The Child Thief (3 page)

The kid slouched back on his seat and let a sly smirk drift across his face.

Nick’s heart began to drum.
Is he one of Marko’s boys? Sure looks like one of those assholes.

The kid with the caterpillar hair scratched at the pimples along his chin and leaned forward onto the handlebars. “Yo, dawg. Spot me a dollar?”

Nick relaxed a degree. This was just another prick trying to shake him down. Did he really believe every kid in the neighborhood was looking for him?

When Nick didn’t reply, caterpillar-head sighed, pulled a wad of gum from his mouth, and stuck it on his handlebars. He gave Nick a dark look, one that said let’s get down to business.

Nick dealt with assholes like this every day—a little humiliation, a little physical abuse at the expense of his self-respect—around here the fun never ended. But Nick didn’t have time to play the game right now. He needed to get out of here. Nick thought about just forking over the wad of bills, then maybe he’d get away with his backpack at least. But how far could he get without any cash?

“Yo, cuzz, I’m talking to you,” the teenager said in a tone clearly indicating that good ole Nicky boy was unduly trying his patience.

Nick wondered if this beaked-nose wannabe was going to work
Yo, cuzz
or
dawg
into every sentence.

“Yo, dawg,” the teenager said. “You deaf or sumptin?” He snapped his fingers right in front of Nick’s face. Nick flinched and fell back a step.

“Dawg, look at you getting all freaked and shit,” the kid said with a snort. “Chill, cuzz. I’m just fucking witchu.”

Nick managed a strained smile and forced a chuckle, and immediately hated himself for it. The only thing worse than getting dicked around was having to act like you were in on the joke. In this case, the laugh was the wrong move. Nick wasn’t at school. He was alone in the park, and that weak laugh told this kid that Nick wasn’t a fighter, that Nick was—
prey
.

The kid’s voice dropped, cold and serious. “How much money you got?”

The tone scared Nick; it sounded mean, like this kid just might go over the line and really hurt him.

“I’m here with my big brother,” Nick said, trying to sound cool, like he really
did
have a big brother looking out for him.

The kid didn’t even bother to glance around. He just sat there with his arms crossed over his chest with a don’t-give-me-that-shit look on his face.

“He just ducked in the trees over there,” Nick said, pointing into the dark woods. “To take a leak. He’ll be back any sec.”

There, of course, was no big brother relieving himself in those murky trees, but if either of the boys had looked, they might have seen a shadow with golden eyes inching toward them along the branch of the big oak.

The kid shook his head slowly back and forth. “Fuuuck.” Letting the expletive slide out like a long, disappointed sigh, as though asking Nick why he’d lie to a nice guy like him.

“Yo, what’s in the pack?”

Nick’s fingers tightened on the shoulder straps. He pushed his bangs out of his face and glanced about for a place to run.

“Hey,” the kid said. He squinted at Nick. “Don’t I know you?”

Nick’s blood went cold.

“Sure. You live at Marko’s place.”

Only it wasn’t Marko’s place, Nick wanted to shout. It was his grandmother’s house. Marko was supposed to be a tenant, but Marko and his pals had taken over and his mother, his goddamn mother, wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.

“Yeah,” the kid said. “You’re that weirdo that lives upstairs with his mommy, the one that never comes out of his room. Marko says you’re queer or something.”

If by weirdo he meant that Nick didn’t play grab-ass with the wannabes on the street corner, didn’t yank at his crotch and call girls bitches, didn’t wear oversized jerseys and pretend to be a gangsta all day, then yeah, Nick had to agree. But there was more to it and Nick knew it. Even back at Fort Bragg, before the move, he’d had trouble fitting in. But here in Brooklyn, where
weirdo
was a term of endearment compared to what most of the kids called him, he’d begun to feel like a leper, like he came from another planet. As of late, he’d given up on making friends altogether and probably did spend far too much time in his room reading, drawing, playing video games, and anything else he could come up with to avoid pricks like this jerk-off.

“Hey, you seen Bennie?”

“Who?” Nick said, as he eased back a step.

“What you mean who?
Bennie
. Dawg, he’s over yo place all the time. You seen him?”

Nick shook his head and took another step back but the kid rolled his bike forward.

“Look, I gotta go,” Nick said. “Umm…just a little favor for Marko. Y’know.”

“What? Marko? You’re running for Marko now? No way.”

“Nothing big,” Nick added quickly. “Just an errand.”

“Oh, yeah.” The kid’s voice was suddenly cordial, like he hadn’t just been about to slap Nick sideways and shake him down. “Bennie put in a word for me. Said Marko might be setting me up soon too.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Dawg, you know I was just fucking witchu, right? We all good, right?”

“Sure,” Nick said, and made himself smile, anything to get out of here already. “See ya then.” He started away toward the playground.

“Yo,” the kid called after him. “When you see Marko, give him a shout-out from his bro Jake.”

That’s exactly what I will do
, Nick thought.
While he’s burning my tongue with a hot wire, I’ll be sure to let him know his bro Jake said hi
.

Jake’s phone came to life. Nick knew it was Bennie, knew it before Jake even answered it. Nick walked faster.

The kid dug out his phone and flipped it open. “Yo. What? Dawg, you said at the park. What—
no way
. He did that? No way. No
fucking
way.”

Nick caught the kid cutting his eyes toward him. “I can do you one better than that,” the kid said. “No man, I mean I got just what you’re looking for.”

Nick’s heart slammed against his chest.

“Yeah, that’s just what I mean. Okay, it’s cool. By the turtle. Y’know that fucking green climby thing at the playground.” He glanced at Nick again. “Don’t worry he’s not—”

Nick took off. If he could make it into the trees he might be able to lose himself in the bushes, might have a chance. He was running so hard he didn’t even hear the bike bearing down on him. The older boy kicked him as he flew by. Nick lost his footing and slid across the sidewalk, the concrete tearing into his palms. Nick let out a cry and tried to get up, but Jake was right there and kicked him back down.

“You ain’t gonna leave without yo big
bro
, are you?” Jake asked, then kicked him again.

Nick heard tennis shoes slapping the sidewalk and two boys came running up. “Yo! Yo! Jake!” one of them yelled. It was Bennie.

“Dawg, you see that kick?” Jake hollered, his voice pumped with excitement. “See that? I’m Steven-
fucking
-Seagal.” He tugged his crotch with one hand and made a rapid snapping gesture with his fingers, all while sucking his lower lip and bobbing his head. “You don’t want to be messing with Jake-the-Snake. What’d ya say, Bennie?” Jake stuck out a knuckle-fist. “Give it up, bro.”

Bennie gave Jake a look close to pity, left Jake’s knuckle-fist to hang, and turned cold eyes on Nick, eyes that said he wasn’t fucking around like this retard beside him.

Bennie was big. From what Nick had picked up, he’d been a defensive tackle over at Lincoln High before getting expelled for assaulting his math teacher—the word was he’d put the man’s eye out with a pencil. Bennie had thick, hard hands like tree roots, the kind of hands that could tear quarters in half, and one long, bushy brow overhanging small, squinty eyes. Those eyes were cold—not mean, just cold—like he didn’t feel.

Bennie stared at Nick, letting those empty eyes bore into him. Finally, he said, “Man, if I had to pick one person I’d least wanna be right now, it’d be you.”

“True dat!” Jake added, then turned to the third kid, a short, muscular boy with stumpy arms and slumping shoulders. “Yo, Freddie. Check out his shoes. Wouldn’t catch my ass dead in pussy shoes like that.”

“Fucken’ faggot shoes,” Freddie ordained, in a Brooklyn accent so thick it sounded like his mouth was full of marbles. He kicked the bottom of Nick’s shoe.

They were referring to Nick’s leprechaun-green Converse knockoffs. Nick didn’t even hold it against them—no one hated those shoes more than he did. They were the kind of shoes you find in a bin at the discount store, right below the dollar watch display. He’d outgrown his green Vans—best pair of skate-shoes he’d ever owned—shortly after the move. He’d asked his mother for a new pair and she’d come home with these wonders. When Nick asked how he was supposed to skate in those, if she expected him to actually wear them to school, and if she was the biggest cheap-ass in all of fucking New York, she’d called him a spoiled brat and left the room. Of course, his skateboard had disappeared shortly after Marko showed up, so that part didn’t really matter, but being ridiculed at school every day certainly hadn’t helped him fit in.

Bennie flipped open his cell phone and thumbed redial. He pushed the hood of his Knicks sweatshirt back and rubbed the dark fuzz atop his head. “Hey, Marko, who’s the man? That’s right. No, I ain’t shitting you. Of course I got him. Dumbass headed straight for the subway just like you said. We’re in the park. I dunno.” Bennie glanced around. “Over near the playground. No, not that one. The one with the stupid turtle. We’ll wait. Don’t worry, this little bitch ain’t going nowhere.”

Bennie slapped his phone shut. “Check his bag.”

Freddie grabbed the pack. Nick jerked it away and scrambled to his feet, but Freddie nabbed him before he made half a step, wrestling him into a painful armlock.

Bennie yanked the pack out of Nick’s hand.

“Wonder what’s in here?” he said sarcastically and unzipped the pack. He let loose a whistle and held it out for Jake and Freddie to see. Their eyes got big.

“Fuck! Must be a hundred gees worth,” Freddie said.

Jake looked at Nick in amazement. “Cuzz, Marko’s gonna cut you up and feed you to the fishies.”

Nick jerked an arm free and tried to twist away, started screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. Bennie hit him. It felt like a flare went off in his head. Nick started to yell again when Bennie drilled him in the stomach, doubling him over. Bennie snatched him up by the hair and leaned right into his face. “You wanna run?” Bennie grinned, then grabbed the sides of Nick’s pants, yanking them down to his ankles. “Go on.
Run
.”

Nick coughed and wheezed, trying to suck in a breath.

“Let ’im go,” Bennie said.

Freddie let go.

Nick clutched his stomach and almost fell over.

“C’mon pussy,” Bennie said. “Whaddaya waiting for? Take off.”

Both Jake and Freddie let out a snort.

Bennie shoved Nick. Nick stumbled, did a duck-waddle, but managed to keep his feet despite his pants twisting around his ankles.

Freddie and Jake crowed with laughter.

Then Bennie hit Nick like a linebacker. Nick’s feet tangled and he slammed to the ground.

“Check his pants and underwear,” Bennie said. “Little queer probably stuffed the stash up his ass.”

Freddie patted Nick down. He shoved a hand in Nick’s pocket and pulled out the wad of bills. “Pay—
day
!”

“Give me that,” Bennie said, taking the bills. “That’s Marko’s money.”

Bennie leaned over to Nick, so close that Nick could see tomato sauce stains on the sides of his mouth. “Marko said he’s bringing his toolbox. Said it’s gonna be a real horror show. I love horror shows. Do you?”

The limb above them shook and a host of leaves rained down. There followed a soft thump. Nick and Freddie saw
him
first. When Bennie and Jake caught their faces, they both jerked around.

A boy, not much taller than Nick, stood on the pathway. He wore some sort of hand-stitched leather pants with pointy-toed boots sewn right into them. He also had on a raggedy tuxedo jacket, the old style, the kind with tails, with a black hoodie on underneath and a rawhide pack, almost a purse, strung across his chest. The boy pushed the hood back, revealing a tussle of reddish, shoulder-length hair littered with twigs and leaves. A sprinkle of freckles danced across his cheeks and nose. The boy’s ears were, well, kinda pointy, just like Spock’s, like one of Santa’s little helpers, but oddest of all, his eyes were bright gold.

The boy planted his hands on his hips and a broad smile lit his face. “My name’s Peter. Can I play too?”

THE CHILD THIEF
studied the teenagers, making sure to keep up his smile, making sure to hide his disdain.
Have to be wily
, he thought.
Don’t want to spoil the fun
.

He looked at the numbed, perplexed expressions on the three older teens and thought,
They’re blind. Blind as a nut in a nutshell. There’s magic all around them and they don’t see a lick of it
. How could this be possible? Only a few short years ago, possibly only a few months, they were still children, their minds in bodies full of magic, open and alive to all the enchantments swirling around them.
Now look at them, miserable, self-conscious fuckwits, going to spend the rest of their lives trying to find something they never even realized they’d lost
.

I’d be doing them a favor. To gut the three of them
. His eyes gleamed at the thought.
Hell, and it’d be fun too. Watching their faces as they juggled their own guts. Much fun indeed
. But he wasn’t here to have fun. He was here to make a new friend.

Peter glanced at the boy with his pants around his ankles, the one fighting so hard to hold back his tears. He needed to win this child over, for you couldn’t take children into the Mist against their will. The Mist would never allow it. You could, however,
lead
a child into the Mist. So they had to trust you. And you didn’t get children to trust you by gutting teenagers right in front of them, not even mean, ugly teenagers. That wasn’t the way to make new friends.