His Ransom 6(9)

I frowned. The brochure I’d been reading said to get off at a different stop. But Jake was already getting up, pulling his backpack over his shoulder.

I followed him dutifully out to the train station we had stopped at. The platform here was nearly deserted. There were two old women who quickly stepped down the stairs and walked to the street. And there were the two security guards that Jake had asked to tag along discreetly, lounging around at the end of the platform.

It was weird, being tailed by someone you had hired to tail you. The security guards seemed to be invisible, and then I’d turn around and see one of them glancing my way.

Now, though, Jake was walking the other way, away from the guards.

“Jake?” I scooted along behind him, frowning at the brochure. The train pulled away from the platform, presumably going to what was actually the palace at Versailles. “Uh, Jake, I don’t think this is the right—”

“This is it. You said you were bored yesterday, right?” Jake asked.

He jumped down from the platform right onto the rails. Then he reached up.

“Come on,” he said.

“When I said I was bored enough to jump in front of a train, I didn’t mean that literally,” I said. I crawled down and let him help me down to the rails.

One security guard poked his head over the edge of the platform.

“Sir?” he said.

“We’re good,” Jake said, giving him the thumbs up. “Just wait for us on the platform, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait,” I said, as Jake moved off to the side. “I’m not just going to yes-sir along here. What exactly are we doing?”

“Look up here,” Jake said. He nodded ahead. I looked. The side of the railroad track was blocked off on both sides by a huge concrete wall. The wall was covered in graffiti and ivy. And Jake was—

“Oh, heck no,” I said.

“Hell yes,” he said, grinning as he pulled a can of paint out of his backpack. He tossed it to me and I caught it..

“You said you were getting bored with art,” Jake said. “Let’s see if we can’t make things a little interesting. Next train comes in six minutes.”

I raised my eyebrows, but I was already pulling off the cap of the can of what looked like purple paint, thinking about where my lettering would fit.



My heart pounded as I painted alongside Jake. Six minutes. That was all I had.

It was enough to give my creativity the jump-start I needed, apparently. The image popped into my head without another thought. Lilacs—the kind Jake had put in the bathroom for me. I swept huge arcs of purple, color-blocking in the letters.

It had been so long since I’d done any graffiti work. And to be doing this in Paris! There was a huge culture of street art here, and this was a terrific spot. I wondered if Jake had come out here to find just the perfect place. You could barely see us from the train platform, but there was a huge wall of concrete with nothing but a few smaller tags.

Absolutely perfect for painting.

I found myself getting back into the groove. I swung my paint up over the concrete in big swashes of color. Whenever I changed positions for the letters, I’d look over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming. It felt great, like I was a kid again.

Meanwhile, Jake was working quickly on his own piece. KAGE—that was his name in the graffiti world. I’d heard all about him before I’d met him. And now I was getting to watch him do his art up close and personal. It would have been thrilling enough, but I had my own piece I had to finish.

And six minutes before the next train would smash us flat on the rails.

Far away, I could see the security guards milling uncomfortably on the edge of the train platform.

“I need black for my edging,” I called to Jake. He flipped me a can from his pack and went back to painting without missing a beat. I was in awe at how fast he was painting. I thought I’d had some experience throwing up my paintings quickly, but he was moving at lightning speed.

I had to finish. I turned back to my own section of concrete and concentrated on filling in the right edges. My hand was almost as sure and steady as when I’d done this in the trainyards back in New York City, but I had to move faster here. Faster. Every nerve in my body stood on end as I worked.

The letters were quick, hasty. A few drips started to form as I pressed the paint can too hard against the wall. Oh well. I left the drips on the edges and began to fill in the shadowing.

“Almost done?” Jake asked.

I looked over. He was putting the final touch on his letters.

“Yeah,” I said, “Just give me a sec.”

“I don’t think we have a sec,” Jake said. He stuffed the cans back into his backpack.