Crimson Rivers [1] - Percy jackson

Chapter 16: Percy settles his tab

It’s funny how humans can wrap their mind around things and fit them into
their version of reality. Chiron had told me that long ago. As usual, I didn’t
appreciate his wisdom until much later.
According to the L.A. news, the explosion at the Santa Monica beach had been caused when a crazy kidnapper fired a shotgun at a police car. He
accidentally hit a gas main that had ruptured during the earthquake. This crazy kidnapper (a.k.a. Ares) was the same man who had abducted me and three other adolescents in New York and brought us across country on a ten-day odyssey of terror.

Poor little Percy Jackson wasn’t an international criminal after all. He’d
caused a commotion on that Greyhound bus in New Jersey trying to get away from his captor (and afterward, witnesses would even swear they had seen the leather-clad man on the bus—“Why didn’t I remember him before?”). The crazy man had caused the explosion in the St. Louis Arch. After all, no kid could’ve done that. A concerned waitress in Denver had seen the man
threatening his abductees outside her diner, gotten a friend to take a photo,
and notified the police. Finally, brave Percy Jackson (I was beginning to like
this kid) had stolen a gun from his captor in Los Angeles and battled him
shotgun-to-rifle on the beach. Police had arrived just in time. But in the spectacular explosion, five police cars had been destroyed and the captor had fled. No fatalities had occurred. Percy Jackson and his three friends were
safely in police custody.

The reporters fed us this whole story. We just nodded and acted tearful and exhausted (which wasn’t hard), and played victimized kids for the
cameras. “All I want,” Percy said, choking back his tears, “is to see my loving stepfather again. Every time I saw him on TV, calling me a delinquent punk, I knew…somehow…we would be okay. And I know he’ll want to reward
each and every person in this beautiful city of Los Angeles with a free major
appliance from his store. Here’s the phone number.” The police and reporters were so moved that they passed around the hat and raised money for four tickets on the next plane to New York. I knew there was no choice but to fly. I hoped Zeus would cut Percy some
slack, considering the circumstances.

But it was still hard to force myself on
board the flight. Takeoff was a nightmare. Every spot of turbulence was scarier than a Greek monster. I didn’t unclench my hands from the armrests until we touched down safely at La Guardia. The local press was waiting for us outside security, but we managed to evade them thanks to Annabeth, who
lured them away in her invisible Yankees cap, shouting, “They’re over by the frozen yogurt! Come on!,” then rejoined us at baggage claim. We split up at the taxi stand. Percy told Annabeth and Grover to get back to Half-Blood Hill and let Chiron know what had happened. They protested, and it was hard to let them go after all we’d been through, but he knew we had to do
this last part of the quest by ourselves. If things went wrong, if the gods didn’t
believe us…we wanted Annabeth and Grover to survive to tell Chiron the
truth.

We hopped in a taxi and headed into Manhattan. Thirty minutes later, we walked into the lobby of the Empire State Building. We must have looked like  homeless kids, with our tattered clothes and Percys scraped-up face. We hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours. We went up to the guard at the front desk and said, “Six hundredth floor.” He was reading a huge book with a picture of a wizard on the front. I wasn’t much into fantasy, but the book must’ve been good, because the guard took a while to look up. “No such floor, kiddos.”

“we need an audience with Zeus.” Percy replied

He gave him a vacant smile. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

I was about to decide this guy was just a regular mortal, and we’d better run
for it before he called the straitjacket patrol, when he said, “No appointment,
no audience, kids. Lord Zeus doesn’t see anyone unannounced.”

“Oh, I think he’ll make an exception.” Percy  slipped off my backpack and unzipped the top. The guard looked inside at the metal cylinder, not getting what it was for a few seconds. Then his face went pale. “That isn’t…”

“Yes, it is,” Percy promised. “You want me take it out and—”

“No! No!” He scrambled out of his seat, fumbled around his desk for a key card, then handed it to me. “Insert this in the security slot. Make sure nobody else is in the elevator with you.”

We did as he told. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Percy slipped the key into the slot. The card disappeared and a new button appeared on the console, a red one that said 600. He pressed it and waited, and waited. Muzak played.