“The stuff they want you to bring. It’s called a Molotov cocktail. You fill the bottle with gas, shove the rag in the top, then light the rag on fire. When you throw it, the glass breaks whenthe bottle lands and gas goes everywhere and catches on fire. I’ve heard people talk about them in Ireland. Not in the part I lived in, but in Northern Ireland, people burned stuff all the time with Molotov cocktails during the Troubles.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Daniel. “But I have to go.”
“Don’t,” says Braedon. “If you get caught with a bottle and gas, you’re the one who will get in trouble. Graham and those guys won’t.”
Daniel pulls on his sweatshirt and slips into his shoes. “If my parents come downstairs, tell them I’m in the bathroom. And tell them I have diarrhea or something so they don’t expect me to come out soon.”
“Dude,” says Braedon. “You can’t leave me here alone.”
“Why not?”
“It’s weird,” says Braedon. “And kind of creepy.”
“Then come with me,” says Daniel. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and hitches up his jeans. “You can ride my brother’s bike. I’m going upstairs to get one of those reusable shopping bags. Then we can sneak out the back door down here.”
Moen’s Bridge is a canoe landing on the Root River between the towns of Chatfield and Lanesboro. Judd parks his Tahoe on County Road 21 on a pull-out just before the bridge. It’s dead quiet and dead dark at 11:55PM.
Clay parks three hundred yards behind Judd. He checks the clock on his dash. Six more minutes. He checks his phone. Thesignal from the tracking device comes through clearly. Clay rolls down his window. The frogs and crickets are making a racket. Clay knows his father. He’ll do this by the book. By the book and to the minute. He waits a little longer and then raises the binoculars to his eyes.
It’s not long before Judd exits the Tahoe carrying the bear canister loaded with forty-five thousand dollars. He walks to the edge of the bridge and looks down at the Root River. Clay observes his father checking his watch one more time. Then he sees a shadow approaching Judd from behind.
CHAPTER 21
“Where are they?” says Daniel.
“Must be busy with something else,” says Braedon. “Let’s get out of here.”
They stand still, straddling their bikes, a block away from Riverwood’s community center. Braedon convinced Daniel to take his old bike, not the stolen one given to him by Graham and the other two boys. Taking that bike would just cement Daniel’s indebtedness. And if they get in any kind of official trouble, riding a stolen bike won’t help matters. Braedon straddles Daniel’s little brother’s bike. It’s too small for him and, if there’s some kind of bike sprint to get away from who-knows-what, he’ll be the slowest wildebeest in the pack.
Braedon feels the odd sensation of dread juxtaposed with excitement. He promised his father he wouldn’t go out tonight. Even if he hadn’t, he has enough common sense to know thisis a terrible idea, accompanying Daniel to deliver the ingredients of a Molotov cocktail. If they get caught, Braedon could get kicked out of Dorset-Cornwall. And then there’s the possibility of juvenile detention, which Braedon knows about from hearing Grandpa Judd talk about it. How he hated arresting kids who might get sent there because, even though Grandpa Judd is a law-and-order kind of guy, sending a criminal kid to live with a bunch of other criminal kids just gives them the connections to become criminal adults.
But Braedon also feels the thrill of being out at midnight. When every other kid his age is probably asleep or watching TV in the safety and comfort of home, he’s getting a whiff of independence and its risk/reward possibilities. He’s not being told what life is in a classroom or around the dinner table. He’s experiencing it firsthand. And at twelve years old, the difference between the two is gargantuan.
“Shit,” says Daniel, looking down at his phone. “They want us to torch a truck.”
“What?” says Braedon.
“A red pickup truck in the lot. They want me to do what you said. Make that cocktail thing, light it on fire, and toss it into a red pickup truck. Shit. I’m cooked.”
“Forget it, Daniel. We’re not doing it. Let’s just get the hell back to your house.”
“No,” says Daniel. “I have to get this over with. You stay here. I’ll pedal up, light the thing and toss it in, and we ride for our lives.”
Braedon considers offering to go with Daniel, but he’s provedhis friendship enough just by biking into town with him. Instead he says, “Be careful. Don’t light yourself on fire.”
“I won’t.” Daniel holds out his fist, and Braedon bumps it.
Daniel reaches down to the bike’s water bottle holder. The plastic water bottle is gone, replaced by an empty Dad’s Root Beer bottle made of dark brown glass. It’s filled with gas from the red plastic gas can in Daniel’s garage, the original cap twisted back on. Daniel lifts the bottle, unscrews the cap, then removes a rag from his front pocket. That, too, came from the garage, where his father keeps a box of old rags under the workbench. He stuffs one end of the rag into the bottle, removes a barbecue grill lighter from his back pocket, and says, “Here goes.”
“Won’t be necessary,” says a voice. It’s Graham, on his bike, the other two boys behind him.
Braedon wants to take off but knows he can’t outrun them. Even if he wasn’t on a too-small bike, Graham and the other guys are three years older and a whole lot bigger. They look like adults with kid faces. This is the first time Braedon has seen them up close. They’re not as scary as he thought they’d be. They appear awkward and maybe a bit confused. Nervous. Braedon supposes a person can only be so intimidating on a bicycle. Graham and his buddies aren’t even old enough to have driver’s licenses yet.
“Okay,” says Daniel. “That’s cool.”
“It was a test,” says Graham. “A loyalty test. And you passed. Although you shouldn’t have brought him with you.” Graham points his chin at Braedon.
“He’s sleeping over at my house,” says Daniel. “I had to.”
