6 Months to Life
by Damien J. Frost
Disclaimer: iCarly, and all items associated with, are property of Dan Schneider, Nickelodeon, et al. There is no profit being gained from the content of this story and it is to be used solely for private entertainment purposes. The plot is the intellectual property of the writer. No parts of this story are to be duplicated or posted elsewhere without the expressed permission of the author.
This story is rated "M" or "R" by the guidelines of the fansite on which it is posted.
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Chapter One
Get Lost
This sucks.
No, let me rephrase that.
This unquestionably, irrevocably, undoubtedly, indubitably, utterly sucks like the Almighty Overlord of the Super Hoovers.
Yeah, that's more like it.
This makes strike three. Or something.
"Sam Puckett?"
I look up at the insult to pig products everywhere and wave half-heartedly.
"Yo."
He raises an eyebrow and smirks.
"Come on. Detective Mccown wants to talk to you."
He waits as I climb slowly – and theatrically agonizingly, might I add – to my feet. I shuffle over to the bars and hold my hands through so he can put the cuffs on. Hey now, this isn't my first rodeo.
The cell door opens and he leads me down a few halls and into an interrogation room. The wonderful Detective is already waiting for me. I plop down in the seat across from him as my escort takes up a spot next to the door.
"So, Samantha, how're things?"
I glare at him.
"Dude, just call me Sam, please. It's not like you don't know that I'm a lot more cooperative when you don't patronize me."
He smirks and shrugs. He flips open the file folder in front of him.
"I know, you're just fun to rile up. So, a Mercedes SLK this time? What happened to Cutlasses and Towncars?"
I grin and lean back.
"It was shiny."
He shakes his head and closes the folder. His smirk is gone and he's onto being Mr. Serious-Cop-Guy-Thing… whatever.
"Sam, this is the third time. Once, you're joyriding. Twice, you're stupid. Three times? You're working for someone. You know, we can probably get you out of jail time if you work with us and give him up."
I laugh. Not the amused 'ha ha' that's funny laugh – even though it really is – but more of the 'yeah, right' laugh.
"Doug – do you mind if I call you Doug?"
He blinks at me.
"My name's Matt."
I shrug.
"Anyway, Doug, let's say I go along with this "plan" of yours."
I do the little air quotes and smile.
"I give up my so-called "employer" and somehow manage to avoid jail time, while you all try to put something together on this "employer" person. Now, I am a sensible girl, and I'm assuming that this "employer" that you're speaking of is as well. Otherwise why would a sensible person like myself work for them? Now, I get busted, but get away Scott-free and Mr.-slash-Ms. "employer" gets busted immediately after? I wonder who I'd be looking for if I were this "employer" person."
He stares at me for a second. I grin back. He's probably wondering if I'll plead insanity. I think it's a distinct option, honestly.
"So you're not going to help."
My face falls into astonishment.
"Dude… did they teach you how to figure shit like that out in Detective School? Awesome! Sign me up for Basic Deductive Reasoning!"
He shakes his head and turns to my silent escort.
"Take her back to her cell."
I pop out of my chair and let myself be led back to the cell, bubbly and happy as we walk. I get into my cell, get my hands uncuffed, and wave goodbye to the blue-uniformed insult to bacon.
As soon as he's out of sight, I plop down on the bed, stare up at the ceiling and try to get some sleep. I'm going to be here a while.
--
"Ms. Puckett, your bail is set at $10,000. Do you wish to pay this?"
I shrug and shake my head.
"No, your honor. Just stick me in a hole and – "
A voice from the back of the room interrupts a very tasteful joke about rats and shit. Really! Okay, maybe not tasteful. But it was funny.
"I'll pay it, your honor."
I turn slightly and my jaw literally drops at the sight of Spencer walking up next to me in a snazzy-looking suit. I didn't know he cleaned up so nice. And I didn't know he knew that I was in jail. Again.
"And who are you?"
He smiles brightly, the same disarming smile that works on everyone. Except this judge apparently.
"Spencer Shay, sir. I'm a family friend."
The judge – Judge McCormack (what is with the Mc's?) – studies Spence for a moment. He then looks down at the file in front of him.
"Yes, it looks like you're registered in her file. Well, as a family friend, maybe you can make sure that Ms. Puckett's mother makes it to her next court date. Which will be on the 14th of next month."
I cringe as Spencer nods.
"I'll do my best, your honor."
The judge nods.
"Very well. Settle up with the County Clerk and I'll see that Ms. Puckett is released into your care."
He bangs his gavel and I'm led away to the holding cells as Spencer, for some odd reason, hands over ten grand to the state for me. I mean, he'll get it back if I don't jump bail – which I won't, I wouldn't do that to him – but the fact he has ten grand to waste on me? Dude must be more loaded than I thought. And yeah, ten grand is a total waste on someone like me.
The worst part is that this isn't the first time he's done it for me. The whole reason the judge said I could be released into his care is that my mom signed something by the lawyer I always get. It basically says Spencer is a legal custodian of me in the absence of my mother.
Fun, right? Yeah, not so much.
An hour later, I'm out of my fashion show-worthy orange jumpsuit and into some of my clothes Spence got from Carly's room.
Carly.
Shit.
I walk out into the lobby and spot Spencer immediately. And right there next to him on the bench is Carly.
"Sam!"
She lurches off the bench and runs across the lobby. She fairly leaps into my arms, and only my impeccable balance keeps us both on our feet.
"Hey cupcake, what's up?"
She pulls herself from my arms and slugs me in the shoulder. It doesn't hurt, 'cause she's a wuss and everything, but I humor her and rub the spot she hit.
"Ow! What was that for?"
She puts her hands on her hips, tilts her head to the side and gives me that really cute 'Oh, come on' look.
"Oh, the jail thing? Pfft, no big deal. It'll blow over."
She shakes her head like she's irritated, but I can see her trying not to smile.
"You're impossible, Sam."
I grin and nod as I throw an arm around her shoulder. I turn her toward the door and start walking. Spencer falls into step beside us. I look over at him behind Carly's head and mouth "Thank you." He smiles and shrugs.
That man is one of the truly nice and honest people in this world. He's an amazing person.
I look at his sister, who's eyeing me worriedly, and can't help but think that they both are.
"Alright, let's blow this taco stand! Ooh… Tacos. Let's go get tacos."
--
Its 2 AM two days after Spencer came and bailed my ass out. And where am I? Out on the street, doing the exact thing that got me arrested in the first place. Great way to show my appreciation for him, I know.
What can I say? A girl needs money. Especially when she's got an unemployed drunk mother to take care of.
I pop the lock on the black Escalade I've been eyeing, and grin when no alarm sounds. People in the suburbs are so sure nothing can happen to them that half of them don't even lock their cars. Sure, they double check their house door and stuff, but their cars? Nah. I've even seen people who leave their garage open all night. Talk about a false sense of security. I've stolen cars from under people – literally.
I slide into the car and turn off the interior light. I shut the door so that it only clicks. I pop open the electrical panel and find the right wires. A zap here and there and vroom, we're off. I back out, leaving the lights off, put it in gear and off I go.
A little ways down the street, I turn on the lights, open and shut the door all the way, and then its off into downtown Seattle, cruising at five over the limit, like a normal person. I take several back roads and alleys and end up in a rundown place full of warehouses. Yeah, real upper-class place. But hey, I'm an upper class kinda girl.
I pull to a stop in front of one of the ware houses, hop out, and knock on the door. Three, Three, Four, Two.
I step back and the door rolls up and the sounds of cars getting chopped fills the night air. I smile as my "employer" walks out. His name is Thrift, and he's black, big, and not all that imposing. He's about as thick as a piece of spaghetti. But he's got a mind on him that'd blow away an MIT grad.
"What is up, White Girl?"
Yeah, that'd be me. Real original, huh?
"Hey Thrift, I got a nice little Escalade for you."
I grin and do my best Vanna White impression. He laughs and nods.
"Sweet, girl. Pull her in."
I hop in and pull the Caddie into the warehouse. The overhead door closes quickly behind me. I turn off the engine, climb out and am immediately grabbed by strong, gelatinous arms. I'm pinned to the ground a split second later, a size thirteen boot on my cheek.
Thrift kneels his 6'-5" wiry frame down next to me. He's holding a Gloc in his hand. Considering I've already had to pull one bullet out of my thigh thanks to that gun, I'm understandably nervous with him waving it around, inches from me.
"I heard you got pulled in last week."
With my capacity for speech severely impaired by the fat fucker standing on my face, I merely glare at my "employer." He scratches his cheek with the barrel of his gun.
"You know, I also heard they offered you a deal. And that you took it."
Fucking cops.
"Of course, you'd never do that right?"
I grunt out something that sounds like 'Uf cuth ot' but is really 'Of course not.' I swear!
He looks like he might have understood me, because he smiles and nods.
"Of course not. Let her up, Jimmy."
The pressure is off my face, and I'm up and swinging at Jimmy in a blink. My right hand connects with his fat gut, bringing his never-seen-the-sun white face down to where I can plant a roundhouse kick dead on the side of his head.
What? I took karate for ten years. Give a girl some credit.
The bastard hits the ground, out like a light. Wow. I've never knocked someone out with one hit before. Nice.
"Damn, girl. Did you kill him?"
I shake my head. I can still see him breathing. Lucky fuck.
"Well, whatever. Here's your five. Now get outta here. I don't want to see you back 'til you've settled your shit in court. I can't have the cops sniffin' around you while you're bringing me shit."
I snatch the five hundred and look at him wide-eyed.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do about money? I've barely got rent covered. I'm not going to be able to eat!"
He shrugs and puts his gun in the back of his pants.
"Not my problem. But if you come 'round here again while you're still hot? Now that will be my problem. And I'll sure as fuck make it yours, too."
I glare at him for another minute before shaking my head and walking off. Jimmy is starting to stir as I pass him, so I give him another kick in the gut. It makes me feel a little better.
I walk out the door and flip up the hood on my sweatshirt, looking at the dark road and shivering in the cold. It's going to be a long walk.
--
I pick the lock on Carly's window and slide it open. She shifts in her bed a little and looks over at me, her eyes half-open.
"Sam?"
I grin as I slide the window shut behind me.
"It's me, pumpkin. Go back to sleep. I need to go to the bathroom, and then I'll be in bed."
She nods tiredly and closes her eyes. She mumbles tiredly.
"There're p.j.s on the chair."
I sigh and walk out of her room. I head for the studio and quietly open the door, sliding inside. I don't bother to shut it; I'll be in and out in a minute.
I quickly move to an air vent on the far wall. I pry off the cover and it gives easily, having been pulled off several times for this very reason. I reach in and pull out the coffee can in there. I pop open the lid and look inside with a slight smile. I pull the five hundred out of my pocket, grab two bills and put the other three back. Then, I grab the wad I'm working on out of the can and undo the rubber band. I put the two new hundreds with the other thirty-seven.
The light flicks on and I spin in surprise, trying to hide the money.
Carly's standing there, looking at me with confused and tired eyes.
"I thought you were going to the bathroom?"
I stutter out something that doesn't really make sense. I close my eyes and shake my head. This is just great. I can hear her slippers as she moves closer to me.
"Sam what're you… Oh my God."
Great, she's seen the money. I open my eyes and am surprised when she's inches from my face, inspecting my cheek.
"You have a shoeprint on your cheek."
Oh. Whoops.
"Yeah… about that… I um… can't think of a plausible story."
She sighs and shakes her head.
Then, she spots the money.
"Sam?"
She sounds a little weak, and, really, it's understandable.
"Where did all this money come from?"
I think about lying to her. I really do. But she's looking at me in that way that I know that if I lie to her now, I'll never be able to stop. And I don't want to lie to her.
Not Carly.
So I shrug and grin in that way she loves.
"Hey, whoever said crime doesn't pay was either a cop or a lousy crook."
She turns back to the can and picks one of the rolls out.
"How much?"
I can't look at her, so I focus on rewrapping the roll I had pulled out.
"Right now? Thirteen thousand, nine hundred dollars."
She drops the money like it burned her.
"Sam!"
I sigh and toss the finished roll into the can.
"What do you want me to say, Carly?"
She looks at me, astonished.
"You have to give this back."
I start laughing. It's just too absurd. Give the money back? To who? Thrift? Riiiiiight. That'd work. He'd shoot me the second he saw me.
"Sam, stop it. I'm serious."
I shake my head as the last of the giggles fade.
"Carly, I didn't steal this money. This is what I got paid for the things I did steal."
She looks down at her hands, and I can see the tears starting down her cheeks. Great. Congratulations, Sam, you've done it again.
"Sam, you have to stop this."
I seal up the can and return it to the spot in the vent. Then I turn back to her.
"Carly, I can't do anything else. I'm the only one making money at home right now. If I don't do this, we don't make rent. We don't eat. We don't have heat in the middle of winter."
She's still staring at her hands, and I know that I'm telling her things she doesn't want to hear. She knows all this. She's my best friend, of course she knows this. But it's easier for both of us if she ignores it most of the time.
"Carls, my mom may be a deadbeat drunk, but she's still my mom. She's the only family I've got left. I can't just abandon her."
She looks up at me then, anger blazing in her eyes.
"Why not!? She's all but abandoned you! Why are you putting yourself through this for someone like that?"
Okay, that hurt. Not because it's not the truth, but because it is. It's something I've thought about. Why do you think I have so much money saved up? But still, for Carly to say it…
"My dad asked me to look after her."
It's weak, I know. But it's the reason. My dad was everything to me. He could do no wrong, in that way that all good daddies can do no wrong.
Even after the police came for him.
Even after he got a life-sentence for killing some guy.
Even now.
"So you're going to take care of her the same way your dad did? By going to jail?"
I look up at her, her soft voice startling me. She's crying again.
"I… I'm not…"
But the protest dies on my lips because she's shaking her head and flinging tears everywhere.
"Yes, you are Sam! This is it! There's no more 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. You're going to jail! And after all of that… you go out and do it again."
Now it's me staring at my hands. She's right.
Fuck.
She's right.
"I'm sorry."
And it's so unbelievably inadequate that I almost laugh. They really need to think of a word better than sorry for these really big sorry moments.
"I just… I can't deal without you, Sam."
I look up into her eyes and smile softly.
"Come on, Carls. You've always been stronger than me. How else could you pull of this good girl routine every day?"
She smiles, just like I want her too.
"Because I've always had you there to catch me."
Now I'm crying. Fuck.
I hate crying.
Carly looks away, pretending I'm not crying. She's good like that.
When I finally have my wayward tear ducts under control, I reach out and grab her hands and pull her into my lap. I used to do this all the time when we were younger and I was bigger than her. You know, when she'd get picked on or scrape her knee or something. After I beat the crap out of whatever hurt her, of course. She settles into my lap and curls up so that her forehead is resting in the crook of my neck.
"I'm sorry I let you down, cupcake. I've just been trying… I don't know. Anything I think of sounds like bullshit. I'm sorry. Just, I don't know, be good while I'm gone."
She nods into my shoulder, and I can feel her tears soaking into my shirt.
"When I get back, we'll do something. Something just awesome. Like visit a ham factory in Nicaragua or something."
She chuckles and I smile.
Then she leans back and looks at me with serious eyes. I hate Carly's serious eyes. Seriously. Mainly because she can get me to do anything when she looks at me like that.
"How about we just get lost?"
I smile and press my forehead to hers. I can do that.
"Yeah. Let's just get lost."
--