around? Tell me how much you agreed on. Tell me the total sum.”

  DeAndre sighed. “Three million dollars. Plus medical expenses. For life.”

  Benny nodded. “That sounds more like it.”

  For a moment he didn’t say anything. It felt surreal to be talking to DeAndre Bell like this. He couldn’t recall ever having a conversation with DeAndre that went beyond, “What’s up?” and “Not much.” But suddenly he knew more about what was happening in DeAndre’s life than almost anyone.

  Benny picked up a bouquet of yellow roses and pulled out one of the long stems. He inhaled its scent: lush, with a hint of butter. Yellow roses always reminded him of Virginia, partly because of her hair, and partly because during the Mr. Choi investigation someone had left a yellow rose in her locker.

  Benny looked back at DeAndre. His face was so tired and expressionless, Benny knew it would be hard to read.

  “DeAndre . . . Trevor is violent and dangerous. He belongs in prison.”

  “What good would that do me?” DeAndre asked flatly. The last glimmer of congeniality was gone from his eye. Benny could feel that DeAndre no longer saw him as a valued constituent; he saw him as a threat.

  “It would do the world good,” Benny said. “Trevor tried to kill you. Then he lied and pretended it was an accident. Do you not understand that by accepting this money, you’re letting an attempted murderer go free?”

  DeAndre coughed. “I don’t owe the world a single fuck. You white people need to deal with your own out-of-control white people.”

  “Well, actually, technically, it’s debated whether Jews constitute as white, particularly those of Sephardic origin—”

  DeAndre held up his hand. “Stop. Just stop. You and me are not the same.”

  A gulf of silence fell between them. Awkwardly Benny folded his arms and looked out the window. DeAndre’s view wasn’t as nice as Virginia’s. Instead of the glamorous skyline, his room overlooked the parking lot.

  “I’m just saying . . . ,” Benny started again carefully. “You’ll have to see his face every day. And it’s going to be harder than you think it will be.”

  “Shut up,” DeAndre groaned. “Like you know anything.”

  Benny chewed his thumbnail, deciding whether or not to say what he had to say. “Um . . . actually, I do. You know that my father was in a plane crash a while ago? Well, just recently I learned about some . . . events that precipitated the accident. I learned that, actually, there’s a girl at our school who . . . well, the details don’t matter. But I have to look at her now. She even kissed me. This girl’s mouth was on my face. This girl who . . . if it weren’t for her, my dad would not be brain-damaged.”

  DeAndre squinted at him. “What?”

  Benny waved his hand. “Whatever, it’s a weird story. I’m still processing the facts. Actually, I’m trying to not even think about it right now. But the point is, I will have to look at this girl every day until I get out of this school, and I don’t know if I can do it. I think I might . . . explode. And it’s going to be a hundred times worse for you.”

  DeAndre sighed. “I’ll transfer to Tate Prep. I’ll transfer to Timbuktu.”

  “Nowhere will be far enough,” Benny said. “No matter where you go, Trevor will be out there, polluting the world with his freedom.”

  “BENNY!” DeAndre growled. His eyes were so full of anger that Benny felt instinctively afraid, even though DeAndre couldn’t smush a bug in his condition, much less Benny’s face. One of the machines he was hooked up to had started to go off.

  Beep beep beep.

  “You will not fuck this up for me!” DeAndre hissed. “I am taking this money. I am going wherever I want for college. I’m buying my mom a decent fucking house. One day I will be the president of this country, and Trevor will just be some rich dirtbag whose face I can’t even remember. If you fuck this up for me, Benny Flax, I will never forgive you. If you fuck this up for me, I will haunt you forever!”

  “Okay! Okay!” Benny said quickly. “It’s your decision, and I will not . . . fuck it up. I respect your decision.”

  “What is going on here?” A nurse bustled into the room and started fiddling with DeAndre’s IV.

  Benny stood up. “I’m sorry—”

  Beep beep beep.

  The nurse gave Benny a sharp look. “You shouldn’t be in here. DeAndre isn’t having any more visitors today.”

  Benny started toward the door.

  “Hey, wait!” DeAndre called after him weakly. “Scooby, wait! Are we cool, man?”

  Benny turned back. DeAndre’s face was full of fear. It made Benny feel bad. DeAndre had enough to deal with without being guilt-tripped for cashing out, and without the anxiety of wondering whether Benny could be trusted.

  “We are cool,” Benny said. “I swear.”

  “Get out!” the nurse snapped at him.

  Beep beep beep.

  “Swear on that Bible,” DeAndre demanded, pointing to a Bible amid the clutter of flowers and gifts on his windowsill.

  “I . . .” Benny was about to remind him that he was Jewish and the Bible meant nothing to him. But then he decided it didn’t matter; it meant something to DeAndre. He went to the Bible and laid his hand on it. “I swear on this Bible that we are cool.”

  “Get out of here!” the nurse yelled.

  Benny scurried out of the room. As soon as he was in the hall, he felt a stinging in his hand and realized he was still clutching the yellow rose. Its thorns were digging into his palm. Benny took a last look at DeAndre, who was being fussed over by the nurse.

  Benny wondered how much money he would accept to not report an attempted murder. He’d basically done it for free a few weeks ago. He’d let Zaire Bollo escape to Spain and not given it another thought. Maybe that was the key—he wouldn’t do something for money that he wouldn’t have done for free anyway. But at a certain point, was there a moral obligation to get dangerous people out of circulation?

  No, he decided. He wasn’t Batman; he was a mystery-solver. Locking people up didn’t make the world a better place; knowledge did. That was the theory anyway. Benny’s only obligation was to the truth, and to what DeAndre wanted. What people
did with the truth was not his concern.

  Recovery wing, room 441, 10:40 a.m.

  “Which do you want, tranquility or passion?”

  “Passion,” Virginia answered.

  “Passion it is.”

  The tea was steaming hot. Virginia took a tiny sip, trying to figure out this gorgeous Hispanic man’s relationship to Benny Flax. He was at least twenty-five years old, and he wore a necklace with a tiny gold cross, which meant he wasn’t Jewish. Was he Benny’s bodyguard? A distant cousin? Virginia was usually good at figuring out people’s relationships, but with this “Rodrigo” person, she didn’t have a clue. He was very quiet, but she could tell it wasn’t because he was shy. He was just being aloof. It was incredibly cool.

  Benny appeared in the doorway. “Hey.”

  “Hey!” Virginia said back. “That was quick.”

  Rodrigo stood up. “I’ll give you two a minute. We gotta go in say, a half hour?”

  Benny nodded. “Sure.”

  Virginia watched Rodrigo leave. She would have expected Benny to seem even dweebier compared to his random gorgeous friend. But actually, Rodrigo’s coolness seemed to radiate to include him; Benny must be cool, after all, if this guy wanted to hang out with him.

  “Who was that?” Virginia asked as soon as he was gone.

  Benny looked at her cup. “Is that tea? You shouldn’t be drinking caffeine within twenty-four hours of undergoing anesthesia.”

  “It’s herbal, Dad.”

  Benny flopped down in the metal chair next to the window. He felt weird. He felt . . . nothing. The mystery of DeAndre Bell was solved. Where was the rush of satisfaction? Where was the feeling of triumph?

  Relax, he told himself. He was probably just tired.

  “So what happened? Tell me!” Virginia demanded. Then she saw the rose in Benny’s hand, and reached out and grabbed it. “Wow, thank you!”

  “Oh, um, you’re welcome,” Benny said, feeling guilty that Virginia had assumed he’d brought it back for her on purpose.

  She sniffed it. “Mmm. Yellow roses are so much better than red ones. Red roses, like, make me want to throw up. They smell like grandmas.”