The Infamous Frankie Lorde 2, page 13
No.
Something grabbed my hair from behind.
I gazed upward and barely had a second to register what I was seeing before I lurched forward again.
A sharp pain exploded in my head as my wig was ripped away from my scalp—pins and all.
“Ffffff-raaaccckkk!” I screamed before I could stop myself.
Crawling away on all fours, I came to a stop at the cart again, and turned back in disbelief. There, inside a cage, was an animal that looked like a really long-haired monkey—and it had my wig clutched in its claws!
“Holy guacamole!” Ollie exclaimed, still frozen in his spot behind the wheel. “Frankie, your hair!”
I reached up to touch my head, stopping at a spot I was sure was now bald. When I pulled my hand away, there was blood on it.
“I know,” I groaned, as I discovered that the blood was actually from a gash I’d gotten on my palm while stumbling across the ground. “That stupid monkey has it.”
“It’s a sloth,” Ollie corrected shakily.
“What?” I asked, feeling confused.
Wasn’t confusion one of the signs of a concussion?
“It’s not a monkey, it’s a sloth,” Ollie offered, his voice shaky.
“Well, whatever it is, it tried to scalp me,” I said grumpily.
“Sloths are actually pretty docile,” Ollie argued. “It most likely just saw your hair and grabbed for it out of curiosity. And then you freaked out and jerked away….”
“So, it’s my fault I have no hair?” I asked growing impatient.
I turned to look at Ollie for the first time since I’d jumped out of the car and saw that his face was completely white and his eyes were bugging out. He might very well have been in shock and I hadn’t even noticed it.
“I’m sorry, Ollie,” I forced out. “I’m not exactly thinking straight right now. Are you okay?”
His eyes met mine and seemed to finally focus, before giving me a tiny smile.
“I think so,” he said, touching his chest and arms and face to make sure they were still there. “I am here, right? The tiger didn’t eat us?”
“No,” I said, standing up slowly. “But if it had, we would’ve gone down together, so at least there’s that.”
“Oh,” Ollie said, still out of it. “That’s good.”
I tried to brush the dirt and dust off my jacket, but I knew it was a lost cause. The beautiful princess-style coat that I’d stolen and then kept in pristine condition for over four years was destroyed. I grabbed a piece of the pocket that had come apart at the seams and then dropped it again, feeling the pain of the moment as if it were physical.
As my focus shifted away from my messed-up frock, I noticed for the first time that there were more than just those two cages in the area. There were at least a dozen more tiny enclosures surrounding us. I counted several other tigers, a few monkeys, a snake the size of an NBA player, a black panther, and a bear.
And then, of course, there was the sloth.
I turned and scowled at my nemesis, who was still holding on to my wig through the holes in its cage. Clenching my fists, I stomped over to it and grabbed the ball of hair out of its hands, and then attempted to brush out the knots with my fingers.
Grumbling under my breath, I took a second to glance at the sloth, who was still hanging along the edge of its cage. It had these enormous claws at the ends of its arms and legs that looked like pirate’s hooks. Only, it was cuter than a pirate.
Way cuter, actually.
I tried to fight it—because I was still angry about my wig—but I couldn’t help but break out into a smile.
The sloth cocked its black and white head to the side and stared back, the fur around its mouth making it appear like it had a perma-grin.
I pulled the wig over my head and pinned it back in place. My head still hurt, but the pain was starting to subside.
“No more grabbing my hair,” I scolded the sloth good naturedly. “You have plenty of your own.”
I was less than a foot away from it now, and began to reach out my hand to pet it. Then I paused as I remembered Michaela’s warning that wild animals never truly lost their instincts.
“Ollie, you said sloths are nice?” I asked him. “Like, it’s not going to rip my arm off and beat me with it, right?”
“Shouldn’t,” Ollie said absently. “Three-toed sloths are the slowest moving mammals on the planet. My guess is its pretty chill.”
I decided to take the chance and held my hand out to the creature, like you would to a dog. I had no idea if it wanted to be approached this way, but it was all I had.
And then I waited.
And waited.
Because Ollie was right. The sloth was soooo slow.
So slow, it seemed like the tiger even got bored.
From behind me, the big cat growled loudly. I turned just in time to see Ollie’s whole body stiffen up again.
“That cage can hold him, right?” Ollie asked me, his voice trembling a bit.
I glanced at the enclosure with serious doubt.
“I really, really hope so,” I said nervously.
“It’ll hold—for now, at least,” another voice said from out of nowhere. “But that could always change if the situation called for it.”
Our heads snapped over to a walkway between the cages as a dark figure walked out and made its way toward us.
As the person got closer, it became clear it was a man—the scraggly beard gave that away—and he walked with a heavy limp on one side. He was wearing a long, dark blue jacket with a blue and white scarf coiling around his neck tightly like a noose. On top of his head sat a blue newsboy-style cap. A cigarette burned red between his lips, as he inhaled the smoke with every step, not even bothering to hold it with his fingers. One eye squinted at us, while the other remained wide open.
It took everything in me not to run away.
“And where did you two come from?” he asked us, his voice scratchy and gruff. The man slowly hobbled toward us, clutching onto something dark that swung back and forth with each step.
Then I watched with horror as something dripped from his hand and landed on the ground below. Just behind him, I could see that he’d left a trail of drops along the way.
I swallowed hard, my heart thumping.
“Eh, we are…guests of Mademoiselle Emma and Monsieur Sam,” I said, forcing the French accent to come out despite my fear of the crazy man in front of us.
As he continued to close the distance between us, I forced myself to stand my ground and not retreat. Doing so would show him I was afraid and that he had the upper hand. I was also convinced it would reveal my age somehow. An adult wouldn’t be scared of this old dude.
Well, actually, maybe they would.
“You with that TV crew?” he asked curiously.
And then, as if my vision had finally snapped into focus, I could see clearly what he was holding—and fought the urge to puke my guts out.
It was a rabbit.
A very dead rabbit.
I took a step back toward Ollie involuntarily, then kicked myself for flinching first.
The man raised a scraggly eyebrow as he followed my gaze down to the ball of fur in his hand.
“Oh,” he grumbled, almost like he was noticing the bleeding animal for the first time. Then he held the messy carcass up in front of his body and gave us a grotesque smile. “It’s lunchtime.”
Ollie made a squeaking sound behind me and suddenly I could hear him breathing. Hard. Like he’d been running for miles. I was pretty sure he was close to hyperventilating.
Not that I blamed him. I felt like I might be headed that way myself.
The old man turned away from us then, staggering over to the tiger’s cage, and throwing the rabbit up and over the top of the tall fence with zero fanfare.
As it soared through the air, flecks of blood caught on the wind and sprinkled the ground in front of us with tiny dots of red.
I heard Ollie gag. “I’m gonna throw up,” he warned, before leaning over the side of the cart and retching.
The old man and I turned our focus to Ollie, but the tiger’s eyes never left its meal. It tracked the flesh as it flew through the air and then leaped to catch it in its strong jaws before it could even touch the ground.
Then it swallowed it whole.
“I have eight more I have to feed,” the old man barked. “Want to help?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“You should wrap that up first, though,” he continued, motioning with his head to the gash on my hand. “The cats’ll go for fresh human blood before they’ll go after the dead. It’s like catnip to ’em. Get it? Catnip?”
Then he let out a bellow of a laugh, making Ollie and I both flinch at the sound.
“Er, thanks for the offer,” I said, practically falling into the cart’s seat. “But we should probably get back.”
I nudged Ollie to start the cart but he seemed frozen in place.
“Whatcher names?” the old guy asked us with a growl.
Crap.
This old creepy guy was going to sell us out.
“I am Brigeet and this is André,” I said with my French-American accent. “And you are?”
“You can call me Cap’n Bob,” he said.
Of course that was his name, because why not?
I got out of the cart again, even as my legs threatened to give out, and circled around to the other side. Practically pushing Ollie into the passenger seat, I got in behind the wheel, not entirely sure I was in any better shape to drive as he was.
“Well, okay,” I said, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. “Nice to meet you.”
Cap’n Bob stared at us, his one eye squinting menacingly.
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said. “We don’t get a lot of visitors back here. At least, none that stick around long.”
And with that, I started the engine and gunned it.
Entry Twenty-Five
This will be my last journal entry.
Ever.
Because I’m done.
I’m done being a thief.
I’m done thinking I’m in control of every situation when clearly, I’m not.
I’m done because I’m not as good as I thought.
I’m done because I could’ve gotten Ollie killed with all this animal business.
I’m done.
I’m done.
I’m.
Done.
Entry One
She’s not done.
She’s just freaking out.
Oh, this is Ollie, btw.
And I found this journal in the trash.
I didn’t even know Frankie wrote in a journal, but here it is.
It took every ounce of willpower I had not to read what’s in these pages, but I respect Frankie’s privacy.
Okay, I read her last entry, but I wasn’t entirely sure what this notebook was until I’d already started reading it. But I swear I stopped after that.
If you’re reading this, Frankie, please don’t kill me.
All right, back to the facts.
Like I said before, Frankie freaked out after the whole “zoo” debacle and ended up barricading herself in her room for days on end.
Yes, that’s an exaggeration, but when they make this into a movie, it will be far more exciting than what she actually did.
Which was to retreat to her room, get into bed, pull the covers up over her head and block out the world for a good thirty-one hours. I don’t know what she thought about during that time. I don’t know if she binge-watched any shows. I don’t know anything except that I didn’t hear from her, and then when I called the house, the Detective told me she hadn’t come out of her room in over a day.
So, I hightailed over here to snap her out of it.
When I finally broke down her door (again, I’ve exaggerated for entertainment purposes), I found her still curled up in a ball. She might’ve even been crying! I’m not actually sure about this though, because I was distracted by how bad it smelled in her room.
It was like she hadn’t changed her clothes since she’d rolled around in the dirt at the zoo.
Turned out, I was right.
So, I ordered her to take a shower.
She obliged because I can be very persuasive when I want to be.
She also might have caught a whiff of herself and nearly passed out from the smell.
I’d like to take this opportunity to say a few—
Entry Twenty-Six
Sorry about that.
Had to teach Ollie a little something called “boundaries.”
Now, where was I?
Oh, yeah…Ollie was right about a few things (though I’ll never admit it to him).
I’m not done.
I was just having a…moment back there.
But now I’m back.
The second thing he was right about was, I did sort of go into hiding for a day or two after the incident at the zoo. During that time, I slept and did not cry, and attempted to block out the feelings of guilt I was having over what I’d done.
I also may have watched an episode or two of Game of Thrones.
But even that didn’t help.
Because the truth was, I hadn’t done my job to keep Ollie and I safe. I’d jumped the gun and put our lives in jeopardy. And for what? To prove to Dad that I could make my own decisions?
Clearly, I couldn’t make good ones.
And at the time, I wasn’t even sure if Ollie was talking to me anymore. We were both so thrown by our experience with the exotics that we hadn’t talked on our way back to the main house.
And then we didn’t talk some more on our way home.
And then we continued to not talk the following day.
It was just radio silence.
So, I assumed he didn’t want to have anything to do with me.
And I didn’t blame him. This whole heist had been a failure of epic proportions so far. Then there was the zoo, and all the ways we could have been hurt—well, that was just the icing on a moldy old cake of suckage.
I was usually far more prepared on a job. It was something Dad had always been really good at. Anticipating all the things that could go wrong and planning for them, so it didn’t throw us off our goal.
I definitely hadn’t been prepared for just how dangerous this job would be. And I wasn’t even sure what our goal was anymore.
Originally, it had been to simply rob the twins for the horrible crimes they’d been committing—trafficking the exotics and leading to their mistreatment and deaths—and then turn them in to the cops and spread the money we’d gotten from the job, around to animal rights organizations, sanctuaries, and rescues.
But as I’d learned more about the world of exotic animal trading, it became clear that most traders, even when caught, were given little to no consequences for their actions. Sure, it would’ve hurt them to lose some of their money, but it wouldn’t truly be justice if the actual trafficking didn’t stop.
And I wanted the consequences.
Especially after seeing how these animals were being treated. Kept in cages barely bigger than their own bodies, malnourished despite the money that the twins were putting into their “pet palace,” and who knew what Cap’n Bob was doing to them when no one was looking?
The other downside to letting the cops handle things? Their way often meant killing the animals instead of tranquilizing them and delivering them to rescues. The idea of these animals being tortured for most of their lives only to be euthanized when help finally came made me sad.
And angry.
So, leaving the animals on the property and simply taking the cash didn’t seem like a viable option anymore. In the end, I wanted everyone to be safe and the twins behind bars.
But how was I supposed to make that happen without putting lives in jeopardy? Because as skilled as I may be at stealing things, even I knew I was in over my head on this one.
And if I tried to handle the tigers myself I might just lose my own life.
That’s as far as I’d gotten when Ollie burst through my door (he did not break it down) and started complaining about the smell, which I’d like to say for the record, was not as bad as he made it out to be.
All those hours of feeling guilty and sorry for myself, and I still didn’t have a plan.
I knew how to steal money, diamonds, art—but I had no idea how to steal a small zoo of dangerous, exotic animals.
Luckily, my partner did.
Entry Twenty-Seven
It felt like we were heading right back into the lion’s den.
“We have to be prepared for the possibility that the twins already know that we were snooping around,” I reminded Ollie as we drove our golf cart up the long driveway to their house. “So, if they confront us, let me do the talking, okay?”
“Not a problem,” Ollie said, holding his hair in place so it didn’t blow away in the wind. “Besides, I’ve got my own stuff to take care of today.”
He looked over at me and beamed.
I’d finally had to admit that maybe we weren’t utilizing all of Ollie’s unique skills and talents when it came to pulling off this heist. It wasn’t that I didn’t think he was capable of a bigger role. I think it was just hard for me to relinquish control. But at some point you have to hope you’ve taught your protégé well enough that they can stand on their own.
Like Dad had done with me.
It was time to let Ollie fly solo.
At least a little bit.
“Yes, you do,” I said, trying not to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want to psych him out. “Just stick to the plan and you’ll be fine.”
