The Child Thief (4 page)

Peter found that he enjoyed this part of the game—winning the hearts of children, getting a chance to play for a while.
Games are important. Why, it’s playing, is it not, that separates me from the likes of these dull-eyed cocksuckers?

So the child thief decided he would just play with them.

“
CAN I PLAY
too?” the boy repeated.

Freddie tensed, his grip tightening. Nick guessed Freddie was as unnerved by this redheaded, golden-eyed boy as he was.

“Who da fuck are you?” Bennie spat.

“Peter.”

“What da fuck you want?”

“To play,” Peter said, sounding exasperated. “How many times I gotta ask, birdybrain?”

Bennie’s unibrow squeezed together. “Birdybrain?” And, for the first time Nick could remember, Bennie looked at a loss. Bennie glanced at Freddie as though unsure if he’d been insulted or not.

“Oh man. Kid, you shouldn’t done that,” Freddie said. “He’s gonna kill you for that one.”

But Bennie didn’t look like he was going to kill anyone. Because guys like Bennie weren’t used to kids giving them shit, and it threw him off balance.

“So, what are the rules?” Peter asked.

“What?” Bennie said, his unibrow forming a confused knot.

“Gee wiz,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “The rules, ball-sack. What are the rules to the pants game?”

“Rules?” Bennie said, no longer sounding confused, but pissed, and regaining some of his equilibrium. Bennie slammed Nick’s pack to the ground and jabbed a finger at Peter. “I don’t play by
no
fucking rules, asshole!”

“Good,” Peter said, and before anyone could blink, he darted forward and yanked Bennie’s baggy sweatpants all the way down to his ankles.

“POINT!”
Peter called.

There was a frozen moment when Bennie just stood there with his mouth agape, staring down at his own skivvies. As a matter of fact, everyone was staring at Bennie’s skivvies, and they weren’t the spiffy Calvin Klein kind either. It looked like Bennie had some hand-me-downs, old-school generic white briefs with several generations’ worth of stains and holes in them.

Bennie’s face went lava-lamp red, and when he looked back up, his squinty little eyes appeared ready to pop out of their squinty little sockets.

“YOU LITTLE PRICK!”
Bennie cried, and grabbed for Peter. But the boy was fast, unbelievably fast. Nick couldn’t remember seeing anyone move that fast,
ever
. Bennie missed, his feet tangled in his pants, and down he went, holey underwear and all, hitting the sidewalk like a fat sack of dough.

Bennie’s antics were rewarded by an uproariously hearty laugh from the boy with the pointy ears. And all at once Nick found himself smiling. He couldn’t help it. Freddie shoved him back and jumped for Peter.

Peter skipped out of the way, effortlessly, stomping right on Bennie’s head as he did so, smashing Bennie’s face into the sidewalk. Nick heard a crunch that made him cringe, followed by a scream from Bennie. When Bennie looked back up, his nose sat at an odd angle and blood was pouring out of it.

“Holy crap,” Nick said.

Freddie dove for Peter, trying to leap over Bennie, who was just standing. Bennie and Freddie collided, landing in a tangle.

Peter leaped high in the air and came down upon Freddie’s back with a double knee jam that would’ve made any professional wrestler proud. Nick heard all the air go out of Freddie in a wounded
uuuff
.

Freddie rolled off Bennie and began flopping around on the grass, gasping, his mouth opening and closing like a feeding guppy. While Freddie struggled to get an ounce of air back in his lungs, Peter darted over, snatched the back of his pants, and yanked them down to his ankles.

“POINT TWO!
That’s two for me!” Peter called. He winked at Nick, then broke into another round of giggles.

Nick wasn’t sure if he was thrilled or terrified.

Peter zeroed in on the kid on the bike. He planted his hands on his hips and glowered at Jake, daring him to make a move.

But Jake, good old Wang-fu, Jake-the-Snake, Steven-fucking-Seagal himself, was frozen in place and looking like he just might be suffering a seizure to boot.

“YOU FUCKER!”
Bennie screamed at Peter as he struggled to his feet. He yanked his sweats back up, shoved a hand into a pocket, and tugged out a knife, a big one, and popped it open.
“YOU FUCKING FUCKHEAD, FUCKER FUCK!”

“Oh, shit,” Nick said. Bennie loomed easily twice Peter’s height, must have outweighed him four times over.
Get out of here, kid,
Nick thought.
Run while you still can.
But Peter just stood there, hands still on his hips, lips pressed tightly together, his eyes squeezed down to slits.

Bennie’s lower lip quivered. He spat blood, screamed, and charged, slashing for Peter’s face.

Peter ducked and spun, and again Nick found himself amazed at the boy’s speed. The back of Peter’s fist caught Bennie full in the face. Nick couldn’t see the actual contact from where he sat, but based on the way Bennie’s head flew back, based on the horrible cracking sound, he knew Bennie was going down.

Bennie crumbled to his knees, his arms flopping limply by his sides, then he fell over face-first onto the sidewalk.

A chill climbed up Nick’s spine.
He’s dead. He’s dead for sure
. And just for a second, Nick caught a haunted look on Peter’s face. Then, as though knowing the boy’s eyes were upon him, Peter’s quirky smile leaped back into place. But Nick couldn’t get that look out of his head. He’d seen something wild, something scary.

Peter ducked over to Bennie, grabbed the back of his sweatpants, and yanked them down to his ankles.

“That counts. That’s three for me!” Peter called in a delighted voice. “I win!” He rolled his head back and crowed like a rooster.

Freddie stared on in horror as he tugged his pants up and scrambled to his feet. He took off, bumping into Jake, almost knocking him off the bike. Jake’s eyes darted from Nick to the pack.

No! Uh-uh!
Nick thought and lunged for the pack, but his legs were still tangled in his pants and he tumbled. Nick yanked savagely to get his pants up. Jake snatched up the pack and pedaled away at full speed. By the time Nick got his pants on, Jake was nowhere in sight.

Peter gave a big wave and laughed, “Later alligators!”

“FUCK!”
Nick cried and punched the grass.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Peter called. “I did pretty good, huh?”

Nick clasped his head in his hands and clenched at his hair.
What am I going to do now? he wondered. What the fuck am I going to do now? Could things get any more fucked up?

“I did pretty good, huh?” Peter repeated. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Nick realized Peter was talking to him. “Huh?” he said, low and unsure.

“Y’know, at the pants game. I won, wouldn’t you say?”

Judging by the way Bennie was spread out on the sidewalk with his butt crack peeping out from his underwear, Nick had to agree.

Peter walked over to Nick and extended a hand.

Nick drew back.

“Hey,” Peter said. “It’s okay. We’re on the same team. Remember?”

Nick cautiously extended his hand. Peter shook it, delighted, then pulled Nick to his feet.

“I’m Peter. What’s your name?”

“Nick,” Nick said distractedly as he scanned the park for Marko and his pals, sure they’d be coming out of the trees at any moment, knowing too well that those guys didn’t fuck around, knowing they’d be packing and would have no qualms about shooting either of them.

“Good to meet you, Nick. So Nick, what do you want to do now?”

“What?”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Get out of here,” he mumbled and headed into the trees, back toward the subway, then stopped. He dug in his pockets. “Fuck.” Bennie had taken every cent. He’d have to find another way out of Brooklyn. Panic began to tighten his chest. Which way should he go? Marko could be anywhere, could be coming from any direction. Nick turned quickly and almost ran into Peter. Nick hadn’t even realized the boy had been following him. Peter’s eyes were full of mischief. “So, what’s the plan?”

“What?” Nick said. “Plan? Look, kid—”

“Peter.”

“Peter, you don’t understand, there’s some bad guys on their way.”

Peter looked pleased.

“They’ve got guns. They’re not fucking around either. They’ll kill you.”

“Nick, I said we’re on the same team.”

Nick let out a harsh laugh.
God, he thinks this is all some sort of game
.

“Don’t you want to kill
them?
” Peter asked. “Could have ourselves a
real
good time.”

“What?” Nick said in disbelief, but he could see the boy was serious. “No, I don’t want anything to do with them. I need to disappear,
now
.”

“I know a secret way out of here,” Peter said, looking left then right. “They’ll never see us. Follow me.” Peter took off.

He’s crazy
, Nick thought, but had to fight the compulsion to blindly chase after him anyway. There was just something compelling about the boy, something that made Nick want to follow even against his better judgment. Nick scanned the park again. It was dark. He was alone. It was hard to be alone. He clutched his rabbit’s foot, sucked in a deep breath, and took off after the golden-eyed boy.

T
hey rested in a small church courtyard. Over the past hour or so Peter had led him along a maze of back streets and alleys, walking, running, scaling walls, and ducking through bushes. Slipping about unseen seemed to come naturally to him.

With the park long behind them, Nick began to breathe easier. He collapsed on a bench and Peter hopped up next to him, perching on his heels, reminding Nick of a gargoyle as he gazed up at the stars.

“Nick, you got someplace to go?”

“Sure,” Nick said. “Well, I’m going to…heck, over to…Well—” He stopped. Where was he going? His money, his pack, everything was gone. He didn’t have so much as a nickel, not even a jar of goddamn peanut butter anymore. He felt the sting of tears. He couldn’t go home. He thought of the bums in the park. How long before he was one of them? How long before he was dirty, sick, cold, and hungry? How long before he was willing to do almost anything for a handout? That was if he could even get out of Brooklyn alive. The tears came. “I don’t know,” he blurted out.

While Nick cried big, heavy sobs into his own hands, the golden-eyed boy stayed beside him. He didn’t speak, just sat there waiting for Nick to finish.

“I got a place.”

Nick wiped at his eyes and looked at him.

“Avalon,” Peter said. “I have a fort there.”

Nick raised his eyebrows and managed a smirk. “A fort?”

“It’s at a secret place. An enchanted island. No grown-ups allowed. It’s full of faeries, goblins, and trolls. We stay up as late as we want. No teachers or parents to tell us what to do. We don’t have to take baths, brush our teeth, or make our beds. We play with spears and swords, and sometimes,” he lowered his voice, “we fight
monsters
.”

Nick shook his head and grinned wryly. “Peter, you’re a kook.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

Nick hesitated, he knew Peter was joking about the secret place, about faeries and all that other nonsense, but you wouldn’t guess it by the way he said it. Why, you could almost believe it was true. But true or not, the idea of a fort to sleep in, maybe some other runaways to hang out with, the idea of anything other than being left out here in the dark,
alone
, sounded good.

“You live there?” Nick asked.

“Yup.”

“Don’t your parents care?”

“I don’t have any parents.”

“Oh,” Nick said. “Me neither. Not anymore.”

A long silence hung between them.

“A fort,” Nick said. “And faeries and goblins, huh?”

Peter nodded and grinned.

And Nick found himself grinning back.

WHEN ASKED, PETER
said his fort lay
thataway
, and pointed in the general direction of the New York Harbor. Nick guessed he must mean down toward the docks.

“Come along,” Peter said, pulling up his hood. “You’ll see.”

So Nick followed Peter as they pushed their way through the dark Brooklyn neighborhoods, still taking care to avoid busy throughways or corners where teenagers were loitering about, but no longer dashing down side streets or hiding behind trees. Nick didn’t feel a need to worry about Marko, not this far west, but couldn’t help keeping an eye out for the green van. After a while Nick began to relax, felt his step lighten, and realized that he was enjoying simply having someone to walk down the street with.

He snuck several sidelong glances at the pointy-eared boy. There was something captivating about him, something about his strangeness, the wildness in his eyes that Nick found exciting. From his gestures to the odd way he was dressed, even in the way he bopped down the street so light on his toes, like some real cool cat—bold as brass, as though daring anyone to challenge his right to be there. Nothing escaped his attention, not a flittering gum wrapper, a cooing pigeon, or a falling leaf. And he was ever glancing up at the stars, as though making sure they were still there.

He wasn’t like other street kids Nick had seen. His clothes might have been worn and dirty, but he wasn’t grimy. He was a bit nutty, sure, but he didn’t seem strung out on anything and his eyes were clear and sharp—even if they were gold. But though Peter felt like a friend, the best sort of friend, one you could count on to watch your back, Nick had to remind himself that he knew nothing about this weird boy and had to be careful. And there was something else, something below the contagious laugh and impish grins that nagged at Nick, something he couldn’t put his finger on, something wicked, something—
dangerous
.

The smell of nectarines filled Nick’s nose and his mouth began to water. He realized the smells were coming from the Chinese deli just ahead.

“Hungry?” Peter asked.

Nick realized he was, that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He also remembered he didn’t have any money.

“Hold up,” Peter said as he glanced up and down the street. “You be the lookout. Okay?”

“Lookout?” Nick said. “For what?”

But Peter had already entered the grocery.

Nick didn’t like where this was going. He tried to peer over the fruit stands to see what Peter was up to, but could only see the top of Peter’s head bopping about inside the store. A few minutes later Peter came strolling out with two plastic containers of steaming Kung Pao chicken, fried rice, egg rolls, and three sacks of candy bars, almost more than he could carry.

“Here, help me with this,” Peter said, handing Nick the candy bars.

“Wait,” Nick said. “You didn’t—”

“We should probably skedaddle,” Peter interrupted, and headed away at a rapid clip.

A second later a plump, older Chinese man came skidding out of the grocery in his stained apron and yellow rain boots.

The man looked at Nick, then at the sacks of candy bars.

Nick heard the man say something under his breath, and even though it was Chinese, Nick had no trouble recognizing it as profanity. Then the man pointed at Nick and started yelling
TEEF
over and over again.

Nick broke and ran after Peter.

Luckily for Nick, the old man’s running was about as good as his English, and Nick put a block or two between them in no time.

Nick found Peter waiting for him along a tree-lined street in front of a shadowy alleyway. Peter ducked into the alley and Nick followed.

Peter fell against some concrete steps and began to laugh, laugh so hard he could barely speak. “Hey, you did pretty good!” he chuckled and patted Nick on the back.

“What the hell was that?” Nick cried. “We could’ve gotten in all kinds of trouble!” Nick felt his blood boiling. That’d been stupid. The last thing he needed was the cops after him. “It’s not funny!”

Peter pursed his lips, trying to stifle his mirth, but his eyes were positively giddy.

“Do you have any idea what they would’ve done to us if we’d been caught?” Nick snapped.

Peter shook his head.

“Why they’d, they’d—” Nick stopped. Peter was trying so hard not to laugh, trying so hard to look serious, concerned, and sincere. Nick couldn’t help but grin and that was a mistake, because when he did, a bellyful of laughter escaped from between Peter’s lips.

“Ah, man. You spit all over me!” Nick cried, wiping his face, but by then they were both laughing, big belly laughs. And it was the moment Nick realized that he was having fun. That he was happy, and it’d been a long time since he had been happy.

THEY SAT ON
the cold cement steps, eating stolen Kung Pao chicken and watching the clouds roll across a sky full of stars. Nick never remembered anything tasting so good. A sharp wind sent a host of orange leaves and loose paper clattering down the thin alleyway. Late evening dew shimmered off the sooty, graffiti-covered walls. The low hum of an electric transformer sputtered and buzzed incessantly while somewhere in the distance the Staten Island Ferry blew its horn.

Peter sighed. “They’re so beautiful.”

“What?” Nick asked.

“The stars,” Peter answered in a low, reverent tone, staring up at the night sky. “I so miss the stars.”

Nick thought this an odd thing to say, but then there were a lot of odd things about Peter.

Peter tore open one of the bags of candy bars, grabbed a couple for himself and handed a few to Nick.

Nick noticed several scars on Peter’s arms. There was also a scar above the boy’s brow, a smaller one along his cheek, and what looked like a healed puncture on the side of his neck. Nick wondered just what kind of trouble Peter had been in.

“What are you going to do with all that candy?” Nick asked.

“For the gang,” Peter said, between chews. “Back at the fort.”

“Is there really a fort?”

“Certainly.”

“Peter, where are we going exactly?”

Peter started to say something, frowned, started to say something else, and stopped. Then his eyes twinkled. “Hey, what’s that?”

“What?”

“By your foot.”

Nick didn’t see anything. It was too dark.

“Is that a turd?”

Nick instinctively jerked his foot away. “Where?”

Peter reached into the shadow and came up with a lumpy brown clump. He held it up. “Yup, big greasy turd.”

It didn’t look like a turd to Nick. It looked suspiciously like a Baby Ruth.

Peter chomped down on it. “Scrumptious.”

Nick snorted, then burst out laughing. Peter joined in between big, loud smacks. Nick found it easier and easier to laugh. Since his father’s death, between moving to the new school and dealing with that fucker Marko, Nick felt he’d forgotten what it was like to be silly, to just be a kid.

“Hey,” came a raspy voice from the shadows, followed by a fit of coughing. “Hey what…what’re you guys up to?”

Nick and Peter looked at one another, then at the pile of boxes beside the Dumpster. One of the boxes fell away and a figure rolled out.

Peter was instantly on his feet.

The shape stumbled into the lamplight and Nick saw it was a teenager, maybe a couple of years older than him. The kid’s long blond hair was greasy and matted, and he was wearing just jeans and a ratty T-shirt.

“You…you guys spare…some change,” the kid said, his words slurry and spaced out. “Need…to, to make a phone call. Anything will help out. Huh…how about it?”

Nick picked up the bags of candy bars and stood up. “Peter,” Nick whispered, “let’s get out of here.”

“Hey, where you going?” The kid tottered forward, put an arm out on the stair rail, blocking their way. Up close, Nick could see cold sores on the boy’s lips and how bloodshot his eyes were. The kid was so skinny he had to keep tugging at his jeans. The kid spied the candy bars in Nick’s arms. “Hey, how about you give me some of those.”

“These aren’t for you,” Peter said, his tone hard and cold.

The kid looked agitated, started scratching at his arms. Nick could see he had the shakes. The kid looked at them again and actually focused. “What’re you guys doing out here?” He took a quick glance around. “You alone?”

Nick didn’t like the way his tone changed, and tried to get around him.

The kid made a grab for the chocolates, snagged a bag, yanking it from Nick’s arms.

Peter let out a hiss and in a mere blink had a knife in his hand. The damn thing was almost as long as Peter’s forearm.

Whoa, where’d that come from?

Peter rolled the blade, letting the street light dance along its razor-sharp edge, making sure the kid saw its wicked promise. “Give ’em back,” Peter said.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” the kid said. “Take ’em.” He tossed the bag to Nick, raised his hands, and took several unsteady steps backward until he hit the alley wall. “I ain’t got nothing else. Go ahead, shake me down. I ain’t got nothing.” And then, low, to himself:
“Nothing.”
His shoulders drooped and his hands fell. Nick thought he looked worn out, defeated,
alone
, another strung-out junkie with no place to go and no one to care. Nick wondered what had made this kid leave home, wondered how long before he found himself in the same spot—
alone
, with
nothing
.

“Let’s go,” Peter said, stuffing the knife back in his jacket and heading toward the street.

Nick grimaced.
Growing up can really suck
, he thought.
And bad things sure as shit do happen to good people and for the most part the world just doesn’t give a crap
. He reached into the bag of chocolates, pulled out a handful, and left them on the steps. “Here. Those are yours.” Then he sprinted off to catch up with Peter.

WITH THE EXCEPTION
of a few pubs and late-night restaurants, the shops had all closed up. They passed a bar and Nick stole a quick peek inside, caught sight of sullen, tired faces, the smell of cigarettes and beer, the clinking of glasses and strained laughter as men and woman went about the business of putting the long, hard workweek behind them.

Next door, in front of Antonio’s Camping and Sporting Goods, Nick stopped suddenly and peered into the display window.

Peter came up next to him. “What is it?”

Nick stared at the green-and-black checkered Vans propped against a skateboard.

“The shoes?” Peter asked.

“Nothing,” Nick said, but his eyes didn’t leave the shoes.

“You want those?”

Nick nodded absently.

Peter disappeared around the side of the building. Nick took a last longing look at the shoes and followed. He turned the corner but Peter wasn’t there. Nick glanced across the weedy lot and caught sight of a bearded man leaning against a paunchy woman near the rear entrance of the bar. Her blouse was undone and one of her breasts had escaped her bra, hanging down nearly to her navel. The two of them giggled as the man pawed it like a cat toy. “Jesus,” Nick said and watched, mesmerized, until a sharp clank drew his attention. It came from behind the Dumpster next to the sporting goods shop. He peered around the Dumpster—Peter had managed to tug one steel bar from the crumbling masonry of a basement window-well and was using that bar to pry loose a second.