But Dingo hadn’t uttered the classic Valley girl Oh my God as they’d approached his parents’ house. In fact, over the entire course of the drive, mired in this new, awful dimension that Maddie was currently trapped in, neither of them had said much of anything.
I’m going to get you your fucking shower…and then I’m going to bring you to your father and be done with you. For once and for all.
They’d driven past the house, and everything was still and dark even though the sun was starting to rise.
“We’re good, they’re gone.” Dingo had finally spoken.
At Maddie’s questioning look, he’d grudgingly explained. “My mother sends me emails, so I know where they are, partly in case they die in a fiery ten-car pile-up. They have an RV and they travel a lot. They just got home from a long trip east—my sister had a baby—but then my dad wanted to go to some asshole festival in Arizona, so…She said she wasn’t sure if they were leaving last night or this morning, but the RV’s gone. She hides bags of food for me in the spare room, and sometimes money, too. We’ll have to be careful not to move anything or leave anything out of place, because I’m sure my dad checks. So we’ll want to wash and fold the towels after we shower.”
He’d gone around the block, and parked on the next street over. “Just in case Dad forgot something—like his official I’m an Asshole hat—and they come back. That’s happened before. If they do, we’ll have to hide. And maybe pray.”
Once inside, Dingo had raided some boxes that were neatly stacked in the corner of that spare room he’d mentioned. They were all marked Throw Away, but they held what had to be his belongings. “This used to be my room before my father attempted to erase me,” he’d told her as he handed her a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “You can wear this until your clothes dry.”
With the exception of her underwear, Maddie had put her dirty clothes outside of the bathroom door, and Dingo had immediately started a load in the washing machine—she heard it thumping and swishing from what must’ve been a laundry room on the other side of the shower wall. It was clear that he’d come here often when his parents were away, and he’d learned to be efficient with his time.
The phone finally stopped ringing, but only a few seconds passed before it started up again.
“Don’t answer that!” Dingo shouted through the door. “It’s probably my father. I think he suspects that Mom helps me out, because whenever I’m here, the phone rings off the hook, like he’s trying to catch me or something. So just…don’t.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Maddie shouted back.
Dingo was in the living room when the black truck pulled up in front of the house. It was Nelson’s man Cody—with the pale eyes and total lack of soul. He didn’t even try to approach with stealth. He just parked and started up the front path.
The hair dryer was still buzzing in the bathroom—Maddie wasn’t even close to being able to run. Still, Dingo went into the kitchen where—fuck!—the skinhead twins, Stank and Eddie, had just dropped over the back fence, into the dust bowl that was his parents’ backyard.
He ducked down behind the counter, so that they couldn’t see him through the windows.
Running was not an option. That left hiding, or fighting….He quickly opened the junk drawer, rummaging for something, anything….A jackknife…But all he found was a fold-up corkscrew that had a little knife on the end. Better than nothing, except, really? It was sharp as shit, but only three quarters of an inch long. Fighting wasn’t much of an option either.
Still, he pocketed it, but then pulled out his phone. With shaking hands he went to his list of texts and found…Yes. Nelson had texted him just last night. Where you at?
Fist time in days that M hasn’t been watching me, Dingo typed. Recovered some $$$, but now at end of rode. Will bring her to you ASAP.
He hit send, pocketed his phone, and took a deep, steadying breath as he heard the glass break in the back door.
The hair dryer went off, and Maddie called from the bathroom, “Dingo? What was that?”
Dingo didn’t answer her.
Maddie hurriedly put her still-damp underwear back on, along with the much-too-big shorts and T-shirt, then went to the door and opened it a crack. “Ding?”
Had he dropped a glass in the kitchen? God, that would be a mess. She only hoped it wasn’t his father’s favorite, or even just something that would be easily missed.
But then she heard voices. Dingo saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Mate! Mate! Take a breath! Take a breath!” He was using his fake accent, so he probably wasn’t talking to his father. “I just sent him a text—this is the first time in days that she hasn’t been completely on top of me—lookit, lookit, just check my phone. See? Right?”
“First has an r in it, you fucking idiot.”
Maddie stood there, frozen in disbelief as Dingo said, “But, see? I sent that text to Mr. Nelson. I was playing her, mate, ’cuz I thought, you know, if I was her boyfriend, she’d tell me where the money was, but she honestly didn’t have it. We found this, in Fiona’s ma’s house in Sacramento—they’ve shipped Fee off to some kind of juvie looney bin….”
He’d sent a text to Nelson.
Dingo kept talking, but Maddie closed the door. Locked it. Looked around. There was no window in there—she hadn’t noticed until now. No window, but a phone. She picked it up. Dialed 9-1-1.
Her heart was pounding, which was weird, because it shouldn’t even be able to beat let alone pound since it had just broken into a million pieces.
Dingo had been playing her. All this time.
“Nelson’s garage was our next stop,” she heard him saying from the other side of the door as the emergency number rang once and then twice, “but I had to shower. She’s in the bathroom—I put her in the one without the window. I even screwed with the wi-fi, to take out her cell. But—fuck! There’s a phone in there!”
The doorknob rattled and the entire door shook as Maddie took the phone’s handset with her into the shower. “Pick up pick up pick up pick up.” But it just kept ringing.
She shrieked as the door splintered—as a giant booted foot came through, and then was pulled free before a hand—also big—reached in and turned the knob.
The door opened with a crash, and two large men—Nelson’s skinheads—grabbed Maddie. As she dropped the phone into the tub, the call was finally connected, and a little voice echoed against the porcelain. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
Maddie kicked and screamed, but her arms were pinned, and her legs flailed as they contacted nothing. One of the men clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.
A third man grabbed the phone and pulled the cord right out of the wall. “Motherfucker! Move! Go, we gotta go. The bitch called nine-one-one!”