The Recruit by Alan Drew

Author:Alan Drew [Drew, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2022-06-14T00:00:00+00:00

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After his father told Jacob that his parents were getting divorced, Jacob’s stomach burned. All day yesterday it burned, an inferno in his gut. It burned today, too, through fucking algebra, burned through bullshit ZOG history. He sat alone at lunch in the quad, burning, watching the football dicks and their girlfriends act like kings and queens of the world. If he had a bomb, they’d be dead already, their fat-ass limbs strewn in front of the cafeteria doors. Thank God it was an early-release day, something so the teachers could learn more ZOG lessons to teach to the stupid-ass students.

When school let out, Jacob followed Dietwaller off campus, through the park, all the way back to his front door—the dumbass never looking over his shoulder, never even thinking someone might be coming for him—and snuck up and punched him in the back of the head. Diet fell and smacked his face against the door, and then Jacob steel-toed him in the kidneys.

“Give me my fucking bike,” he yelled. Steel drilling the soft tissue of his torso.

“All right, all right,” Dietwaller said, tears in his voice. “It’s in the backyard.”

He kicked the asshole again to punctuate the beating and then found the bike leaning against an aluminum trash can in the side yard. He pedaled the mile and a half down El Rancho Road—swearing he’d never let anyone steal anything from him again—to the apartment complex and sat beneath a row of eucalyptus on the edge of the parking lot, watching the front door. Number Sixteen. His father had told him the address. When you’re ready, he’d said at the restaurant. You can visit. He stood there in the shadows for an hour, maybe more, and then there she was, coming out the door and down the steps and into her car.

It was surprisingly easy to follow her on his bike. She’d punch the engine, joining the rush of the other cars, but every hundred yards was another stoplight and he’d catch up to her while she idled at the intersection. It was kind of funny, actually. Made you wonder about cars—all that horsepower and a kid on a bike could get across town just as fast.

He almost lost her at the university but pedaled a couple of rows of the parking lot and found her stepping out of her Honda, backpack dangling from her shoulder. He followed her up the pathway into the campus, walking his bike behind her, like he was a fucking student, and watched her glide into the liberal arts building.

His father chose her. He couldn’t get that out of his mind.

Later, he followed her to Lucky’s grocery. Walked the aisles she walked—watched her buy a bottle of white wine, a bunch of asparagus, a hunk of steak. Then he followed her to the gas station, watched her fill up the car. She was oblivious to him, just a kid on a bike. The town was full of them.

She was the one who made him feel like shit.

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