Page 402 of A Matter of Time

“Don’t worry about it. Do you have a plan to get home?”

“Never mind that—do you trick for this guy James?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Tell me your plan. Hurry up.”

“Okay. My mom got me a plane ticket. I just gotta get to the airport.”

“You don’t need to get your stuff first?”

“It’s just clothes, Jory, who cares? I just wanna get the hell outta here.”

“Sure, don’t worry. We’re getting out.”

“How?”

“You’ll see.” I took a breath before turning toward the front of the cell, where a uniformed policeman had suddenly appeared. “It’s all about the name you drop and who’s listening.”

“What are you talking about?”

Did nobody but me watch television?

“Hey.” The officer was standing silently on the outside of the locked cell, staring in at me. I tipped my head at him in greeting.

“C’mere.” He crooked his finger at me.

I moved fast to the bars that separated prisoners from policemen. When I was close enough, he reached through and yanked me toward him. Our faces were inches apart as he looked into my eyes.

“That kid works for Rego James?” he asked me, his voice low so only I could hear him.

“Both of us,” I said quickly, putting it on. “I was supposed to be along to watch over him, ya know, but we got busted. Will you call Rego?”

He nodded, looking me over. “What’s your name?”

“Jory.”

“Okay.” He shoved me back hard.

I went back to sitting next to Carrington.

“Jory, what was all that about?”

“Nothing. Just follow my lead, okay? Don’t even for a second lose track of me, all right?”

He took a breath and nodded. “Seriously, you ever get to Raleigh, North Carolina—that’s where I’m from, where my home is, my folks’ll let you move in.”

“We’re not out yet,” I reminded him.

He put his hand on my knee. “I got faith in ya.”

That made one of us.

It didn’t take long. The officer came and called for us fifteen minutes later. We didn’t go out the way we came in. I was given my watch, phone, and wallet back before Carrington and I were led out of the holding cell and through a maze of passageways. Our heads were both lowered so no one could identify us, and we walked silently behind the officer, through empty offices and down stairwells. Carrington never left my side as we passed desks full of people who ignored us, until a final door opened and we wound up standing outside in an empty alley with the officer. Instantly, we were bathed in a yellow glow as a car rolled toward us, headlights on. When it stopped beside us, we both saw it was a black limousine. The driver’s side window rolled down and a hand held out an envelope. The officer took it, turned, and left, disappearing back into the building. The window rose with an electronic whir, and the door opened at the same time. A large man got out and opened the side door for us. He stood and waited, holding it ajar, silent in the cold, dark alley.

I got in the car, and Carrington followed me. The door clicked shut behind us as my eyes found Rego James sitting on the black leather seat. He was reclined across from an older man with a younger man seated beside him. Two young men, both with long black hair and blue eyes, flanked Rego on either side. Carrington and I took seats next to the May-December couple across from Rego as the driver pulled out into traffic.

“You used my name,” he said slowly, his voice deep and low. “If I don’t show, I lose face, so here I am.”

I nodded. “Thanks for coming.”