Island of Thieves by Josh Lacey Read Free Book Online Page A

cars, trucks, and buses.
    There was no barrier marking the side of the road. If Uncle Harvey lost concentration for a second, we’d slither straight over the edge. If that happened, survival wasn’t an option. It would just be a long drop and then the end of everything.
    You might think I’m being melodramatic, but we saw burned-out wrecks of cars and trucks all along the route, smeared over the hillside or lying upside down at the bottom of a valley like dead beetles on a carpet.
    My phone beeped. I had a look at the screen. There was a text:
    Â 
Hello, darling. How is New York? It’s very
hot and sunny here. We’re having a lovely
time swimming. Loads of love from Mom.
    Â 
    Mom’s texts are always like that. Every word spelled out and all the grammar perfect.
    I texted back that New York was cool and so was Uncle Harvey and we were having a great time together.
    What would Mom and Dad say if they knew where I was right now?
    They wouldn’t say anything. They’d just jump on a plane and come and get me.
    Would I ever tell them where I had really spent this week?
    Maybe, maybe not. It might have to stay my little secret forever. Anyway, there was no need to worry about that now. It could wait till I got back to Connecticut. If I ever got back to Connecticut.
    I settled back in my seat and stared out the window at the sun dipping behind the snow-tipped mountains. The sky turned a deeper shade of gray. The air was suddenly chilly. Along with the change of weather, the road seemed to be getting even worse, narrower and wetter and more slippery, and I wondered what would happen if we were stuck out here all night.
    It was almost dark when we finally arrived on a shabby little street in a shabby little town. The junk shop didn’t just look shut; it had the appearance of a place that had closed down many years ago. We got out and peered through the dark windows, but there was no sign of life inside.
    Uncle Harvey nodded to a group of men sitting in a café across the street. “Let’s ask them where the shopkeeper lives.”
    He sauntered up to the table.
“Buenos noches.”
    â€œBuenos noches,”
replied a couple of the men. They were old and toothless. Some of them were drinking beer and others had tiny glasses of some colorless liquid. There was a pile of dominoes on the table.
    â€œWe’re looking for the guy who owns that shop.” Uncle Harvey pointed across the street. “Do you know where he is?”
    The old men stared at him blankly. One of them said,
“Inglés?”
    â€œSí,”
said Uncle Harvey.
“Inglés. Hablas Inglés?”
    One of them laughed and the others shook their heads.
    â€œGracias,”
said Uncle Harvey.
“Adiós!”
    â€œAdiós!”
they called back, raising their glasses and toasting us.
    Uncle Harvey took my arm. “Let’s go and find a hotel.”
    We walked back to the car.
    I said, “Why were you talking to them in English?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œDon’t they speak Spanish?”
    â€œI’m sure they do.”
    â€œThen why don’t you speak to them in Spanish?”
    â€œBecause I can’t.”
    I stared at him like an idiot. “You can’t speak Spanish?”
    â€œI can say a few words.
Buenos días. Adiós. Una cerveza, por favor. Dónde está el baño?
But that’s about it.”
    â€œI don’t believe this,” I said. “We’ve come treasure-hunting in Peru and you can’t even speak Spanish!”
    â€œI don’t know why you’re so surprised,” said Uncle Harvey. “We’ve been here for a whole day. Have you heard me speak a single word of the local lingo?”
    Thinking about it, I realized he had indeed been talking to everyone in English. Like an idiot, I’d assumed he was doing it for
my
benefit.
    â€œThis is crazy,” I said. “How are we ever going to find