Free The Inside Job by Jackson Pearce Page B

talking.
    I sat down on a pool chair close to Archimedes St. Claire; a waiter on the other side of the pool whisked over a glass of water so fast, it made me jump. I thanked him and tried to find my way back to a conversation—it’d mostly fizzled, with nearly everyone returning to their phones or drinks or bored stares.
    â€œSo, what would you be doing if you weren’t here, then?” I asked Aria.
    Aria frowned. “I don’t know. Something else.”
    â€œMovies! People go to movies,” Walter said.
    I was beginning to wish I’d sent
Walter
to the movies.
    Aria looked bemused this time. “Sure. I could go to the movies, I guess. Or . . .” She put her book down and looked suddenly discouraged. “I don’t know, actually. I’vejust always had to come to the country club or go on their yacht or to the house in Paris.”
    â€œOr that fancy hotel in Australia,” Archimedes chimed in.
    â€œYeah. That. But I bet I could find something to do,” Aria said wistfully.
    I nodded. “I get it. Sometimes it feels like you just live in your parents’ world, right?”
    â€œRight,” Aria and Archimedes said in unison.
    The conversation drifted off a bit—I had to get them back on board, keep them talking, so I could steer us into discussing art and whether a set of fancy books might be tucked away in their basements. The easiest way to keep someone talking was to
give
them something. An offering, a trade, a token of trust—a gift, no matter how small, greased the wheels. But what could I give kids who had everything?
    Exactly what they wanted: a way out of their parents’ world.
    I looked over at Walter, and said loudly, “Let’s get out of here, man.”
    Walter frowned. “Huh?”
    â€œLet’s get out of here. I saw some golf carts out back by the trees. That’s way better than sitting around by a pool. We could do this at home.”
    With my peripheral vision, I saw heads lift, eyes flit onto us. Walter spoke again, a little loud, a little too muchlike he was in a play, but it’d do. “All right. Yeah. The pool is lame!”
    â€œSo you’re going to go play golf?” one of the collection kids—it was Archimedes—said from a few lawn chairs away. He looked skeptical.
    I laughed. “No. We’re going to steal a car. Well. A golf cart.”
    Now
I really had everyone’s attention. Aria closed her book; Jeffery put his phone down and sat up. The other collection kids leaned forward. I waited till they were all staring, all eager, to say, “Anyone wanna help?”
    No one said anything.
    I shrugged. “All right, fine. Stay here. Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen.”
    â€œWait!” Aria said, and jumped up. She grinned. “I wanna help. I mean, it’s just a golf cart. We can’t get in
that
much trouble, right?”

CHAPTER TEN
    The others agreed with Aria (“I mean, even if we get caught, it won’t be as bad as the time I burned down the guest wing . . .”) and followed me and Walter outside. The golf carts were where I expected them to be, based on the traffic patterns I’d noticed out front, but there was a caddie standing at the front of each, his eyes glazed over with heat and general world-weariness.
    â€œBeatrix—” I muttered into my comm.
    â€œPlease, Hale. As if I wasn’t already doing it,” she said, laughing. Another second, and suddenly the caddie’s walkie-talkie crackled. A voice—Clatterbuck’s voice—said, “We need all caddies out front. We have an emergency. Someone’s golf clubs have . . . uh . . . exploded.”
    â€œWhat?”
the caddie said just as I said the exact same thing to Beatrix.
    â€œI told him to come up with a caddie emergency!” she said.
    â€œI do not get paid enough to deal with exploding golf clubs,” the caddie