Page 8 of Relyn
“Marco, honey. Where are you?” Nora answered, not wanting to give away herself, just in case someone else was listening on the other side. Marco didn’t miss a beat.
“Nowhere you’d want to be, promise.”
“I’ll come pick you up.”
The pause on his end told Nora that he was considering it.
“Nah, I’ll be done with this jawn in a few. Everything will be fine.”
“I’m here if you need me,” Nora said, knowing the sound of a lying teenager when she heard one. She’d had enough experience with them over the past ten years to know when things were out of control, and they just didn’t want to admit it.
“Bye, honey,” he said and then the line went dead. Nora picked up the book he’d left and turned over in her hands, looking for some clue as to why he’d left it, or what kind of trouble he was in. It’s not like she could even call someone to help. She had no idea where he was, who he was with, or what kind of trouble he was actually in. She needed more details.
Nora crossed over the house next to hers, and walked up to Marco’s front door. She clutched the novel in her hand. Surely that was enough of a pretense. He’d forgotten his book at school, and she was just delivering it. Nora pushed the dilapidated doorbell, which emitted a weak strangled sound. When no one responded, she knocked on the door. No answer. She shouldn’t be surprised. Marco’s mom worked during the day, and she probably wouldn’t be home for a few hours or so. The number she’d called had been listed as the only contact number, probably because his mom’s English was limited, and he did all the family communication. His father was in a blue lung clinic somewhere in the burbs.
Nora went back home with an uneasiness that didn’t let her focus on grading for most of the night. She ate a quick dinner of spaghetti and then settled in her chair for a grading session. After she sat staring at the same essay for five minutes, she called it a night, and decided her efforts would be better spent elsewhere. It was only eight o’clock, and by now she’d usually have pulled off her bra, slipped into some pajama pants and a pair of slippers. But something told her not to. She wanted to be ready in case Marco called. Nora had called him twice already, but he hadn’t answered either time. She took a walk around the block. Still no lights or signs of life at his house. She was just about to go back inside, when a ping sounded on her phone. It was a location tag for the last number called.
Marco had sent her his exact location. She looked at the map. She recognized the area. It was across the street from the lottery office where she went once a year, on her birthday. It’s where Gena had been today, and perhaps where she’d been transported off the planet to meet her new husband. But this was a large warehouse across the street that had been used to house supplies and goods that had been sent into space in the early days after the invasion. The economic downturn meant that it was less used, and apparently the newness of “Terran Goods” had lost their appeal to the rest of the universe. Apparently space had its snobs too.
Nora got in her car and drove the short ten minutes to reach the warehouse. It had definitely seen better days, and the streets surrounding it were filled with potholes that were considered large, even by Philly standards. Nora drove around the block twice, looking for some sign of life, or Marco. One corner of the warehouse's high and tight windows were lit, but it was the farthest corner from a possible entrance.
She parked her car near the lit corner. Nora pulled on her coat and grabbed her “emergency” kit out of the glovecompartment. She casually took a look at the doors. Besides some heavy roller doors, there was one that had neither a lock, nor a doorknob. It was clearly meant for exit only. If Marco came out that door, he’d easily see her car.
Nora walked down the block to the other end of the building. Here was another set of roller doors and a small door, this one with a broken keypad. The only thing keeping it locked was a padlock, and a cheap one at that. Perfect. She pulled out her kit and got to work, not that she needed much time to pop the lock open.
It was a strange hobby for a teacher to have, but after a friend had teased her mercilessly about being too much of a goody two shoes to even think of doing something slightly illegal, Nora had taken up lock picking. It was a hobby that made her an unofficial hero of the school. It was an older building riddled with locks that had long since lost their keys. When they’d first discovered she could open nearly any door, Nora had spent a good day of her PD time just going from teacher to teacher, opening desk drawers, filing cabinets, and closets whose contents had sometimes been a secret for years.
Nora put the padlock in her pocket, promising herself to replace it on the way out. She slipped into the warehouse and was met with a wall of darkness that dwarfed even the sad street lit by an ancient bent light.
The warehouse was not empty. It was piled to the ceiling with tall racks filled with boxes and pallets. Something scurried near her foot and Nora took a deep breath. She wasn’t the type to scream at seeing a mouse. They were a regular occurrence in the classroom. She’d even collected some in live traps and let them out in a field nearby. She liked to name them after problematic students. Lydia had scoffed at her. She chased and smashed them with her chancla, her shoe. The only good mouse was adead mouse, that was Lydia’s motto. Nora was happy to let them live, just not if they were going to crawl up her pant leg.
At the very end of the shelves, the dim light from the corner of the warehouse gave just enough light for Nora to distinguish between the rows. It was enough, she decided. Nora didn’t want to announce her presence until she knew what she was dealing with.
She followed the shelves closer, and soon could make out some voices. They were male and they didn’t sound particularly in a good mood. Nora stayed in the shadows, but tried to get a glimpse of Marco, but the only thing she saw was a skinny kid in a jacket that was way too big for him. But it wasn’t the jacket that drew her attention. It was the shiny laser pistol in his hand.
“Look, man, if you don’t got the goods, I gotta bounce,” one voice said. He sounded a bit anxious.
“And Tommy said, nobody bounces until he gets here. He ain’t here yet, so sit your ass down,” Jacket said, waiving the gun around like a true gangster wannabe.
“We can come back tomorrow,” Marco said quietly.
“You with him?” Jacket demanded.
“I don’t know him from nowhere,” Marco said adamantly. “I just know my mama is gonna be worried.”
“Oh the little boy is worried about his ma,” Jacket said taunting.
Marco didn’t reply and the three of them sat in a surly silence for about three minutes, while Nora tried to debate what to do. If she left and called the cops, there was a huge chance that they’d come in shooting and Marco might get shot. Or Jacket would start shooting with the same results. Of course if she tried to intervene, she might get shot. But she wasn’t just going to leave Marco there to fend for himself.
Jacket’s phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket. “See, I told you. He’s here. Go open the door,” he said to someone else, just out of view.
A moment later, a cadre of three Asians came into view. Nora recognized one of them from the crowd on the porch yesterday. They were all about the same age, which Nora guessed to be their early twenties. Just the right age to be dangerous and stupid.
By the deferential looks, the copious amount of his shiny bling, and the matching pistols on either side of his hips, Nora decided that the one in the middle was Tommy.
“We’ve been waiting here for hours!” One of them complained.
“Yeah, about that. There was some problems,” Tommy said.
