His eyes jumped to Rochelle behind the ticket counter, visible through his office door. He shot out of his desk chair, yanked me all the way into the office, and banged the door shut. “Is this some kind of threat?” he snarled. “Is that what this is? Are you trying to get back at me?”
He’d shoved me up against the big corkboard on his wall. Pushpins dug into my back in a dozen places. I shook my head. “It’s not. I swear. If the police find out what we did, it’ll be the end for me.”
“No, it won’t. It’ll be the end for me. I could go to prison if they catch me for something like that.”
“Look, all I’m saying is this isn’t a threat, okay? I’m scared too.”
He let me go and turned away, still breathing hard as he raked his fingers through his hair.
I didn’t say anything. I waited.
“That kid Ernest did come to see me,” Mike said. “He said the Lord told him to come. He said we all have sins, and he had a feeling I was ready to confess mine.”
I fluttered my hand to my throat. “Oh God.”
“But what makes you think that has something to do with the cop?”
“Because Ernest’s the president of the Teen Council on Moral Decency at our church. And I heard sometimes they work with the police, like when they think there’s something seriously bad going on in the community.”
Mike looked unsteady. His face had gone sweaty and greenish. “So you think he saw the pictures on my phone and told the police about them? And now they’re investigating?”
I nodded. “And maybe he’s doing his own investigation too. Maybe that’s why he asked you to confess your sins and why he’s always carrying around that pad and pen. He’s taking notes.”
Mike’s office chair creaked as he dropped into it. He pitched forward and clutched his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening.”
“Don’t freak out,” I said, leaning in, rubbing his shoulder, speaking in a soothing voice. “When the cop came to search your house, did he see the phone?”
He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I had it in my pocket.”
“So that means they don’t have any concrete evidence.” I gave him a pat. “I think we’re all right. For now, at least.”
*
But Mike only got more freaked the next day, Tuesday. Ernest came in to see Samson again that afternoon. At some point during the screening, Mike’s secret phone went missing (thanks to a quick visit I paid to his office while he was using the bathroom again), and he just about started bleeding from his eye sockets he got so worked up. At first he wanted to go after Ernest and take the phone back by force, but I convinced him that would only make him look guilty. I told him we should keep cool and trail Ernest after the movie ended. Mike made some excuse to Rochelle, and together we piled into his piece of junk car and trundled after Ernest as he biked down the road.
He made straight for the police station.
We parked across the street, and Mike gripped the wheel with both hands and made soft whimpering noises while he watched Ernest lock up his bike and march inside, his yellow notepad sticking out of his tote bag.
“Oh God,” Mike panted, putting one hand to the back of his neck, like he could already feel the noose there slowly tightening.
“I still think we’re safe,” I said. “They don’t have your unlock code, and not even the police can access your phone without that. I mean, unless they put their special police hackers on the case, and I’m sure those hackers have better things to do. Look, let’s lie low for a while. See what happens. Keep calm.”
Which was exactly what Mike couldn’t do. The last part at least. A few weeks passed. Ernest kept coming to the theater, even more often now that Mike had become his project, and every time he’d spot Mike in the lobby or pass by his office, Ernest would give him a serious, significant look. A couple times he even whispered to Mike—with me there to witness it—”Whenever you’re ready.” Meanwhile, Mike could barely do his job (and believe me, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to manage a movie theater). He kept pulling me into his office for frantic closed-door chats. I kept telling him to hold on.
August came. In a few days I’d leave with my family for Bible camp, and Mike would have to go back to school before we returned, which meant he’d be on his own with Ernest for the rest of the summer. The idea of that had him even more panicked.
Then one day I rushed into his office, shut the door, and said, “I talked to Ernest. He cornered me at church again. He kept digging and digging, trying to get something out of me, until finally I lost it. ‘Mike and I know the truth,’ I said. ‘We know you’re working with the police. That’s why you’ve been grilling us.’
“And he admitted it. He said he saw those pictures on your phone, just like we suspected, and he decided you needed to be stopped. I begged him to drop it. I said it would ruin your life, and mine too. I told him you’d never mess around with vulnerable underage kids again. Because you won’t, right?”
He shook his head hard. “No way.”
“I asked him what we could do to make this whole thing disappear.”
Mike’s fingers gripped the armrests of his office chair. Tiny beads of sweat had broken out on his upper lip, like a mustache to go with his billy-goat beard. “What did he say?”
“He said it’s not too late. The police haven’t unlocked your phone, so right now all they have is his word. He’d be willing to tell the police he made a mistake . . . on one condition. He wants you to make a contribution to our church. ‘As proof of your good faith and repentance,’ he said.”
“For how much?”
“Seven thousand dollars. He asked me how much cash we usually have in the safe, and I’m sorry, I mentioned you haven’t been making the bank drops lately.”
He clapped both his hands over his mouth and let out a muffled roar.
“It’ll be an anonymous donation,” I said. “You won’t be connected to it, and neither will he. That’s why it needs to be cash. He wants you to give the money to me, and then I’ll hand it off to him. He thinks a direct handoff would be too risky.”
Mike looked up at me, his eyes going narrow. “Wait a second. How do I know you’re not just going to take it for yourself? How do I know you’re not playing me?” He shook his head. Beads of sweat had broken out all over his face now. A few of them had burst into trickles and run all the way down to dampen his scraggly beard. “I’ll give the money directly to Ernest, but I’m not giving it to you.”
Don’t worry, though, I’d expected this. In fact, I was counting on it. “So you don’t trust me? Even after all we’ve been through?” I made my eyes gleam with hurt. “Fine. I’ll see Ernest this Sunday at church. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll try to convince him.”
*
I did see Ernest that Sunday during fellowship, and I did talk to him. “I think Mike’s finally ready,” I told him as he peeled open his croissant. “Your persistence is paying off. He’s gone back to using real butter in the popcorn.”
“I thought I could taste a difference this week!” Ernest exclaimed.