Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25 (Book 1)

Jack lived about twelve blocks from my home, in a poor neighborhood. I found his address in the school directory, then went to see him.

Jack’s house was at the end of a short, dead-end road called Leslie Street: an aged box of a home with chipped aluminum siding and faded cloth awnings. The front window had been broken and was covered with cardboard that was kept in place with duct tape. The yard was overgrown with weeds and pyracantha bushes. There were at least six cars at the house, some of them parked on the grass or on the road in front, most with flat tires and rusted bodies. Only one or two of them looked like they might actually run.

I climbed three steps to the Astroturf-covered porch. The doorbell had yellowed masking tape over it with the word BROKE written in marker. I opened the rusted screen door and knocked on the wood door behind it. A minute or so later Jack answered. He was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing his muscular arms and shoulders, as well as his tattoo. I forced myself not to blink. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m listening.”

The TV was blaring behind him and I wondered if someone else was inside. “Not here. I need to talk to you someplace more private.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

He looked at me for a moment, then stepped out on the front porch, shutting the door behind him. “Go ahead. My old man can’t hear you.”

“I need a ride.”

“You think I’m your chauffeur now?”

“To Pasadena.”

His face looked even more distressed. “Isn’t that, like, in California?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, what is this, a shakedown? I went to Dallstrom like you said. I’m not going to let you keep bullying me. I’ll go to the teachers and tell them what you did.”

“Calm down,” I said. “I’m not here to bully you. You’re the only one I can go to with this.”

“Why not your old man?”

“I don’t have a father.”

“Then your mother?”

“Don’t you watch the news?”

“No.”

“My mother was kidnapped. I’m pretty sure she’s in Pasadena. That’s why I need a ride there.”

“Why don’t you call the police?”

“It’s complicated. They can’t help.”

“Dude, I’m not driving all the way to California.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of bills I had taken from mom’s secret stash. “Look, I’ve got money. I’ll pay you three hundred dollars. It’s all I’ve got.”

He eyed the money. I could tell he was wavering. “Where’d you get that kind of dough?”

“It’s my mom’s emergency stash.”

“Three hundred bucks, huh? When do you need to go?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Just us?”

“And my friend Ostin.”

“What if I bring someone? To help drive.”

“Who?”

“Wade.”

I hated Wade even more than Mitchell, but if it got me to California sooner, I’d deal with it. “Okay.”

“What do we do after we’re there?”

“You drop us off and you’re done. That’s it.”

“No ride back?”

“No. I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

Jack looked over at his car, a restored 1980 Chevy Camaro with a navy blue body and yellow racing stripe. “And you want to leave today, huh?”

“As soon as possible. I just need to get some things from my house. And pick up Ostin.”

He scratched his stomach, then slowly exhaled. “Okay. I’ll call Wade. Where do you live?”

“Not far. Over by the 7-Eleven off Thirteenth East. We’ll meet you in the 7-Eleven parking lot in an hour. Deal?” I reached out my hand but he just looked at it fearfully.

“I’m not going to shock you.”

He took my hand and we shook. “Deal.”

I walked back to the apartment and knocked on Ostin’s door. “We leave in an hour.”

He looked at me as if I’d spoken in Chinese. “Leave? Where?”

“California. Didn’t you think I was serious?”

“With Jack?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I purposely didn’t say anything about Wade. Ostin looked anxious enough without being thrown in the car with his archenemy.

He looked back over his shoulder. “Man, my mom’s going to be so chapped at me. She’s going to ground me until I’m fifty.”

“Ground you from what?” I asked. “Homework or clogging?” We both knew that Ostin pretty much spent all his time in his room anyway.

“From hanging out with you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I wish my mom was around to ground me.” I slid my hands in my pockets. “Like I said, you don’t have to go.”

“I never said I wasn’t going,” he said. “Let me get a few things. I’ll be right there.”

About ten minutes later Ostin knocked on my apartment door, then let himself in. He had a backpack that was mostly filled with junk food like potato chips and cheese puffs.

“What did you tell your mom?”

“I told her I was going to hang out with you.”

“She’s going to be worried out of her skull,” I said. “She’ll probably call the police.”

“I thought of that. I taped a note to your door. It says I went to Comic-Con with you and my uncle.”

“Will she believe that?”

“I don’t know, but that’s where my uncle is this week. He’s so hard-core he never takes his cell phone, so my mom can’t check.”

“Brilliant,” I said. I picked up my bag. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this.”

I looked out to make sure no one was watching, then I locked our apartment door and we walked down the hall and out the building.

The 7-Eleven was only fifty yards from my home. Jack wasn’t there yet so we went inside and got cherry cola Slurpees and sat on the curb to wait.

“What if he doesn’t come?” Ostin asked.

“He’ll come. Besides, I’m paying him three hundred dollars.”

“Where did you get three hundred dollars?”

“My mom’s emergency fund.” I rubbed one foot with the other. “If there ever was an emergency, this is it.”

About fifteen minutes later Jack’s Camaro pulled into the parking lot and up to the gas pumps.

“There he is,” I said.

Ostin squinted. “Who’s that in the car with him?”

“Wade.”

Ostin’s eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me Wade was coming.”

“Sorry. It was part of the deal.”

“I hate Wade.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“You don’t understand. I really, really hate Wade. Like, if he were in a shark tank and reached up to me for help, I’d throw chum in the water.”

Ostin has a great imagination.

“Look,” I said, “we don’t have a lot of options. Wade can help drive. Besides, he’s not going to do anything to you. He’s afraid of me.”

Ostin just shook his head. “This just keeps getting worse.”

Jack and Wade both climbed out of the car. Jack walked up to me. “I need money for gas.”

I took the roll of bills out of my pocket and counted out a hundred and fifty. “Here. Half now, half when we get there.”

He stuck his jaw out a little. “Fair enough.”

Wade looked at Ostin and smiled. “Hey, I know you. I didn’t recognize you with your pants on.”

“Stay away from me.”

“Relax,” Wade said. “That was before I found out your friend’s a Taser.” He smiled and went inside the store. Ostin and I carried our packs over to the car. Jack opened the trunk and we put our things inside. Jack finished filling the car with gas about the time Wade came back out. He had pork rinds, mini-doughnuts, beef jerky, and a six-pack of Red Bull. “Let’s go, boys.”

“Sit in back,” Jack said to Wade.

“What?”

“I want to talk to Michael.”

“But…”

“Back, now.”

Wade scowled, threw Jack the bag of jerky, and climbed in the backseat. Ostin stared at me with the look of a man climbing into a snake pit, but he got in anyway.

I shut my door and Jack fired up the Camaro. I think he’d taken off the muffler to make it louder, because it roared like a jet. He looked over at me and smiled wryly. “California, here we come.”