The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [39]
27
His whut?” asked the kid with the panther tattoo.
“She’s thumpin’ ya, she is, Desi,” added one of his friends, a fat black kid with a British accent and a blue bandanna on his head. He stepped forward with Panther Tattoo, hoping to scare Naomi. She didn’t step back.
“Listen . . . Desi, right?” Naomi asked, knowing better than to pull her badge in a group like this. “Desi, I promise you—I’m not thumpin’, or lying, or whatever you’re suggesting that verb means. I’m Cal’s girlfriend. Naomi. We’ve been dating three weeks. Naomi. Ask him. Call him.”
It was the simplest way to find out if they knew something. But the way these guys were watching her . . . the cold doubt in their eyes. Covenant House was a shelter for homeless kids. Kids who got lit on fire when they left their gang. Or got sold by their dad as a sex toy for quick drug money. These kids . . . weren’t kids.
“Cal don’t date no giant girls,” Panther Tattoo challenged.
“Well, he dates me,” Naomi insisted.
“Yah? When wuz ya last date?”
Naomi didn’t even hesitate. “Two nights ago.”
“Tha’s funny—cuz he wuz here playin’ Xbox with us two nights back.”
The chubby kid with the accent leaned in and pointed a finger at Naomi’s face. “You got a problem now, luv. And don’t think we didn’t spot that bloody little pistol you got hidin’ behind your—”
In a blur, Naomi gripped the kid’s stubby finger and bent it back, then twirled him around, pinned his arm behind his back, and rammed his chest and chin against the nearby wall. A dozen different plaques and commendations shook at the impact.
“ICE agent, which means federal, which means be really bloody careful what you do next,” Naomi growled, using her free hand to slide open her jacket and show off the badge on her belt.
To her surprise, none of the gang rushed forward or mouthed off. In fact, since the moment she came in, they’d all been standing almost entirely in the same—
Crap.
“Outta the way! Now!” Naomi ordered, waving them toward the corner of the sparse old motel room and heading for the bathroom at the back.
“Lady, you can’t just—”
“Giant people can do anything,” Naomi shot back, shoving British Boy aside and finally getting her first good look at the bathroom’s closed door . . . and the light that was on underneath. A shadow flitted, then disappeared. Someone was definitely in there.
“Get back to your rooms!” she yelled at the kids, who scattered onto the breezeway as she pulled her gun. “And Cal, I checked when I was outside. I know there’s no window in there!”
She kicked the door and tried the handle. Locked.
“Cal, I’m counting to one!” Naomi shouted. “After that, you’re paying for whatever it costs to get a bullet out of your—”
Click.
The door opened, revealing a man with a thick nose, an even thicker waist, and thinning black hair that was tied back in a ponytail.
“If you need to use the can, all you gotta do is ask,” Roosevelt said with a grin as he rolled Cal’s phone in his palm.
28
Stepping out from the bathroom, Roosevelt studied the tall woman carefully. Cal warned him they’d send someone—and she clearly wasn’t a novice. But that didn’t mean their stalling hadn’t worked.
“You switched phones with him,” Naomi said, annoyed.
“Me? I’m a man of God. I’d never—” Roosevelt glanced down at the phone in his hand and forced a look of surprise. “This isn’t my phone! Sweet mother of Shirley Hemphill, how’d this happen?”
Naomi’s hand jumped out, snatching the phone from Roosevelt’s palm.
“Hey! You can’t—”
Naomi aimed her gun at Roosevelt’s chest. “I can.” Without another word, she started clicking through the menu on Cal’s phone: Call Log, Placed Calls . . . “Here we go,” she announced. “Last number dialed: Roosevelt (Mobile).” Naomi pushed the call button and waited.
But as the phone rang in her ear, there was another ring in Roo-sevelt’s front pocket.
Roosevelt reached down and pulled out a second ringing phone, flipped it open, and held it to his ear.
“Hello,” he sang, watching Naomi’s