“No. C’mon.”
We tiptoe into the floor lobby and walk towards the door.
Oscar produces a key card. “Hope this works.”
“When did you…” I start, then remember Oscar bumping the maintenance guy. “Oh.”
He smirks as he swipes the card over the car reader. There’s a quiet beep, but it seems unnaturally loud to my ears.
It’s not too dark in the room because the lights of Reno are shining through the big windows. Luckily, there’s no on in the living room.
He points at a set of double doors. “She won’t be in there,” he whispers. “That room’s for the main guy.”
“His name is Kozlov,” I whisper back, feeling smug over my knowledge.
“Right,” he says tersely.
It makes me grin. It makes him scowl.
There are three other doors, and an open one that leads to the bathroom.
Oscar tries the handle of the first door, then steps back. “Locked.”
It’s my turn to show off. “I can pick it.”
Disbelief flickers across his face. “I doubt it.”
“Why? Because you’re the only one that can be a criminal?” I dig into the pocket of my jeans and produce a lock picking set. It’s one of mom’s. She showed me how to pick locks in case I ever needed to get out of a locked room. So far, I haven’t. She wouldn’t just let me have one, but she has quite a few, so she’s never noticed that one of them occasionally goes missing.
“You carry those around all the time?”
“Of course not.” I do carry them around a lot of the time so I can practice. There are a bunch of locked doors at school and when no one’s around, I unlock them. That’s how I can get into Oscar’s locker and steal his lunch. “I picked them up at home when we were there and brought them with me just in case.”
I kneel down and slip the pick into the lock then insert the bobby pin. There’s a rattle, but I can’t help it so I carry on. Oscar is standing close to me, looking over my shoulder. It makes me really uncomfortable. Also, he’s starting to smell. And not in a good way.
The lock clicks. I twist the door handle and open the door about an inch.
We’re both so absorbed in what we’re doing, when the light flicks on in the living room, we almost jump out of our skulls.
“What have we got here?” Mr. Kozlov’s voice comes from behind us.
I twist around and stare at him. “Ah…” Then I almost start crying. Mom would have been able to say something cool right away. It makes me feel stupid.
Oscar is calmer. “Mr. Kozlov,” he says as he pushes me behind him. “I’m Oscar, Eight’s son. He’s a member of Hell’s Jury.”
I roll my eyes just a little bit because for some reason I know that politeness won’t cut it. Name-dropping won’t either.
I give Oscar a little push in the back and step out next to him. “We came to get my mom,” I announce. Sure, my legs are shaking, but whatever. Mr. Kozlov’s gonna do what he’s gonna do no matter what I say.
He gives us that smile that adults do. Like he’s being indulgent. “Your mom’s not here, Henri. I let her leave.”
Relief floods me but is quickly replaced by anger. “Why’d you take her in the first place?”
“And why’d you punch her?” Oscar adds scornfully.
His eyebrows shoot up. They’re really furry and they look like caterpillars on his forehead. “I didn’t punch her, young man. One of my…” he hesitates, then grins, “…henchman did.”
Oscar and I look at each other. Most grown-ups are ridiculous but he wins lamo-of-the-year. “Don’t be such an adult,” I say.
