if I'm right, if Angel is a cop, this could be a huge break for both of us. As he does his drug investigation, we investigate him. I get pictures; you write up how he gains the trust of the drug users. When the arrests come, we'll scoop everyone. The
Seattle Times
will run our story: 'Inside the Drug Bust at Lincoln High.' Both of our names will be on the front page. Think how much that would help our college applications."
6
I HELPED WITH MY PARENTS' afternoon deliveries, came home, ate dinner, and figured the day was done. Then, around eight thirty, my cell phone rang. Kimi was on the line. "You said you know where Angel lives. Let's go take some pictures."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"What if he sees us? And what if it really was a gun?"
"You can park down the block. I'll use a telephoto lens; he won't notice anything. Anyway, cops don't shoot people for sitting in a car."
Five minutes later, I pulled up in front of Kimi's house. She hurried down her walkway, wearing shorts and a pink top, camera bag slung over her shoulder, her father at the door watching.
I drove across the Ballard Bridge, wound past Fishermen's Terminal, and made a right onto Commodore Way. I turned left on Elmore Street, drove one hundred feet up the block, pulled to the curb, and stopped. I flicked off the headlights but kept the engine idling. "There," I said, pointing up the block and across the street. "The one with the bars on the windows."
Kimi started snapping pictures of the ramshackle house.
"Isn't it too dark?" I asked.
"The twilight will give the photos a mysterious look. I can use Photoshop to brighten the images if I need to."
With every click of the camera, the whole undertaking felt increasingly dangerous, but Kimi kept snapping away. At last she put the lens cap on the camera and stuck the camera back into its case. I was about to speed off when she leaned forward, her brow furrowed, and nodded toward the house. "Wait. Do you notice something odd about the iron bars on the windows and doors?"
I looked. "Not really."
"The paint is peeling; the porch looks like it could crumble away, but the bars are brand new. And see how fancy they are? My dad recently had security bars put over the windows on our house. Wrought iron like that costs money." She turned to me. "I bet there's a top-notch security system in place."
"And all that means?"
"The ramshackle house is a cover. If you look quickly, it seems like one thing; look harder, and it's something else. The same with Angel."
That moment the front door opened and the older guy, wearing his Seahawks sweatshirt, stepped onto the porch. He looked down the block opposite from us, and then he turned and stared at the Focus. "Get down," I ordered, and we both slunk down in the seat.
For a long moment, we stayed down. Then a new dread came over me. The Focus's engine was running. Had the guy heard it? What if he was walking toward the car right at this moment? What if he had a gun in his hand?
I inched my head up until I was able to see. The guy was coming toward us, and fast. I didn't wait to see what he wanted. I threw the Focus into drive and peeled out of there. "Stay down!" I barked at Kimi. As I tore past the guy, I put my hand up by the side of my face so he couldn't see me. At the end of the block I made a hard left and then raced through the side streets of lower Magnolia until I reached Dravus Street, which I followed down to Elliott Avenue. Neither Kimi nor I said a word until I pulled up in front of her house and killed the engine.
"My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it," she said.
"Mine, too."
I looked at her, and for no reason we both started to laugh.
Her porch light flicked on. "I better get inside," she said, the laughter subsiding as quickly as it had come, and she was out the door and up the walkway.
I headed toward my home, but turned north on Thirty-second and drove up to Sunset Hill Park instead. I parked, walked to the chain-link fence, and looked out over
Seattle Times
will run our story: 'Inside the Drug Bust at Lincoln High.' Both of our names will be on the front page. Think how much that would help our college applications."
6
I HELPED WITH MY PARENTS' afternoon deliveries, came home, ate dinner, and figured the day was done. Then, around eight thirty, my cell phone rang. Kimi was on the line. "You said you know where Angel lives. Let's go take some pictures."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"What if he sees us? And what if it really was a gun?"
"You can park down the block. I'll use a telephoto lens; he won't notice anything. Anyway, cops don't shoot people for sitting in a car."
Five minutes later, I pulled up in front of Kimi's house. She hurried down her walkway, wearing shorts and a pink top, camera bag slung over her shoulder, her father at the door watching.
I drove across the Ballard Bridge, wound past Fishermen's Terminal, and made a right onto Commodore Way. I turned left on Elmore Street, drove one hundred feet up the block, pulled to the curb, and stopped. I flicked off the headlights but kept the engine idling. "There," I said, pointing up the block and across the street. "The one with the bars on the windows."
Kimi started snapping pictures of the ramshackle house.
"Isn't it too dark?" I asked.
"The twilight will give the photos a mysterious look. I can use Photoshop to brighten the images if I need to."
With every click of the camera, the whole undertaking felt increasingly dangerous, but Kimi kept snapping away. At last she put the lens cap on the camera and stuck the camera back into its case. I was about to speed off when she leaned forward, her brow furrowed, and nodded toward the house. "Wait. Do you notice something odd about the iron bars on the windows and doors?"
I looked. "Not really."
"The paint is peeling; the porch looks like it could crumble away, but the bars are brand new. And see how fancy they are? My dad recently had security bars put over the windows on our house. Wrought iron like that costs money." She turned to me. "I bet there's a top-notch security system in place."
"And all that means?"
"The ramshackle house is a cover. If you look quickly, it seems like one thing; look harder, and it's something else. The same with Angel."
That moment the front door opened and the older guy, wearing his Seahawks sweatshirt, stepped onto the porch. He looked down the block opposite from us, and then he turned and stared at the Focus. "Get down," I ordered, and we both slunk down in the seat.
For a long moment, we stayed down. Then a new dread came over me. The Focus's engine was running. Had the guy heard it? What if he was walking toward the car right at this moment? What if he had a gun in his hand?
I inched my head up until I was able to see. The guy was coming toward us, and fast. I didn't wait to see what he wanted. I threw the Focus into drive and peeled out of there. "Stay down!" I barked at Kimi. As I tore past the guy, I put my hand up by the side of my face so he couldn't see me. At the end of the block I made a hard left and then raced through the side streets of lower Magnolia until I reached Dravus Street, which I followed down to Elliott Avenue. Neither Kimi nor I said a word until I pulled up in front of her house and killed the engine.
"My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it," she said.
"Mine, too."
I looked at her, and for no reason we both started to laugh.
Her porch light flicked on. "I better get inside," she said, the laughter subsiding as quickly as it had come, and she was out the door and up the walkway.
I headed toward my home, but turned north on Thirty-second and drove up to Sunset Hill Park instead. I parked, walked to the chain-link fence, and looked out over
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