Sketches (22 page)

“Let me finish my coffee,” Ashley said.

“Take it with you. This isn't a good place for us to be. A coffee shop in the middle of the night—how long before some cops drop in for their nightly fix of caffeine and doughnuts?”

I hadn't even thought about that. Both Ashley and I got up. I took another sip from my coffee and tossed the rest away. Brent was already at the door, holding it open. We hurried over to catch him, leaving the light and warmth of the coffee shop behind as we went out onto the street.

“We can't call,” Brent said. “I understand what you two are saying, but we have to think about us. Even if we did call, anonymously from a pay phone, it wouldn't do any good. The cops would just think it was a crank call and they wouldn't even bother going to investigate.”

“I guess you're right,” Ashley agreed.

“Of course I'm right. Besides, we have bigger problems. We have to get off the street. It looks like it's going to rain. We have to find a place to crash tonight.”

“How about if we can let the police know about the body without us having to make the call?” I asked.

“What do you have in mind?” Brent asked.

I had an idea. I just didn't know if she'd go for it, and even if she did, I didn't know if it would work.

“Well?” Ashley asked.

“Do you two trust Nicki?” I asked.

“She's never done nothing to make me not trust her,” Brent said.

“Me either,” Ashley agreed.

“Then maybe I could make a phone call. She gave me her card. It has an emergency number. She said if ever I really, really needed help I could call her. I need help.
We
need help. Can I call her?”

Ashley looked hard at Brent. I knew she'd let me call. I also knew she wouldn't say anything until Brent had spoken.

“Let's look for a phone booth,” Brent said.

WE WERE HUDDLED
in the doorway that was the back entrance to Sketches. The overhang provided some protection against the rain, which had turned from a light drizzle into a downpour.

“Shouldn't she be here by now?” Brent asked.

“It's only been about forty minutes,” I said. “She was asleep when I called, so she had to get dressed, and I don't even know where she lives. It could be far away.”

There was a loud thump and I jumped. Light cascaded into the alley, revealing Nicki holding open the door.

“Get in here,” she said, and the three of us hurried into the building. She closed the door and slid a bolt into place.

“Are you three all right?” she asked.

I'd told Nicki all about what had happened when I called her. My lower lip began trembling and I knew I was going to begin crying again.

“What a stupid question to ask. Of course you're not all right.” She reached out and put an arm around me and her other arm around Ashley.

“Get over here,” she ordered Brent. “You need a hug too.”

I thought Brent might argue. Instead he threw his arms around all three of us. I felt better being in the middle of the huddle.

“Now, I want all three of you to get changed into something dry . . . you do have some dry clothes with you, don't you?”

“Probably . . . maybe,” I said. “It depends on whether the rain soaked through my backpack.”

“All of you check, and if you need dry things I have some clothes in the office. While you're changing I'll
go and make some hot chocolate, and maybe a sandwich. Do you all like grilled cheese?”

“One of my favourites,” Brent said.

“Me too,” Ashley agreed.

“Dana?”

“Yeah, I guess. But shouldn't you make a phone call first . . . about the body?”

“Already done. I called a friend of mine. He works out of Twenty-two Division.”

“And . . .?” Brent asked anxiously.

“I told him where the body was. And I told him I couldn't reveal how I knew it was there, he'd just have to trust me and my sources.”

“And did he?”

“He said if I trusted the people that gave me that information then he'd trust it too.”

I let out a big sigh of relief. At least he'd be taken care of. That only seemed right.

“Now get changed. I'll make the hot chocolate, and then the three of you should get some sleep.”

“Where?” Ashley asked.

“I'm not going to any shelter,” Brent protested.

“Of course you're not,” Nicki said. “The three of you are going to sleep here tonight, in my office. I have a couple of cots I can set up. They aren't great but I'm sure they're better than a lot of places you've slept before. We don't do this very often. We could lose our licence if the zoning people found out.”

“Then maybe we shouldn't,” I said. “We don't want to cause trouble for Sketches.”

“You won't cause any trouble. Nobody is going to find out. Just go into my office, change, get out the cots, and settle in. I'll be in with the food in a few minutes.”

I FINISHED OFF
the final bite of the sandwich and washed it down with the last sip from my hot chocolate. It all tasted good. It all felt good in my stomach. I lay down on my cot. Ashley was resting in the second one. Brent had volunteered to take the floor, and we'd given him more of the blankets to make up for it.

“Is everybody ready to turn in?” Nicki asked.

She came over and tucked the corner of my blanket around my shoulders. It had been a long time since anybody had tucked me in. She did the same thing with Ashley.

“Now let me just get out my sleeping bag and we'll turn out the lights,” Nicki said.

“Your sleeping bag?” I asked. “You mean you're going to sleep here too?”

“I'll just pull up a piece of floor.”

“You can have my cot,” I offered.

“Or mine,” Ashley added.

She shook her head. “I'll be fine.”

“You don't have to do this,” I said. “You can go home. We'll be okay.”

“I'm sure you will, but I also think that it might be hard for you to sleep tonight, after what happened, and if any of you need to talk, I'll be here.”

I was going to argue, but she was right. It was going to be hard to sleep, and having her there would make it easier. It felt good to have somebody looking out for us—an adult. It had been a long time since that had happened, even before I left home.

“I'm just sorry I don't have a bedtime story to tell,” Nicki said. “Like a fairy tale.”

“That's okay,” Brent said, “I never believed in those anyway.”

“Well, they do have a whole lot of strange and magical stuff in them,” Nicki agreed.

“That's not the part I don't believe in,” he said.

“Then what is?” she asked.

“The last line of all those stories,” he said. “You know, the one that goes, ‘And they all lived happily ever after.'”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WE
'
D GOT UP
, put away the cots, put our stuff back in our packs, and eaten a breakfast of day-old bagels and juice in the kitchen. None of us was in any hurry to leave. I had a new painting I was working on, and Ashley wanted to try another pot, and shortly after the place opened Gizmo showed up and he and Brent started working on one of his scooters. They had agreed to work on the next one together—that one was going to be Brent's.

We didn't go out to panhandle, or to eat, or even to take a breath of fresh air. A couple of times Brent and Ashley stepped outside for a smoke, but I got the feeling that neither of them wanted to venture more than a few feet away from the entrance. It was like we were all feeling scared and vulnerable, and the building was keeping us safe.

I heard a ripple of conversation and turned around to see what everybody was staring at. There were two men—two guys in suits and ties—standing at the door. Even though they weren't dressed in uniforms, it was obvious they were cops. Cops always looked like cops. Nicki saw them and walked toward them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, we're looking for a Nicki Fullerman,” the first cop said.

“That's Fuller
ton
, and that's me.”

“Sorry, that's the way it's written down,” he apologized. They introduced themselves to Nicki and shook her hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk . . . privately?”

“Certainly. Let's go to my office.”

I watched them go. Nicki ushered them into her office, and then, just as she was about to close the door, she gave me a reassuring nod, as if to say,
Don't worry, it will be okay
. I understood what she was silently saying, even if it wasn't very reassuring.

I turned away and tried to focus on my painting. I picked up the brush and realized that wasn't going to happen. All I'd do by trying to work on it now was ruin it. It was a painting of Pumpkin sitting all puffed up on the edge of a dumpster. I put down the brush. I had to talk to Brent and Ashley, let them know what was happening.

First I went into the design and tech studio. Brent and Gizmo were working away on one of the scooters. They were both so absorbed in their work that they didn't even notice me enter the room. I cleared my throat. Nothing. I cleared it more loudly, and Gizmo looked up. He smiled. He was a strange little guy, but nice.

“Hey, Dana, how's it going?” he asked.

“Good. Can I speak to Brent for a minute?”

“Sure. Brent, how about if I take over with that?” Gizmo suggested.

Brent got up off the floor, grabbed a rag, and wiped his hands, which were now almost as filthy as Gizmo's.

“Do you want to hear about Giz's latest idea?” Brent asked.

“Sure, but could I tell you something first?”

“It's really a great plan,” he said, ignoring the second part of what I'd just said. “You know those guys who sell nuts and popcorn on the streets? Well, did you ever wonder where they get those popcorn contraptions from?”

“I've never really thought about it,” I said. They were a strange sort of combination of popcorn-popper and glass case built on a bicycle that they rode through the streets to get to where they were going to set up and sell.

“Well, I don't know where they get them from either,” Brent said, “but Gizmo thinks he can make them, and it wouldn't cost a lot of money.”

“Less than two hundred dollars each if we can scavenge the parts,” Gizmo said. “And we could sell them for a lot more than that.”

“A
lot
more. That is, if we wanted to sell them,” Brent said.

“But why would you make them and not sell them? Is Gizmo planning to sell popcorn?”

“Not him,” Brent said. “Other people.”

“What other people?”

“People who want to make some money,” Gizmo said.

“We could rent them to kids, kids like us, who are on the street. They could go out and sell popcorn and nuts and then give us a cut of the profits for using the gear. Think about it, they could earn money, really earn money and not just beg or steal it. They'd be able to have a job, and we could make money too. It would be a business.”

“That's . . . that's . . . an incredible idea!” I exclaimed.

“And just think,” Gizmo said, “it wouldn't just be a better way for a few people, this could be a way that a lot of people, a lot of street kids, could benefit. It's a way of giving back . . . the way we're supposed to give back here at Sketches.”

“That's really great,” I said.

“Now, you wanted to tell me something?”

“Yeah.” I looked around the room. There was nobody there but Gizmo and Brent and me.

“We can talk.” Brent must have known what I was thinking. “Don't worry about the Giz, here.”

I hesitated for a second and then started. “There are a couple of cops here at the centre.”

“There are cops here all the time,” Gizmo pointed out.

“Yeah, but these guys aren't beat cops in uniform,” I said. “They're in plain clothes, and they asked to speak to Nicki, and they went into her office and closed the door.”

“Then we'd better get out of here, now,” Brent said.

“Do you think they're here about the body?” Gizmo asked.

I did a double take. How did he know about that?

“I told him,” Brent said. “I know we agreed that we weren't going to tell anybody, but I trust him. You know, trust him like a partner.”

“I won't tell anybody,” Gizmo promised. “Do I seem like the type of guy who goes blabbing things around?”

I shook my head.

“So you think they're questioning Nicki?” Brent asked.

“What else?”

“You have nothing to worry about. Nicki won't sell you out. Not her style,” Gizmo said.

“Even if she doesn't say anything, though, the cops have probably figured out that somebody she knows through Sketches told her about the body. Maybe even somebody who's here today.”

“Let's not take any chances,” Brent said. “Let's get out of here.”

“You're better to stay,” Gizmo said. “You leave and it only draws attention. Cops are kind of like dogs. They chase whoever is running.”

He was right again. I quickly thought of the number of kids who were in the centre today. There had to be twenty or twenty-five people. Too many for them to know that it was Brent or Ashley or me, but few enough that they might start asking questions and maybe figure it out.

“Where's Ashley?” Brent asked.

“She's in the pottery studio.”

“Does she know about the cops?”

“I don't think so. I was going to talk to her after I talked to you.”

“You should go and tell her now. Whatever we do, none of us should go anywhere near Nicki—especially not you.”

“Why especially me?”

“Because you're underage, and we've got to assume your mother passed out those posters to the cops,” Brent said.