Escapade

Chapter Fourteen: Taboo Trouble

Carlos snorted. "More like their base. If those dudes see us they'll think we're picking a fight."

I started to think of different plans of how to go about the problem, weighing out the possible outcomes in my head.

Liz had that expression on her face --the "something-dangerous-is-going-to-happen-I-can't-wait" expression. Her eyes were wide and her face lit up with expectation as she spoke to me. "So, what's the plan? Usually I'd run away but now that I'm in a gang I bet we can go there and kick their ass!"

"Hold up," Carlos said, grabbing Liz's arm. "You can't go."

Liz raised an eyebrow at him, pulling herself away from him and crossing her arms. "Why the hell not?"

 "You know why. It's too dangerous," he replied.

I was waiting for Liz to argue back or make a scene, as she was prone to do, but instead she stared at him. They were locked in some sort of nonverbal communication, staring at each other furiously as if daring the other to challenge them. Finally Liz looked away, shoulders slumped, and in a voice that said that she was totally not fine with it said, "fine."

That was the first time I had seen Liz give up on something she wanted to do so easily. I shot a look at Carlos, wondering if his relationship with Liz was even deeper than I thought it had been. If it was, then I was going to have a talk with Liz later.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Uh—I guess you can go look for Gabby?"

"Yeah....yeah, that's a good idea," Carlos said, nodding vigorously. "Mike and Natalie and me, we're enough for all of 'em put together so...so we'll be fine. Go find Gabriella."

"Whatever," Liz muttered, and she turned her back on us, trudging back towards the club.

 "Ready?" Carlos said, and without further ado, headed straight to the room Mike—and Richie's gang members— were supposedly gambling in. I followed behind, ready to take control and face whatever challenge lied behind the door. In just a few seconds we had entered a small, dark room, clouded heavily by the plumes of cigarette smoke clutching the ceiling. Pool tables were strewn haphazardly around the room, occupied by tough looking men and teens. There were no sources of lights other than the small red dots of the cigarettes and the spotlights that were hanging over the pool tables. Everything else was shrouded in darkness. Michelangelo was at the center table, circling around the edges of the light like a predator who had locked in on his prey. He had his hair slicked back greaser-style and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and he had never looked more at home to me than he had at that moment.

 Carlos was right by the door, frozen. When I had entered the room a slightly frightened look passed his face before he looked at me and nodded at the pool table, as if signaling that there was something more to worry about. Richie was standing across from my half-brother, his arms crossed.

 "Of course," I muttered under my breath.

 I was about get started on grabbing Michelangelo and follow through with an escape plan when Carlos clutched me by the elbow, shaking his head.

 "Too late," he whispered – or at least tried to. Carlos wasn't a very subtle whisperer.

 I nodded, and then turned to see what events would unfold and what exactly Michelangelo was planning to do. He was facing me, his face alight with glee and confidence, but he had not noticed me yet. Instead, his eyes were locked on Richie. He had stopped pacing around the table and was holding a cue stick, speaking so loudly that the entire room could hear.

 "Afraid of playing against a Primero, Costello?" Mike taunted.

"In your dreams," Richie shot back. "'Sides, I don't care that you're a Primero. You're an Escapade, and you're on my turf."