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“My mom’s new husband’s jet will pick us up Saturday.”
“As in next Saturday,” Raj sputtered, looking first at his wristwatch and then heavenward for words. “Your eighteenth birthday?”
“Yes.”
“But we were going to have a slumber party at my house for your birthday,” Kinzy lamented. “Mom and Dad were going to give us a tarot reading.”
“No, I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
For a long moment I studied my friends’ shocked faces. They were at a loss for words, a feeling I knew too well.
My eyes traveled up, taking in the handsome face of Mr. Jones as he came to stand in front of our table. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stood there like a Roman statue. One eyebrow was cocked, his forest-green eyes peering into my soul. He both thrilled and terrified me.
“Mr. Galbraith,” Mr. Jones said in his austere, authoritative tone, “come to my office during your free period tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, but he’d already spun on his feet and left. It was a bit infuriating that he didn’t wait for my answer.
“Did you say your mom’s new husband owned a jet?” Kinzy asked.
At least they’d forgotten all about Mr. Jones.
I told my friends everything that I knew about Stefon Vaulteneau, which, admittedly wasn’t much. Not that it mattered, not when Internet stalking existed.
Five phones moved in unison as we typed “Stefon Vaulteneau” into search engines.
As the results came up, it didn’t take long to realize there were a billion reasons why my life was about to change drastically.
4
MATTHIAS
Friday after classes I raced over to the Los Angeles airport. With Vaulteneau Industries having three jets at the airport, I had security bypass privileges, which meant I could meet up with one of our regular informants near one of the external hangers to take possession of the shipment.
Hardly any words were exchanged, other than for me to hand over the bag of cash and for her to hand over the box. I looked inside and my heart dropped.
There were five tiny sea turtles that were probably on the endangered species list.
“Do you know what kind they are?” I asked the informant. Our time was limited, less than sixty seconds, so it wasn’t like we could chitchat, but she worked in the U.S. Customs department, which meant she’d have some knowledge.
“Dunno.” She looked over her shoulder a few times. “No paperwork with the shipment. Up to you to figure out.”
“Helpful,” I said. She merely shrugged, patted her bag of easy cash, and hopped back into her car.
Over the years, Filipe, Joan, and I had made enough contacts with trusted veterinarians who would accept endangered animals or animal byproducts, like ivory tusks, no questioned asked. Those veterinarians then worked with the authorities to restore the animal or item to its rightful habitat.
Given the amount of time the turtles were in cargo hold, I didn’t think I had much time to spare. As I left LAX, I texted Filipe and Joan to let them know I was taking the shipment to our vet contact in Santa Monica.
Logistically, my actions were pretty straightforward. Give cash. Collect the contraband. It only became dangerous if the people we were stealing it from discovered our operation. So far we’d been lucky.
An hour after making the delivery, I met up with Filipe and Joan at the Pacific Park on the Santa Monica Pier.
Filipe arrived in his neon green, souped-up BMW E45 3-series he used when racing. Joan had her own racer, a purple Toyota Supra MK IV, with flashing lights around the frame. They’d parked near the arcade, and tourists and locals alike always asked to take selfies with them.
Compared to them, I was the schlub wearing athletic attire who’d arrived in my ordinary sedan.
The pier’s atmosphere was filled with laughter, carnival game noises, and the fragrance of kettle corn and cotton candy. The sun was in the western sky but sunset wouldn’t come for a few more hours.
The Pacific Wheel and the West Coaster were lit up like amusement park beacons. Children screamed with joy while teens walked in groups, attempting to look nonchalant and cool. It wasn’t that long ago Filipe, Joan, and I made that exact same promenade.
