The Girl Who Would Be King(27)

“Lola, please, please don’t. This was not my idea…this was never my-”

My eyes on Melvin the whole time, I level the gun at Enrico and shoot him without even looking. I hear Enrico hit the wall wetly and then crumple to the ground insignificantly. Melvin finally looks something remotely resembling frightened. He’s lying down now on his back, holding his now four-fingered hand like a baby. He’s right next to the safe. I walk over and stand above him. “Tsk, tsk,” I say. He looks up at me, still not with respect, but with something closer than he ever has before. I straddle him and just above me his shirt is turning black with blood from the finger I tore off. I poke him in the head with his own severed finger.

“The combination, please,” I say. He looks at me with hate and impotent rage and I throw the finger over my shoulder and press the gun into his mouth, his teeth clack against the barrel loudly. “The combination,” I repeat, harder. He shakes his head and I roll my eyes. He’s so difficult. If he wasn’t such a jerk maybe I’d respect his stubbornness. “No?” I say. “Oh, you know what? I don’t even need it, watch this.” I break the handle off the safe with my bare hand. Unfortunately, the door does not fall open as I had hoped, and Melvin, who still has a freaking gun in his mouth, actually has the balls to smile. What does it take to impress this man? I rear my fist back and plunge it through the wall of the safe, which works beautifully, even though my hand is a bloody mess when I draw it back. His face finally registers some understanding and he looks genuinely scared, if only for a moment. I pull on some of the sharp metal until I’m in the safe, staring at all Melvin’s fortune, and the bulk of mine, which he has obviously appropriated for himself. After I’m sure Melvin has registered my awesomeness on the level he should have all along, I pull the trigger.

He still seems surprised, and pissed, even in death.

I grab a big black canvas bag from one of the desk drawers and fill it with everything from the safe. I am a rich rich girl, and rightly so. As I finish up, Adrian walks in the door.

Of course.



°

I feel better. I feel new. Like I have been slumbering in a cocoon and am now emerging strong. Reborn. My clothes look the opposite of new however, stiff and caked in dark blood. I unzip my bag and pull out some of the few items of clothing I own and change, testing my muscles as I stretch, my mind racing about what I should do next.

I’ve had doubts about finding Jasper ever since he didn’t come for me six years ago, but when I left the home I was sure it was the right thing to do. But now, with things having immediately gone so horribly wrong, I’m conflicted. When you hold onto something so tightly for twelve years though, I guess it’s hard to let it go. Maybe impossible. He’s still all I want in this whole world. And if he doesn’t want me around, he’ll have to tell me himself.

The public library has a few computer terminals with free Internet access and after cleaning myself up a bit in the bathroom, I wait my turn patiently for an available machine, hoping the name Jasper Braverman is still as unusual as it seemed when we were kids. After a few minutes, I’ve learned only that either there is no Jasper Braverman in our hometown or he’s unlisted. I expand my search, trying Philadelphia first. Jasper loved the Sixers when we were kids, and as a result, Philly, so it seems like a good place to start. There are three J. Bravermans with addresses listed in Philadelphia and all three have phone numbers attached. The library is closing soon, so I write everything down and head to the train yard, stopping at the only working pay-phone I see to try the numbers. If none of these work I’ll have to go back tomorrow and try again. Keep trying until I find him.

I have to psych myself up to make the call, and can only finally do it when I convince myself that I’m going to hang up when someone answers, or at least pretend not to be me. The first number goes directly to voicemail with a woman’s voice, she’s called Jen. The second is a disconnected number and I hold my breath as the third number clicks over to voicemail. I recognize his voice even before he says his name and my breath catches between my chest and freedom.

You’ve reached Jasper Braverman. I’m away from my phone, please leave a message at the beep.

I hang up.

It’s amazing.

I can hear that same twelve-year-old brother I so looked up to, but now he sounds more like my father, all gravely but kind. I’d forgotten he had sounded that way and there’s a little strangled sound in my throat for a moment as I remember. I waste all my change calling back to listen to his voice and hanging up just before the beep. And his voice alone is enough to have my heart beating triple time as I wait for a train headed to Philly. Finally, in the depths of night I’m able to jump on one passing through in the right direction.