Payback Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Deb Loughead

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Loughead, Deb, author

  Payback / Deb Loughead.

  (Orca currents)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-1469-1 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1470-7 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1471-4 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents

  PS8573.O8633P34 2017 jC813'.54 C2017-900825-0

  C2017-900826-9

  First published in the United States, 2017

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017933027

  Summary: In this high-interest novel for middle readers, Dylan witnesses a crime but is worried about speaking up.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts,and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Edited by Tanya Trafford

  Cover photography by iStock.com

  Author photo by Steve Loughead

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  20 19 18 17 • 4 3 2 1

  For Cearra and Anthony Orsini, and Liam Flint

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  “That’s not even a real word! Nice try though, Dylan.”

  My girlfriend, Monica, sat across the table, shaking her head.

  “It is so a word. Mettal. M-E-T-T-A-L. My grandmother uses it all the time. She says that kids these days don’t have any.”

  “That’s not how you spell it. You made up a hybrid of metal and mettle,” said Ivy. “So, you want to challenge it or what?”

  “Face it,” Cory said. “You got caught, dude.”

  “Okay, so I miss a turn. Big deal,” I said. “I’m in last place anyway.”

  Ever since we’d started our Retro Thursdays board-game night, my friend Cory and I had learned a whole lot more words and brushed up on our spelling too. A while back we’d discovered the hard way that girls aren’t as okay with chilling in front of a screen playing video games all night the way guys are. They actually like to talk. Face-to-face. So our compromise was playing board games one evening a week.

  I sneaked a peek at the cell phone on my lap. (One of the rules of board-game night was no phones on the table.) It was already well past my ten PM weeknight curfew. I knew little kids who went to bed later than ten o’clock on weeknights and midnight on weekends.

  “Crap. I gotta get moving anyway,” I said, then dumped the rest of my Scrabble tiles into the little cloth bag. “You know Gran. She’ll probably freak out when I walk in late.”

  “I’m sticking around to finish this,” Cory said. “I’ll head home with Ivy later. Hope your grandmother doesn’t get too mad and ground you or something.”

  “Yep, that would totally suck,” I said.

  Monica walked me to her front door. We ducked into the closet where nobody could see us for a few minutes to say goodbye properly.

  “Maybe if I talk to your grandmother, she’ll realize you’re not a kid anymore and at least let you stay out until ten thirty on weeknights,” Monica said between kisses.

  Monica was good at sweet-talking my grandmother. But Gran was a stubborn one, and I figured she’d never bend this rule.

  “Give it your best shot,” I said. “But you know her. She thinks danger lurks around every corner at one minute past ten. And at one minute past midnight on weekends, of course.”

  Monica laughed and gave me one last hug. “Text me when you get home, okay?” she said.

  Bridgewood was like a ghost town on weeknights, and tonight was no exception. It wasn’t exactly biking weather either. Winter had hung on for way too long, and patches of crusty old snow were still waiting for spring to work its magic. As I wheeled toward the apartment where I lived with my mom and grandmother, I was wishing big-time that I’d been smart enough to wear one of Gran’s itchy caps. And even though I was wearing the heavy woolen hoodie she had knit me for Christmas, I was still shivering.

  I rode with frozen hands. Not smart to forget my gloves. And every time I pulled my hood up, the wind would blow it right back off again. So I guess I wasn’t paying attention, because suddenly, from out of nowhere, a black pickup truck was right in front of me.

  I hit the brakes and veered to the right just in time, wobbling up onto the lot of the local car dealership. I blew off a couple of choice words for being so dumb and realized I was even shaking a bit. Then I looked over at the truck beside me. The engine was idling, and the passenger window was cracked open. A thin stream of smoke wafted out.

  “Hey, dude,” a gravelly voice said. “How’s it going?” Dazed-looking eyes peered out at me. The guy sounded a bit familiar.

  “All good,” I said. “Kind of in a hurry though.”

  “Would you just shut up?” the driver said to the passenger and let off a nasty rant as the window slid up. The engine revved, and the truck sped off. But not before I noticed that the license plate was filthy. The rest of the truck was very clean.

  Weird, I thought. I got back on my bike and headed for home.

  It was already well past ten when I got there. I locked my bike to the rack at the bottom of the stairwell and took the steps up to the apartment two at a time. Outside the door, I tried not to rattle my keys as I slipped the right one into the lock. The door clicked open. Maybe Gran would be asleep on the sofa, and I wouldn’t get an earful. I tiptoed inside and set my backpack down as quietly as possible.

  The TV wasn’t even turned on. Strange. I crept from room to room. No sign of Gran anywhere. I hadn’t seen her since I’d left the apartment that morning. I hoped she was okay. Then I spotted the note on the kitchen table.

  Hey there, Dylan. Having dinner at Buddy’s place. Don’t worry if I’m not home when you get here. Hope you made it before ten . Your mom will be home before midnight. xoxo Gran

  “Are you kidding me?” I yelled at the ceiling.

  I texted Monica. She sent a bunch of LOLs when I complained that I could have stayed out later. I zonked out and didn’t even hear my mom come in.

  The next morning at breakfast, for the first time in as far back as I could remember, Gran wasn’t sitting there with us, talking about the weather or the latest news stories. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my grandmother actually had a boyfriend.

  When I looked up from my bowl of Cheerios, Mom was staring at me.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Mom said. “But your grandmother is a grown-up. She’s allowed to stay out all night.”

  “Yeah yeah, but you’d freak out if I did that,” I replied.

  Mom just rolled her eyes. “Big difference, Dylan. And anyway, what’s the big deal about Gran having a boyfriend?”

  “She’s my grandmother,” I reminded her. “It’s just weird that she’s not acting like one so much anymore. Sh
e’s been different since she hooked up with Buddy Dalton.”

  “Well, I think that’s a good thing,” Mom said. “She isn’t on your case so much anymore either, is she? Or maybe you miss that?”

  “God no,” I said, then slurped the last of the milk from my bowl.

  “Besides, think how happy Gran will be when she hears you made it home on time last night even though she wasn’t here, right?” Mom smiled at me. Which made me feel a bit guilty for stretching the truth about what time I really did get home.

  The apartment buzzer sounded. We both stared at it.

  “Maybe she’s home already,” Mom said, heading over to the intercom. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s me. Nicole.”

  I shivered.

  “Coffee’s on. Come on up, Nic.” Mom buzzed her best friend into the building.

  My godmother, who just happened to also be a police officer, rarely did a random drop-in. What was she doing here so early on a Friday morning? I was almost afraid to find out. So I headed straight for the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth when Mom knocked on the door.

  “Nicole wants to talk to both of us,” she said from the other side. “It’s about something that happened last night.”

  Another shiver zapped me. I flung open the door, my mouth still full of toothpaste. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Gran?” I asked her.

  “Wow, you must really miss her,” Mom said. “Actually, Nicole’s just wondering about something that happened to you last night.”

  “Huh?” I said. “To me?”

  The only thing that had happened to me the night before was that near collision with the back end of a truck. It couldn’t possibly be that though. Nobody else had been around. I rinsed my mouth and followed my mom down the hallway, my heart banging hard.

  “Good morning, Dylan,” Nicole said, hugging me and planting a kiss on my cheek. Then she opened a large manila envelope. “What do you know about this?”

  She handed me a couple of grainy black-and-white screen grabs from some sort of camera. And there I was, on my bike, right beside the pickup truck. The time on the photo said 10:36 PM. Crap. When I looked at mom she was grinning.

  “Busted,” she said. “Don’t worry. I won’t blab to your gran. Ten o’clock and midnight are just ballpark curfew times anyway. I never really expect you to be on time, you know.”

  “Seriously, Mom?” I growled. “So are you following me around or what, Nicole?”

  “Nope. Not following you, Dylan. I only hope I don’t have to arrest you,” she said.

  Chapter Two

  That made me sit down fast in the nearest chair.

  “Arrest me? What are you talking about?” I said. “I didn’t even do anything.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one,” Mom said, elbows on the table.

  “Well, someone did, and it appears you were in the vicinity, Dylan,” Nicole said, staring straight into my eyes. “It got picked up on CCTV. Closed-circuit security cameras have been installed near businesses all over town. And that deer-pattern sweater you’re wearing is a dead giveaway. So why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  “Okay, so I was late for my curfew.” I glared at my mom. “Which is apparently flexible. And I was in a hurry. Which is why I almost ran into that pickup. I was there for, like, one minute. The camera will prove it.”

  “Right, but you’re clearly talking to whoever was in the truck. So what was going on?” Nicole drummed her fingers on the kitchen table.

  “Nothing was going on,” I said. “I talked to the guys in the truck for a couple of seconds after I almost ran into them. Why don’t you just tell me what you think I did?”

  “Oh, Dylan. I don’t actually think you did anything.” Nicole patted my hand. “I just want to know what you saw. Because sometime between ten o’clock last night and six o’clock this morning, some tires got ripped off from the car dealership very close to where these pictures were taken. And you were there before it happened. And sometimes, well, you just happen to be in the wrong place—”

  “At the wrong time. Right, I realize that,” I told her.

  What she said was true enough. I was pretty well known in town, due to a few “incidents” that I’d somehow played a part in over the past few years. In good ways mostly. I’d even made the paper.

  “And I have to admit that you’re good at noticing things. So what did you see?”

  What did I see? Not much, but I had heard the voices of the two guys in the truck. I’d thought I recognized at least one of them, but couldn’t be positive. The truck itself, though, was what I’d really noticed. I tried to visualize the brief instant in my mind. And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. I knew that truck. I’d seen it around town. There were plenty of black Ford pickup trucks in Bridgewood, though, so I couldn’t be certain.

  The other problem was that if I ratted out the driver I might be setting myself up for a bit of a mess. Because if he was who I suspected he was, the guy had one of the worst reps in town. He’d dropped out before graduating a few years back. And seemed to be in crap way too often.

  “You’re taking too long to answer me, Dylan,” Nicole said, snapping my distracted brain back to the moment.

  She was looking for anything I could give her. But I needed time to think. How deeply did I want to get involved in this? The two guys in the truck knew exactly who I was. That might not be such a good thing. So I made a judgment call.

  “It was pretty dark, Nicole,” I said. “So I can’t be sure about anything. All I know is that it was a black pickup truck. And the license plate was dirty, but the rest of the truck was clean.”

  “Well, that’s something at least. But what else did you see? There was a streetlight right there,” she reminded me.

  “The truck window was only open a crack. Some guy asked me how it was going, and I said it was all good. That’s it. What do you want from me anyway?” I swear my hair was bristling. “I can’t make stuff up just so you can catch the bad guys.”

  “Cool it, Dylan,” Mom said. When she tried to pat my arm, I nudged her hand away.

  Nicole’s eyes were narrow now. “Who were they, Dylan? You know everyone in town.”

  “So do you,” I said, looking straight at her. “I’m sure you know exactly who it is. So why don’t you just go over to his place and arrest him instead of interrogating me?”

  “Can’t ID the plate. Smartass smeared it with mud. But you’re a witness.”

  “But I can’t be sure either. I didn’t see any faces. And how come the thieves weren’t caught on camera when they were ripping off the tires anyway?”

  “Bad luck. The camera doesn’t pick up every square foot of the lot. There are blind spots. Come on, Dylan. I’m a cop, and I’ll protect you. What are you so afraid of?”

  Retribution. Retaliation. Payback for being a snitch.

  “I don’t know. Anything. I have to get ready for school now.” I walked down the hall to my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

  Of course it played on my mind all day at school. All I could think about was the shocked look on Mom’s and Nicole’s faces just before I stomped off to my room. I hated letting them down, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up what little I might know. I didn’t want to commit myself to offering evidence that could be wrong either. Or maybe I really was just plain scared.

  Jeff Walker. That was the driver’s name, I was mostly sure. He drove a black Ford pickup truck. There were a lot of questions about where he was getting the money to lease and insure it. These days my friends and I were a whole lot more interested in cars and trucks and who was lucky enough to own one. So we talked about Jeff a lot and speculated a lot too.

  I was positive that Jeff Walker was into a lot of nasty things. And jacking car tires from a dealership lot sounded about right. But it was the guy I suspected had been riding beside him that was making this whole thing harder to deal with. So I kept it all to myself. No way I was ready to te
ll any of my friends about what happened until I had it all figured out. Not even Monica, because I knew she’d tell me to “do the right thing.”

  That afternoon in math class I watched the hands on the clock over the door slowly tick off the seconds. I was so bored I felt like laying my head down on my desk and taking a snooze. But I knew from experience that was a bad plan. Even the smallest stub of chalk fired at light speed at your head by Mr. Kennedy could really hurt. When I glanced across the classroom at Monica, she was sitting up straight in her seat, totally attentive. What was it like to actually enjoy math? I wondered.

  Just as I was about to sneak a peek at my cell phone while Mr. Kennedy scribbled some sort of hieroglyphic formula on the blackboard, I heard it. So did everyone else in the room. Some sort of classical music, coming from somewhere outside. Everyone’s heads turned toward the window. Even the teacher couldn’t resist craning his neck. Then he got miffed when he saw us all squirming in our seats.

  “Concentrate, people. This will be on the test next week.”

  I texted my friend Cory, who had a desk over by the window. It was cracked open a little to allow fresh air into our stuffy second-floor classroom that reeked of smelly armpits. Not everyone had figured out the social benefits of deodorant yet.

  Can u see outside?

  Bad angle, he texted me back. 2 far down.

  I tried to focus on the blackboard and make a few notes, but it was impossible. Especially when there was a huge clatter, like metal against brick. Everyone was staring again toward the windows when the top of a ladder popped up. And the next thing we heard was this:

  “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

  We all knew those sappy lines from back in ninth grade. And then Juliet Johnson, blue eyes close to popping right out of their sockets, practically levitated from her seat and floated over to the window. By then there was no stopping the rest of us. We all shoved back our chairs and bolted for the window too. Down on the ground we could see a trio of music students with cello, violin and flute. They even had chairs and music stands.