Chasing the Skip Read online

  “What about my right to have a mother?” I asked. As soon as I said it I was sorry. I hadn’t meant to turn the conversation back to me.

  But Dad didn’t respond. He just stared at the road slipping away beneath us, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

  * * *

  We’d been in the truck for less than twenty minutes when Dad pulled up to a house in a residential neighborhood. He climbed out of the cab, walked up to the house, and pounded his fist on the door.

  I sat close to the window, watching. When Dad went to get Alison, he’d knocked on the door and asked for her. But he said he sometimes had to break in and drag people out. Dad said that was legal for licensed bounty hunters, but it still sounded dangerous to me. I half wanted to see it happen, but only if everything turned out okay in the end.

  Dad waited a second and then banged on the door again. When no one answered, he walked to the side of the house and peered over into the backyard like a cop in a movie.

  There it was. A glimpse of the superhero dad my eight-year-old self wanted. My dad could break into other people’s houses. My dad had handcuffs and chains—and not for weird, kinky reasons either. My dad had the power to drag people to jail.

  I wondered if Batman’s daughter would have felt left out too.

  As Dad came back around the house, he glanced in the window and then waved to someone inside. A moment later the front door swung open, and a woman in a V-neck shirt and tapered jeans stepped out. She was probably the same age as Mom, and she dressed like she was still in high school, just like Mom did. It always made me mad when Mom shopped in the juniors section, even if it did mean I could borrow her clothes.

  I opened the door of the truck so I could hear what Dad was saying.

  “… Ian Burnham,” he said, his deep voice carrying. “You seen him?”

  “He ran off a couple of weeks ago,” the woman said. “Haven’t seen him since.”

  “You know where he might have gone?”

  I hopped out of the cab. This wasn’t turning into a drag-’em-out scenario, so I was safe.

  The woman shook her head again. Dad stepped closer, standing up a little taller. “Are you his guardian?”

  “I was. You with the police?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m a bail enforcement agent. I’m here because Mr. Burnham didn’t show up for his court date. If you’re his guardian, you must be pretty upset at losing that bail money.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “Nothing I can do about it now. He stole my car and fifty dollars from my wallet when he left. I shouldn’t have put up the collateral for the bondsman, but I felt so sorry for Ian because of his mom. Now my damn house is on the line.”

  “That’s a tough spot to be in. That’s what I’m here about, though. I’d like to see you keep your collateral. I just need you to help me find Ian.”

  As I walked up behind Dad, the woman looked over Dad’s shoulder at me. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter and a cigarette.

  “I don’t know how much help I can be,” she said.

  “You get your car back yet?”

  “Asshole abandoned it downtown. Got it back last week.”

  Dad didn’t look too happy about that, probably because tracking the stolen car would have given him something to go on.

  Ian’s aunt lit up her cigarette, took a long drag, and blew smoke up at the eaves.

  I wondered if stealing his aunt’s car counted as grand theft auto. I mean, Jamie borrowed his cousin’s motorcycle all the time, which I guess was technically stealing, since he didn’t ask first. But he always gave it back.

  “You must have some idea where he would have gone. Any information is a help.”

  She waved a dismissive hand at Dad. “You could check his cousin’s place. I called up there, but they might be lying to me.”

  “Got an address?”

  The woman nodded and disappeared into the entryway.

  Dad glared over his shoulder at me, acknowledging me for the first time. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Maybe not specifically. It should go without saying.” Dad gave me a look like he wasn’t sure what to do with me, but then the woman reappeared with a piece of paper.

  “Here’s the address,” she said. “If you find him, don’t bring him back here.”

  “You got it,” Dad said, offering her a card. “I’ll be taking him right to the warden. If you see or hear from him, though, give me a call. Don’t tell him I’m coming. Just let me know where he is.”

  She took the card.

  “Thanks for your help,” Dad said. He took me by the arm, and we walked back toward the truck.

  I climbed into the cab, speaking quietly so the woman wouldn’t hear. “She wasn’t very helpful.”

  Dad shrugged. “She gave us a lead. And she’s pissed enough that she’s probably not covering for him. If she hears from him, she’ll call.”

  “So where are we going next?”

  “Laramie, Wyoming,” Dad said. He looked at the address, grabbed his GPS and clicked some buttons. “Two-and-a-half-hour drive. We should pick up the trailer, in case we get another lead farther off.”

  “What is with cousins? Isn’t that where Alison was staying too?”

  Dad nodded. “Happens a lot. A cousin is a distant enough relative that it seems no one will look for you there, but still close enough that he lets you stay.”

  “I guess,” I said. Mom and Dad were both only children, so I didn’t have any cousins. Anna had thirty-five of them. I’d been to a couple of her family get-togethers, but they always felt more like block parties to me.

  I pulled out my notebook and added to my list of things not to do on the run. Don’t stay with your cousin. That’s not far enough away. Then I opened to the page where I’d written Ian’s name. Ian’s dad’s in jail, and his mom’s in rehab. Life sucks for him. That last bit wasn’t strictly an observation, but it was a small enough leap that I let myself slide. Of course, if I wanted to blog about Ian, I’d need to change his name. Maybe I’d call him “the woods.” Dad would get a kick out of that.

  Dad pulled out his clipboard to make some notes of his own. “Get going on your homework,” he said. “You haven’t even started for today.”

  I held up Ethan Frome. “This book is seriously unreadable.”

  “Then work on something else. Read me your math assignment, and I’ll try to help you through it.”

  “It’s algebra,” I said. “Doesn’t make a very good read-aloud.”

  “I took algebra once, if you can believe it.”

  “I don’t remember the math I took last year. How do you remember algebra from high school?”

  “I’m a smart guy. We’ll figure it out together.”

  As I read the chapter intro for conic sections, Dad drove us back to the RV park to hitch up. Then we headed up I-25 to I-80 West—the direction of Salt Lake.

  “You could drive me back to Grandma’s on your way.”

  Dad laughed. “That’s only, what? A twelve-hour detour?”

  “Six.”

  “I mean round trip.”

  “I’m sure Ian will wait.”

  Dad rolled his eyes at me, and even I couldn’t help but laugh.

  The phone rang, then, beeping steadily from the dash. Dad punched a button, turning it on speaker.

  “This is Max,” he said.

  “Hey,” a girl’s voice said. “Is Ricki there?”

  Dad’s eyes widened, and he turned toward me. I grabbed the phone and turned the speaker off.

  “Hello?” I said, putting the phone to my ear.

  “Ricki?”

  “Anna?”

  “Ricki! Oh my gosh, how are you?”

  Hearing Anna’s voice felt almost as good as hearing Jamie’s. “All right, I guess. Aren’t you at school?”

  “Yeah. I’m calling from the bathroom. I just checked my e-mail in computer class. Is this your d
ad’s cell?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m in the truck with him now.” I made a point not to look at Dad. He was probably ticked that I’d given out the number, so this call from Anna might be my last. I wished I didn’t have to talk with him listening in.

  “Have you heard from your mom?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What a bitch. I can’t believe it.”

  I leaned my head back against the seat. Hearing Anna call Mom a bitch actually made me feel better. It wasn’t like when Dad said bad things about her. It’s the best friend’s job to be pissed when her friend gets screwed over.

  “How’s Jamie doing?” I asked. “He hasn’t forgotten about me, has he?”

  Anna was quiet for a second. “I haven’t really seen him much.”

  I was tempted to ask her to go with him to homecoming, since I knew he wasn’t interested in her. She’d also let me cut back in on him when I returned, no hard feelings or anything. Anna was like that. But Mom always said not to trust any girl with your boyfriend, especially a best friend.

  “If you see him, tell him to e-mail me.”

  “He hasn’t?”

  “No.” Damn, it hurt to admit that.

  “Bastard. You’re too good for him, you know.”

  “Just find out if he’s seeing someone else, okay?”

  “If he is, I’m so telling her about his gonorrhea.”

  “The one you just made up?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Are things okay with your dad? Do I need to give him imaginary illnesses too? I bet I could come up with a good one.”

  I smiled. Anna always had my back. But there was only so much I could say with Dad sitting right there. “Things are okay. I can’t wait to get back, though.”

  “I can’t wait for you to come home. Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit through bio without you? I’m stuck next to Amy Allbridge now. Every day I spend an hour watching her tattoo herself with a paper clip and a ballpoint pen.”

  “Ew. Hasn’t Ms. Langley noticed?”

  “Yeah. Amy’s on her third paper clip. I don’t know why Ms. Langley thinks taking the paper clips away is going to make her stop.”

  I closed my eyes. I should be there with Anna. We should be watching this together.

  “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to class. Text me soon, ’kay?”

  “I will if I can,” I said. “Dad’s kind of picky about his phone.”

  “All right. Love you. Bye!”

  And then she was gone. I stuck the phone back on the dash, still not looking at Dad. We drove in silence for a few miles, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Are you mad at me for giving out your number?” I asked.

  Dad sighed. “It’s a work phone. You should have asked me. I can’t have your friends calling on it all the time.”

  “I only talked for, like, two minutes.”

  “I know. Just don’t give it out to anyone else, all right?”

  “Okay.” That was easy to promise, since I’d already given it to everyone.

  “And if anyone else calls, you can talk for a few minutes, but that’s it.”

  “Can I make one more call?”

  “Not right now.”

  Jamie hadn’t called yet even though he had the number. Calling him would probably look desperate, anyway.

  “Read that math assignment to me. We’re going to figure this out.”

  I pulled out the book, mentally thinking of the kinds of illnesses Anna might assign to Dad. I’d suggest laryngitis.

  Laramie, Wyoming.

  Days since Mom left: 30.

  Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 399.2 miles.

  5

  It turned out working on graphing problems was really hard when one of us couldn’t see the graphs. After trying to describe the lines to Dad, I started sketching them in the condensation at the edges of the windshield. They weren’t very exact but got the point across.

  We pulled into Laramie around eleven o’clock. Everything about the town was brown—the shrubs, the hills, the buildings, even the shop signs—like someone had built it to match a sepia photograph.

  “Want a milkshake?” Dad asked.

  My stomach growled, even though I was really tired of fast food.

  “Maybe a sandwich, too. I could drop you at a burger place and then pick you up on our way out.”

  “You can’t just leave me at some restaurant.”

  “Why not? You can work on that math.”

  “Because I’m your daughter, not your dog.”

  “I wouldn’t leave a dog alone in a restaurant.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Fine,” Dad said. “We’ll stop for food on our way out. But this time you stay in the truck. I mean it.”

  The cousin’s house was in a rattier neighborhood, full of overgrown lawns and broken-down cars. Dad pulled on his bounty-hunting persona as he walked up to the door, taking long, deliberate steps.

  As he pounded on the door, a guy in jeans hoisted himself over the backyard fence.

  I gasped. The guy looked a little older than me, with black hair and olive skin. His hips pivoted like a gymnast’s as he twisted his legs over the fence and dropped feet first into a neighbor’s yard.

  That had to be Ian Burnham.

  I kicked open my door and yelled at Dad. “He went that way!” I pointed to the house next door, and Dad jerked into action. He sprinted around the corner to the fence, moving faster than I would have thought a dad could. He jerked at the neighbor’s gate, but it didn’t open immediately, so Dad grabbed onto the top of the fence and pulled himself up, throwing one leg over.

  The fence scraped down his leg as Dad tossed himself into the neighbor’s yard—much less gracefully than Ian had. I watched the fence tops for movement but saw nothing.

  Out of sight in the neighbor’s yard, anything could happen. If Dad got hurt, how would I even know? What should I do if he didn’t come back? Call 911?

  I held my breath. This was almost like watching an episode of Cops, except that if someone got killed, no one could turn off the camera.

  When Dad didn’t come back, I started to wonder if I should go after him. Maybe Ian had knifed him. Or maybe it was nothing—maybe the neighbor had caught Dad in his yard and Dad had to stop to explain. Then again, the neighbor might have pointed a gun at him. There were people like that—people who’d shoot an intruder before asking questions.

  My hands itched for the cell phone Dad had left Velcroed to the dash. I could call the cops. Make them go look.

  Right then the fence swung open and Dad appeared, dragging the skip with him. Dad didn’t look shot or knifed. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Dad held Ian’s arms behind his back as he brought him out of the yard. On the news, people usually kept their heads down when they were being arrested, trying to hide their faces. Not Ian. He kept his head thrown back, his chin thrust forward like he was going to use it to catch a fall. His eyes glanced around, like he was looking for a direction to make his escape. This skip was nothing like Alison. He wasn’t going to come easy.

  Ian wore a long-sleeved shirt that fit tightly through the chest and across his arms, showing off his pecs and biceps. The shirt had a straight-edger symbol on it, like one that Jamie’s friend Jake used to wear before he got beat up for it.

  As they approached the car, both Ian and Dad looked at me. I hadn’t closed the door, so nothing but air stood between us. Ian met my eyes and nodded. I wasn’t sure what to do. Was it safe to nod back?

  Dad raised his eyebrows at me and looked pointedly at my open door. I reached out and closed it as Dad pushed Ian against the side of the truck, holding his cuffs in place with one hand and frisking him with the other.

  Ian’s face pressed against the back passenger window. He had dark eyelashes—long like a girl’s—and a scar across his cheek, maybe from a piece of glass or a knife fight. His dark eyes twitched, watching me through the g
lass as Dad tossed a Zippo lighter, some cigarettes, and a wallet onto the sidewalk. The cigarettes weren’t very straight-edge. Maybe he just thought the shirt looked cool.

  I probably should have looked away, but I couldn’t make myself. Ian held eye contact with me, but with his face being all squishy, I couldn’t read his expression. Was he sizing me up? Did he think I was a fugitive too?

  Dad pulled Ian aside and opened the back passenger door. Ian threw his weight backward, leveraging his feet on the bottom of the door to keep Dad from forcing him inside. Dad had him cornered, though, and put pressure on the back of Ian’s knees so they buckled and he fell onto the bench.

  In no time, Dad had Ian’s feet and cuffs chained to the floor bolt. The whole time, Ian kept his head back, his face only a foot from mine. I curled my toes in my shoes. This was exactly the kind of person I’d always thought Dad picked up. Someone tough, someone who didn’t back down. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Dad slammed the side door. He picked up Ian’s belongings from the sidewalk and locked them in one of the utility boxes in the side of the truck, then walked around to the driver’s-side door.

  Ian half smiled at me from the back seat.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Ian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his cuffed hands. The chain attached to his cuffs stretched between his knees to the floor bolt. Dad hadn’t left him much slack. “Hey,” he said.

  He didn’t ask me who I was, but I still felt the need to explain. “I’m Ricki,” I said. “I’m … his daughter.” I wasn’t sure what to call Dad. The bounty hunter? Mr. Maxwell? Was he on a first-name basis with skips?

  Dad pulled open the driver’s-side door. “Turn around,” he barked at me. “Get back to your homework.” Then he focused on Ian. “You. Leave her alone.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ian said, turning his half smile at Dad. “Whatever you say.”

  Dad climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror so he could watch Ian while he drove. Then he picked up my math book and handed it to me.

  “Get to work,” he said. “I mean it.”

  “I thought you were going to help me.”

  “Do as much as you can now, and I’ll help you tonight.”