of nowhere. But the whole thing had been carefully planned. That much was obvious.
And if it hadn't been for Jagger, the two of them wouldn't even have made it out of the theatre.
Frank Kirby's dog. Jamie remembered the struggle and hoped the animal was all right. Frank was always worrying about the dog…It was old and had a weak heart. Jamie knew that the men in the theatre would have quite happily killed Jagger without so much as a second thought — and these were the same people who had taken Scott. Well,
Jamie would find them, with or without his uncle's help. They didn't know him. They didn't know what they were up against.
"It's the next exit," he said.
Don White and his girlfriend had rented a house in Sparks, a suburb of Reno, just a few miles to the east.
Alicia turned off and they descended into a grid system of pretty, tree-lined streets that seemed a world apart from the main city. And yet the poker tables and slot machines had spread out even here. Two huge towers, bookends that didn't quite match, rose up on the other side of the freeway. This was the Nugget, another enormous casino and hotel complex. Many of the people who lived in Sparks worked there as waiters, croupiers, cleaners, or security guards. There was no escaping it. It seemed to look down and sneer at the little community as if to say,
I
am your master. You owe your livelihood to me.
Every house in Sparks was different and each one stood on its own little plot of land. There were cottages made of brick, wooden bungalows with painted shutters and verandas, and villas built in the Spanish style with wrought-iron gates and white stucco walls. Some of the houses had been decorated with wind chimes, dolls," and flowerpots. Others had been allowed to fall into disrepair. It just depended on who was living there — and it seemed that all sorts of people had chosen this neighborhood to be their home.
Tenth Street was at the top end, close to the casino. It stood out at once because it was the most dilapidated building on the street. It had a porch with a net screen running all the way around, but it was full of holes, as if it had been stabbed. The paint was flaking. The window frames were rusting. A single air-conditioning unit clung to one wall as if by its fingernails. The house was two stories high with a garage to one side. There was a van parked in the driveway— and from the look of it, it hadn't been moved in a long time.
"This is it," Jamie said.
"I sort of guessed." Alicia didn't stop outside. She drove a few doors farther down and pulled up beneath an acacia tree. "Park in the shade," she explained.
Jamie nodded. "Thanks," he said. He reached for the door handle.
"Wait a minute!" Alicia stared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"
"It's okay. This is where I live. You don't need to come in."
"It's not okay! I can't just leave you here. I want to see you're safe."
"Then wait in the car…"
"No!" Alicia turned off the engine. "I'm coming in with you." Jamie opened his mouth to argue but she stopped him. 'You've been away all night," she went on. "Maybe it would help you if you had someone to explain what happened…to back up your story."
Jamie thought for a moment, then nodded. The two of them got out of the car and walked back along the pavement, passing the house next to the one where he lived. It belonged to a family with two children —
girls, about ten and twelve years old. Jamie often saw them playing on the front lawn, and their bicycles were there now, parked next to a swing. But he had never spoken to them, not in all the time he had been at Sparks. The girls had probably been told to avoid him and Scott. Nobody ever went near number 402.
It was as if the whole neighborhood knew that these weren't people you wanted to meet.
He climbed three concrete steps and crossed the porch to the front door. He was glad now that this woman was with him. There was no way that Don or Marcie could blame him for what had
And if it hadn't been for Jagger, the two of them wouldn't even have made it out of the theatre.
Frank Kirby's dog. Jamie remembered the struggle and hoped the animal was all right. Frank was always worrying about the dog…It was old and had a weak heart. Jamie knew that the men in the theatre would have quite happily killed Jagger without so much as a second thought — and these were the same people who had taken Scott. Well,
Jamie would find them, with or without his uncle's help. They didn't know him. They didn't know what they were up against.
"It's the next exit," he said.
Don White and his girlfriend had rented a house in Sparks, a suburb of Reno, just a few miles to the east.
Alicia turned off and they descended into a grid system of pretty, tree-lined streets that seemed a world apart from the main city. And yet the poker tables and slot machines had spread out even here. Two huge towers, bookends that didn't quite match, rose up on the other side of the freeway. This was the Nugget, another enormous casino and hotel complex. Many of the people who lived in Sparks worked there as waiters, croupiers, cleaners, or security guards. There was no escaping it. It seemed to look down and sneer at the little community as if to say,
I
am your master. You owe your livelihood to me.
Every house in Sparks was different and each one stood on its own little plot of land. There were cottages made of brick, wooden bungalows with painted shutters and verandas, and villas built in the Spanish style with wrought-iron gates and white stucco walls. Some of the houses had been decorated with wind chimes, dolls," and flowerpots. Others had been allowed to fall into disrepair. It just depended on who was living there — and it seemed that all sorts of people had chosen this neighborhood to be their home.
Tenth Street was at the top end, close to the casino. It stood out at once because it was the most dilapidated building on the street. It had a porch with a net screen running all the way around, but it was full of holes, as if it had been stabbed. The paint was flaking. The window frames were rusting. A single air-conditioning unit clung to one wall as if by its fingernails. The house was two stories high with a garage to one side. There was a van parked in the driveway— and from the look of it, it hadn't been moved in a long time.
"This is it," Jamie said.
"I sort of guessed." Alicia didn't stop outside. She drove a few doors farther down and pulled up beneath an acacia tree. "Park in the shade," she explained.
Jamie nodded. "Thanks," he said. He reached for the door handle.
"Wait a minute!" Alicia stared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"
"It's okay. This is where I live. You don't need to come in."
"It's not okay! I can't just leave you here. I want to see you're safe."
"Then wait in the car…"
"No!" Alicia turned off the engine. "I'm coming in with you." Jamie opened his mouth to argue but she stopped him. 'You've been away all night," she went on. "Maybe it would help you if you had someone to explain what happened…to back up your story."
Jamie thought for a moment, then nodded. The two of them got out of the car and walked back along the pavement, passing the house next to the one where he lived. It belonged to a family with two children —
girls, about ten and twelve years old. Jamie often saw them playing on the front lawn, and their bicycles were there now, parked next to a swing. But he had never spoken to them, not in all the time he had been at Sparks. The girls had probably been told to avoid him and Scott. Nobody ever went near number 402.
It was as if the whole neighborhood knew that these weren't people you wanted to meet.
He climbed three concrete steps and crossed the porch to the front door. He was glad now that this woman was with him. There was no way that Don or Marcie could blame him for what had
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