Читать книгу Mind Gap - Marina Cohen - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

“In or out?”

Jake shaded his cards with his left hand. He peeled up the corners with his right. Two of clubs. Ace of spades. He glanced at the cafeteria table. Face up, in a neat row, lay the seven of diamonds, the two of hearts, and the jack of clubs. Deuces, he thought. Story of my life.

“Come on, man — in or out?”

Over the hum of gossip, the shuffling of feet, and the grinding of chairs, Jake heard a twinge in Cole’s voice. He looked up, and their eyes locked for a second. Jake could read his best friend like a cheap magazine. Cole had a big mouth, but he got nervous quickly. He was bluffing.

“In,” said Jake, tossing his second dollar into the pile. He shifted his gaze to the dealer.

Damon was more difficult to read. From his greasy hair to the tattoo of a crown dripping blood emblazoned across his knuckles, all the way down to his brand-new Nikes, the guy was stone cold.

Damon threw a buck into the pile. He kept his grey eyes trained on Jake as he slowly flipped over another card and placed it next to the jack. Queen of clubs.

Cole checked and began chewing his lip.

Too obvious, thought Jake, battling the urge to smile. He pushed a stack of four quarters into the growing mound. Jake had a lousy hand, but at this point he had nothing left to lose.

Damon answered.

Cole shook his head and swore. He threw down his cards and began shovelling fries into his mouth. Cole seemed to take his losses much harder these days.

Damon flipped over the final card, dragging Jake’s attention back to the game — ace of diamonds.

Two pair, thought Jake, ace high. Nice.

Jake willed his pulse to slow. His mouth was a thin line. He ran a hand through his thick hair. Then he picked up his last stack of coins and tossed them casually into the heap. Nine bucks. Ten, if Damon continued. Not what you’d call a fortune, but hey, it was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Jake slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He shifted his cellphone. Stray nickels and dimes danced between his fingers. If he lost this hand, he could kiss next week’s lunches goodbye. Like he’d done this week. And last.

“Call,” said Damon. He placed his two cards onto the pile of money as though he were claiming it. He had a pair of aces.

Jake let out his breath. The deuces came in handy, after all. He turned his cards over one by one. Jake watched Damon’s eyes darken. Suddenly, they reminded Jake of shark eyes — cold and lifeless. Jake stretched out his arms to rake in his winnings.

“Why, gentlemen,” said a deep voice, “you wouldn’t happen to be partaking in the quite illegal and most suspendable act of gambling, would you?”

Jake peered over his shoulder at the towering six-foot-six figure of his English teacher, Mr. Dean.

“At the very least it would mean a week’s worth of detentions for each of you.”

Cole could wriggle his way out of a clogged pipe. Trouble was, his mouth was quicker than his brain. “Gambling? Us? Course not, sir. We’re just having an enjoyable game of Fish. And this money here?” He jerked his chin toward the pile. “Why, it just happens to be sitting on the table doing nothing.” He sat back looking pretty proud of himself.

“Nothing?” Mr. Dean frowned. “Hmm, I see.” He scratched his chin, then volleyed glances from Damon to Cole, finally settling on Jake. “Well, if this money is just doing nothing, then I’m sure you gentlemen wouldn’t mind if I donate it to the Salvation Army where it can do something?”

Jake rolled his eyes and scowled, but kept his mouth shut.

Mr. Dean patted Jake on the shoulder. “Life is an endless series of choices, Mr. MacRae.” He leaned in, scooped up the loot, and strolled off, humming “Amazing Grace.”

Jake gave Cole a shove. “You idiot.”

“What’d I do?”

“This money just happens to be sitting here doing nothing …” Jake mocked. “Couldn’t you have come up with something better?”

“I didn’t hear anything brilliant shooting out of your mouth. And I guess you’d have wanted a pile of detentions instead?”

Jake picked up his cards and threw them across the table.

Cole sneered. “Think of it as bail.”

Damon was leaning back in his chair. “Forget it. It’s chump change. Let’s talk real business.”

Business. Right. Jake had avoided thinking about it all day. He reached over and grabbed a few fries from Cole’s plate. They were cold and tasted like cardboard.

“My brother says you guys have been hanging around the coffee shop long enough. He wants you to do a favour for him.”

Damon’s brother, Vlad, was what you’d call king of the 5 King Tribe. He was the kind of guy you did not want to disappoint.

“We’re in,” said Cole all too eagerly. He glanced at Jake, but Jake didn’t say a word.

“Good,” said Damon. “Vlad will be happy.”

“So, um, what exactly does he want us to do?” asked Jake.

Damon was eyeing him as if they were playing poker again. Only this time Jake felt his cheeks flush.

“Meet at the coffee shop at one o’clock on Sunday. Pick up a package and take it to where Vlad tells you. A simple delivery.”

Simple, thought Jake. But what if simple gets complicated?

“Delivery,” said Cole. “Sure.” He flashed Jake another look. This one said: Be cool.

The bell rang, ending second lunch. Damon grabbed the cards, shoved them into his pocket, and swaggered off into the stream of students heading toward their lockers. “Sunday,” he called over his shoulder. He didn’t look back.

“What’s your problem?” asked Cole once Damon had disappeared. “Don’t you get it? When Vlad asks you to do something, you do it.”

Jake didn’t respond. His thoughts were doing backflips.

“It’s just a delivery,” said Cole. “Like Damon said — simple.”

“Simple,” echoed Jake. He was nodding, but his expression betrayed his uncertainty.

Cole sighed. “Make up your mind, man — in or out …?”