Bad Parts Read online

  As more light filled the room, the forks and spoons glimmered around him in a messy steel pile. He reached behind him for the steak knife. He tucked two numb fingers under it and worked it into his grasp. He hadn’t been able to saw through his ankle bindings—not with his knees protesting—but maybe he could defend himself. It was a big maybe, though. His palms were sore and sweaty. His grip on the handle felt anything but secure. With trembling fingers, he tucked the knife partway up his sleeve for safekeeping.

  The door rose higher, letting in the sunlight. Daytime.

  He pressed his palms together, the blade cold against his forearm.

  The overhead door stopped with a clank. Candace entered, strain written into her face. The other two stood behind. She surveyed the mess on the floor before she kicked the pile of silverware. Utensils clattered everywhere.

  “Whatever knife you’ve got, drop it,” she said, standing over him. “If you so much as cut the air I’m breathing, you’re dead.”

  “No knife,” Karl said, wiggling his fingers for her. “Listen, I gotta use the bathroom. Can’t keep holding it in.”

  “Your daughter staked out my place last night,” she said, ignoring his plea. “Then she left your house after I explicitly warned her not to. Whatever she’s planning, you’re paying the price for it.” She looked over her shoulder at a man standing tall, his back turned. “Narducci’s husband volunteered to drive you out of the zone.”

  “Wait, if you do this, how—” Karl flinched as his knees burned anew. “How am I supposed to explain my missing knees?”

  “That’s on you.” Candace squatted over him. Her eyes, which had offered many comforting looks through the years, now gleamed with a dull, unshakable grayness. “Think hard. If you can’t come up with something convincing, we can’t keep you around.”

  Panic jolted inside him. She’d just suggested murdering him. After everything he’d done for the Traders. After all their time together.

  “You’d never,” he said, panting. He raised his voice so the others could hear. “For crying out loud, we been making love for six years.”

  “You two? Ugh.” The voice belonged to Bill Werner. Unbelievable. Ever since Werner had brought up Karl’s talk with Adler, it seemed he’d fallen into her good graces. “Candace, really? You and Karl?”

  “It happened, yes.” Candace met Karl’s eyes. “But it wasn’t love. Bodily needs, at most. You were available, and I couldn’t risk involving myself with someone outside the group.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Karl said, his face blazing hotter than his knees. “You don’t!”

  “I sure do.” She turned to Mr. Narducci. “Pop your trunk.”

  Karl saw his opening and rolled toward Candace. Silverware rattled as he flipped onto his chest, then onto his other side. In position, he slid the knife from his sleeve, clutched the handle, and thrust it backward.

  His cuffed wrists ached, but only for a moment. What followed was the satisfying hitch of the blade sinking through flesh. Candace wailed before she dropped on her rump. Silverware rattled everywhere. He rolled onto his back, lying head-to-toe beside her. She clutched her ankle, growling. Karl saw her blood flow over a spoon.

  He tried to sit up.

  Candace threw her fist. Her knuckles cracked along his forehead, and then the back of his head thudded against cold concrete. His ears rang, his vision blurred.

  Hands gripped him beneath each armpit and lifted him to his feet. Karl wobbled on his bound ankles. Candace shouted something but he couldn’t make out her words. Sounded like she told them to stop.

  Relief whooshed through his chest.

  But only for a second.

  The two men steered him toward Candace. Karl couldn’t hear what she said next. His eyes started to focus. He thought he saw something flash in Candace’s hand.

  Then her arm shot forward.

  Something sharp pierced his neck.

  Five miles out Rosita woke up, groaning.

  Ash fought the urge to turn and look. Snow was falling in shredded white curtains, and she needed to focus as the storm intensified. The wiper blades shrieked with every pass, as if the vehicle were crying out in pain. It certainly wasn’t in any shape to handle the slick interstate. As the bald tires continuously skidded, Ash wanted to shriek.

  “We should pull over,” Cheeto said from the passenger seat.

  “Not yet.” She tightened her grip on the wheel.

  Another mile passed. Rosita cried out, thumping the floor.

  From the back, Trent delivered updates. Apparently the woman’s eyes now looked like they were boiling in their sockets.

  Even with the heater blasting, Ash shivered. She jerked the steering wheel, and the van slid into the next lane, drawing a honk from the truck behind them.

  Enough with this shit. She pulled over. The van crunched past the rumble strips and stopped along the shoulder. Interstate traffic blitzed by. She grabbed her phone and dialed Candace. As it rang, she looked over at Cheeto. He gazed outside, thumb clicking anxiously at his lighter.

  The call went to voicemail. Ash dialed again. That call got blocked. Great.

  “Trent, get Rosita’s cell. I’ll call Candace from hers.”

  In the back Trent wrestled Rosita against a drum case. He lifted her phone and tossed it forward. Ash caught it and asked Rosita for the PIN. When the woman didn’t answer, Ash threatened to drive another mile. The threat worked. She entered the code and dialed Candace. Rosita yelled without words.

  “Quiet her down!” Ash said, jamming the phone to her ear.

  Candace answered on the third ring.

  “I’m busy here, Rose,” Candace said. “What do you need?”

  “She needs you to release my father.”

  “Ash? Un-fucking-believable. I’m hanging up.”

  “You hang up, Rosita goes blind. I have her in the van. We’re approaching Clarks Summit.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll put her on speaker.”

  Ash stretched the phone back. She nodded for Trent to take his hand off Rosita’s mouth. When he did, the woman shrieked. Within seconds a raw voice roared through the speaker—not Candace but Bill Werner.

  “Rose! Rose, get outta there!”

  “She can’t,” Ash said calmly. “Not unless my dad—”

  “You stupid skank! Let my wife go!”

  “Let’s try this instead. You send my father home—alone—and have him call me. Once he’s safe, I’ll release her.”

  Ash hung up and took a deep breath. The phone rang multiple times, but she ignored it.

  In the passenger’s seat, Cheeto forced a smile. “I can live with that deal. Get your dad back, give Rosita back. Everybody wins.”

  “Not everybody,” Trent said.

  No, not everybody, Ash thought. She merged back onto the highway.

  50

  Less than ten minutes later Ash parked within spitting distance of the Clarks Summit exit. In the back Rosita thrashed like a satanic puppet, wailing as she whacked against instrument cases. In an effort to mute her screams, Trent stuffed her mouth with a Bad Parts t-shirt. Cheeto muttered, “That’s the worst use of band merchandise ever.”

  “Still beats your edible underwear idea,” Ash said.

  “How can you joke right now?” Cheeto said, voice cracking.

  “Trying to lighten the mood.”

  “Ash, this is sick shit.”

  “So is taking my father hostage.”

  “I know, but…” He leaned in. “You’re turning around, right? Not gonna let Trent tell you what to do, are you?”

  “Nobody tells me what to do.”

  “Good. Because if Rosita’s eyes leave their sockets, I leave the band.”

  “What?”

  “I mean it.” His expression became severe. “I can’t share a stage with someone who’d blind an innocent woman.”

  “But what about Jake?” she said, picturing the kid’s sad, droopy shoul
ders. “He needs the eyes.”

  “Since when do you care about a kid?”

  “Why wouldn’t I care about him? He’s my nephew.”

  “Ash, you’re a shitty liar.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Neither am I.” Cheeto crossed his arms. “Take the exit.”

  Ahead of them were the Clarks Summit exit and the yield sign marking the zone’s edge. The next push on the gas pedal would permanently change lives. It would determine whether Jake remained blind. Whether Trent remained crippled. Whether Cheeto remained in the band.

  “Ash, she’s getting worse,” Trent said, shoving Rosita against a drum case. The woman growled despite the gag. Her hand shot out for Trent’s face, and he swatted it away. “Finish this shit before she claws my eyes out.”

  “We don’t have Dad yet,” Ash said.

  Outside, afternoon traffic pushed through the whipping snowstorm. She checked her phone repeatedly. The longer she didn’t hear from Dad, the more she worried. She considered phoning Candace but held off. That would show weakness. And yet the longer they remained there, the less time they’d have to make their final trades.

  “Ash, c’mon,” Trent said, growling. He and Rosita were thumping back there like enraged lovers. “I can’t hold on forever.”

  “Imagine how Rosita feels,” Cheeto said.

  “Will both of you shut it?” Ash felt like her brain was being struck by spiked clubs. “You think this is easy for me? You think I get a fucking charge outta this? I don’t need you two bitching about—”

  Her phone buzzed.

  Dad.

  She answered, “Hello?”

  “Ashlee.”

  “Dad! You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seriously?” She exhaled. It felt like she’d returned a huge favor, one thirty years overdue. “You’re alone, right?”

  “Yep. Bill Werner lost his cool. Forced Candace to hand over her keys. I took them and ran. Never figured myself for a Jeep man, but hers handles okay.”

  “Holy shit, that’s great! And you’re not under duress? No guns to your head, knives to your throat?”

  “Nope. Though before you called, I had a knife in my neck.”

  “What?”

  “Relax, I’m fine.”

  “That bitch. You’re not bleeding, are you?”

  “Holding a towel against it. I’ll bandage it soon as I get home.”

  “You okay to drive like that? Want me to pick you up?”

  “No need. I was already halfway home before I pulled over to call you. Now listen, make sure you bring Rosita back safe. We’ll need her if we’re gonna bargain with Candace about getting near the creek.”

  That request dropped through Ash’s gut like a brick. She’d been leaning toward blinding the woman, but if they needed a bargaining chip, she couldn’t return home with damaged goods.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s finish this.”

  “Darn right. Listen, for the moment Candace is stranded without a vehicle. We gotta take advantage, so get back as fast as you can. Within the speed limit, of course.”

  Ash rolled her eyes. “Sure, officer. In the meantime, gather whoever’s gonna trade.”

  “Will do, darling. Love you.”

  Her neck tingled. She wanted to tell him the same but hung up.

  “What happened?” Trent said. “Is Dad safe?”

  “Yeah.” Ash put the van in drive and turned the wheel toward the exit. “We gotta hurry back.”

  “Wait, what’re you doing?” Trent released Rosita and lurched to his feet. The woman floundered in agony, her cries muffled and helpless. Trent’s voice boomed above them. “Don’t take that exit!”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Bullshit, Ash, you owe me!” Trent said. “Remember what happened last time you drove me around in a van? It’s time you made things right!”

  “Trent, we need her healthy. She’s our leverage.”

  “Leverage?” Trent’s eyes widened before he dove between the front seats. “This is my son we’re talking about. Fuck your leverage!”

  Before Ash could react, he was on her. As Trent’s weight forced her against the window, her hand lost the steering wheel and her foot slid off the brake. The van rolled forward.

  Trent snatched the wheel and twisted it back toward the highway.

  Cheeto tackled him from behind. Their combined weight squashed Ash against the door. She tried shoving back, but couldn’t move. Cheeto wrestled Trent toward the passenger side, both of them twisting and growling.

  With their weight gone, Ash grabbed the wheel and footed the brake.

  “Drive, Ash!” Trent said, writhing within Cheeto’s hold. “Help Jake!”

  “Don’t listen to him!”

  An elbow crashed against the volume knob. A cut from the latest Bad Parts album exploded through the speakers, injecting Cheeto with a second wind. He drove his fist into Trent’s back and hip, and then he punched lower.

  One shot to the leg broke Trent, body and spirit.

  “Jesus!” Ash cried when Trent wailed. “Cheeto, enough!”

  “Take the exit!” he ordered.

  The speakers thumped beside her. One of her nastier riffs crunched through, Cheeto’s vocals howling in the background. She would never re-create that kind of musical synergy with another singer. She needed Cheeto in the band. And after last night, she knew she needed him, period.

  Ash straightened up, found the gas pedal, and turned toward the exit, her pulse throbbing in her ears.

  “Ash…” Trent croaked. “Please.”

  No. She couldn’t. Rosita was their bargaining chip, not to mention a human being.

  She stomped the gas pedal.

  “Jaaake!” Trent howled.

  The moment his cry filled her ears, Ash pictured the kid, his blank eyes, and the ruined flesh around them. While the gruesome details moved her, what ate into her soul was the blindness itself, which hindered Jake in so many ways. He couldn’t tell night from day, couldn’t see who rang the doorbell, couldn’t dream of joining the Phillies. That last one stung the most. She didn’t give a wet shit about sports, but she knew exactly how it felt to lose your dreams.

  Heat burst through her as she veered toward the highway. The rumble strips tossed the van like landmines.

  Cheeto cried out. Rosita screamed. Horns blared behind them.

  The yield sign grew larger.

  Her headlights gleamed off it.

  Then it was behind them.

  Rosita screamed again. Higher now. Inhuman. It sounded like the shattering of a thousand windows. Nothing so horrible had ever pounded against Ash’s eardrums.

  Then the screams cut out. It was over.

  51

  Trent grabbed the armrest and hoisted himself up. His leg throbbed murderously as he straightened it, electric darts shooting from ankle to knee. When he planted his good foot, the van was still charging forward. As the wipers swiped, the exit was nowhere in sight. Neither was the yield sign.

  We did it! he thought, We—

  Ash abruptly pulled into the breakdown lane and stomped the brake, flinging Trent hard against the dash. He must’ve bumped the volume knob, because the music abruptly stopped. Silence hung between the four of them, broken only by the screech of wipers.

  Beside him, Ash clutched the steering wheel so tightly her arm shook. Her bold black eyes looked wounded, filled with a what-have-I-done expression.

  Balancing on his good leg, Trent leaned toward her. He slid an arm behind her back and hugged her from the side. Emotion brimmed from his eyes and tightened his throat. He kissed her forehead, tasting sweat.

  “Rosita,” Ash whispered. “How is she?”

  Trent twisted around to check. Grabbing the seats, he lowered his good knee to the floor. Trembling, he crawled toward Rosita. She lay on her stomach, out cold. Rather than checking her pulse, he turned her head. Both eyelids were shut. With a trembling thumb, he touched one, meaning to pe
el it back. But when he applied pressure, the eyelid dented inward with a faint click.

  He shuddered.

  Trent pinched the lashes above the other eye and lifted.

  Empty darkness stared back at him.

  He flinched, sat back, and frantically wiped his fingers on his pants, as if he’d touched something contagious. When he turned around, he saw Ash and Cheeto staring, both waiting for an answer.

  Trent swallowed hard. “It worked.”

  52

  Karl had dialed the last of the soon-to-be Traders just before Ashlee’s van rolled into the townhouse lot. Her timing couldn’t have been better. He zipped his jacket and shuffled down the porch steps. The storm threw snow in his face, forcing him to shield his eyes. Through his fingers, he saw Ashlee and Cheeto screaming into each other’s faces inside the van.

  She flung the door open, still roaring.

  “—and don’t even think about driving off with my van. It’s in my name and it better stay here, or else the first thing I’m gonna do with my new hand is rip your goddamned hair out.” She slammed the door. When she turned and saw Karl, her scowling face brightened. “Dad!”

  She ran to him.

  In his mind he saw her, twenty-five years younger, sprinting off the bus after her first day of kindergarten. He spread his arms wide and she crashed into his chest, hugging him tight. He returned the squeeze.

  “Ashlee. Thank you.”

  “I was so fucking worried.” That foul mouth of hers shattered the memory of five-year-old Ashlee. Still, he wasn’t complaining. “Dad, your neck…”

  “Little scratch,” he said, touching the bandage. “I’ll be okay.”

  “You better.”

  Karl held her at arm’s length. “Let’s roll. Gotta meet the new Traders in the church lot. Trent coming with us?”

  She looked over her shoulder as Trent climbed outside and waved. “Once he drives Rosita home, he’s gonna grab Jake and meet us up there.”

  “Grab Jake?” Karl released her. His stomach spiraled like a downed plane. “Oh, no. Ashlee, you didn’t…”