The Good Thief (18 page)

“I’m thirsty.”

In the hallway Ren found a bowl and filled it at the washstand, then tucked the revolver in his pocket and carried the bowl back to the room. When he opened the door, the man was sitting up. He had taken off his jacket. His shoulders were lumpy and his body wide, his stomach hanging below his thick, hairy chest. His forehead was wrinkled, as if he was trying hard to remember something.

“What happened to the others?”

“They’ll be back soon,” said Ren. He held out the bowl of water and the man reached for it.

His hands were enormous—three times the size of Ren’s—the palms hard and muscled, the fingers stubby and wide. He drank in gulps, his bruised neck silently throbbing. When he finished, he set the bowl on the floor. “Who’re you?” he asked.

“I’m Ren.”

“I’m Dolly.” He eyed the gun, and Ren could see that he was considering whether or not to take it from him. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“I don’t think so,” Ren admitted.

“Good,” said Dolly. “Because I don’t think I can sit up anymore.”

Ren helped him lie down, lifting the quilt, and saw a dozen crawling things set out across the mattress.

Dolly sighed. “Thank you,” he said. He turned his face to the ceiling and scratched at the hair on his chest. He did not seem concerned about his circumstances, or the fact that he’d been buried. There were tattoo marks across the man’s sternum—an anchor, and a chain that wrapped around his thick waist twice. The links were shaded in black and about the length of Ren’s finger. He half expected them to rattle as Dolly breathed, but they only stretched the skin, silently coiling in and out.

“Where’d you get that?”

“New York.” Dolly passed a massive hand across his chest, then traced each circle at the end of the chain. “Philadelphia. Boston.” He looked up at Ren and his face hardened. “It’s how I keep track of things.”

Something in the way he spoke made Ren tighten his grip on the gun. The fog was crossing the room now and the boy felt desperate, wishing for Benjamin to return. Even so, he could not stop the question from coming out. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to murder someone.”

Ren had seen it coming, and now he could barely whisper. “Did you do it?”

“No. I didn’t have the chance.” Dolly patted his stomach where the chain ended. “But I’ll finish him. And then I’ll get another job. New England’s full of grudges, and there’s lots of people that need to be murdered, and people looking for someone to murder them. I’ve been doing it for years. I was made for it.” Dolly pointed to the row of links. “There’s a mark here for every man I’ve killed.”

He was boasting. Even as the stench of the grave clung to him; even as he brushed insects off his face. It was clear to Ren that he felt no sympathy for his victims, no regret for what he’d done in his life. Something about the man was off; as if he were not of this world, or the next. It was chilling to be standing this close to a murderer, but Ren also considered for a moment what it might be like—to have no feelings, no guilt. To never say penance again. “Is that how you hurt your neck?” he asked.

“No,” said Dolly. “I was strangled.”

Ren looked at Dolly’s throat again, the purple bruises patterned like fingerprints. “Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

“People don’t get strangled for nothing.”

“Well,” said Dolly, “I suppose it was for something .”

“Did it hurt?”

Dolly looked thoughtful. “They came after me with a rope,” he said. “Two men with old hats. Surprised me in the stairwell of a tavern. Got the cord around my neck and started pulling. I broke off a piece of railing, then used it to beat one of them in the nose until he let go. I knocked the other down the stairs, but not before he got his teeth into me.” He lifted his arm and showed a pattern of half-moons. Scars of bites up and down his skin.

“Then what?”

“I kicked their faces in. Those two won’t come back.”

“But you did.”

“Yes,” said Dolly. And he did something with his face that might have been a smile. “When I woke up it was morning and I was at the bottom of the stairs. I kept thinking, Why hasn’t anyone come? And then the landlady walked in and she screamed and she cried a little and closed the lids of my eyes with her fingers. She thought I’d saved her from being robbed. She sent for the undertakers to remove the other bodies and paid for a coffin for me.”

“The undertakers covered my face with a sheet. They stole my shoes and my shirt but left my suit. They said it was too ruined to sell. I heard them complaining about how heavy I was. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t lift my arms. And then I was in the coffin. And then the lid was on. And then the nails came. One went straight through my ear.” Dolly lifted his hand and pointed. On the lobe there was a caking of red scab. Behind it the upper throat had been pierced, just above the line of purple bruises.

“Everything split once that nail went in. I was lifted and I was lowered. I could feel the weight of the dirt as they shoveled it in. It was like a blanket pulled over my head.” Dolly said, “I’m just supposing now.” As he spoke he drooled; there were two small stains of saliva gathering on the pillow, white foam in the corners of his mouth.

Ren took up the side of the quilt and wiped the foam away. Then he folded the area of wetness over and tucked it underneath the mattress. Dolly could not have been underground long, Ren decided. It might have been hours, it might have been a day, but it was a miracle that he was alive at all.

“Am I awake?” Dolly groaned.

“I think so,” said Ren.

There was a light banging coming from somewhere in the house, and Ren knew that it was Mrs. Sands, cleaning out the ashes from the fireplace in the kitchen. Dolly began to cry again, and Ren went back to patting his foot. The man’s sobs were softer now. He cupped his giant hands over his mouth, as if he were trying to catch the words he was saying.

“I’m sorry.”

Ren didn’t know what Dolly was sorry for, but he knew what it felt like to want to take something back.

“I know,” he said.

Dolly began to rub his eyes. There were streaks across his cheeks and chin from the tears, and it made him look pitiful, as if someone had just thrown dirt in his face. His jaw clenched, and suddenly his massive arms grabbed for the boy. Ren panicked, thinking he was going for the gun, but instead Dolly seized Ren by the stump and squeezed it hard, as if it were a hand.

Ren was sure that he could hear Benjamin on the stairs. He tried to twist his arm away, but Dolly was holding fast.

“We’re friends now.”

It was not a question. Still, Ren answered it. “Yes.”

B
enjamin slipped into their room after dawn. His clothes smelled strange, sharp and sweet, as if they had been soaked in spirits.

“Where’s the purple suit?”

“Under the bed. I think his eyes hurt.”

Benjamin lifted one of the blankets. When he was satisfied that Dolly was asleep, he opened his coat. “Look at this.” Inside his pockets were mounds of bills and coins. It was more money than they’d made from the church, or the stolen jewelry, or from Mother Jones’s Elixir for Misbehaving Children. It was more money than Ren had ever seen.

“You should have seen us outside the hospital gates,” said Benjamin. “Tom had the shakes, and I thought we’d never get in. But the doctor was waiting for us, just like you said. He had the money all out and ready.” Benjamin picked up a handful of coins. “You’re lucky to me, did you know?”

The boy shook his head. He felt a small flush of pride.

“I should have picked you up sooner.”

The bills were spread across the bed, and together the two of them began counting. Ren knew how to multiply using his fingers, his thumb working back and forth across the tips. Fifteen. Thirty-six. Forty-two. Sixty-seven. Seventy-five. He piled the numbers on top of each other, and Benjamin seemed impressed when he counted the bills for a second time and came to the same amounts. When they were finished, he gave a few dollars to Ren. Then he unscrewed a knob from one of the bedposts, rolled the rest of the money inside, and put the knob back in place.

“I’m going to buy a new pair of boots.” Benjamin sat down on the bed. “How about you. Another orange?”

Ren lifted the bills to his nose and inhaled. The money smelled of dirty fingers. His mind swam with all the objects that had been bought and sold with it—new clothes and peaches and horseshoes and lumber and books and ribbons and frying pans. He closed his eyes. He was too tired to think.

Benjamin took his knife from his boot. He opened it and cleaned the blade with the edge of his shirt. “Here,” he said. “Why don’t you take this until you think of something.”

Ren had seen the knife before, but never up close. A bear was carved into the handle, its paws reaching around the center as if it were climbing a tree. The animal’s head rested on the end with a sleepy expression, the eyes twice as large as the nose. Ren touched the tip of the knife with his finger. It was sharp and gleaming and threw a small bright spot of light onto his face.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” Benjamin said.

Ren was smiling. He could not stop. He felt his teeth against the cool morning air, his cheeks tightening until they began to hurt. The knife rested in his open palm, shiny and dangerous. It was more than a gift—he had earned it. Benjamin had trusted him to see the night through, and he had come out the other side.

A factory whistle sounded, followed by another. Ren could hear the boots of the mousetrap girls leaving. One pair paused for a moment outside their door, then continued down the stairs. Ren glanced out the window and saw dozens of girls dressed in blue running in the street, their shawls over their heads. It was raining.

There was a moan from Dolly underneath the mattress. Suddenly the bed lifted off its feet, levitating for a moment before settling back to the floor. Benjamin and Ren stepped against the wall and waited until they heard the man begin to snore again.

“What are we going to do with him?” Ren whispered.

“Tom took his share straight to the bar. He’ll be on a bender for the next few weeks.” Benjamin sat down on the other bed and began to unbutton his coat. “We’ll need an extra set of hands.”

“Then we’re keeping him?”

“If we can.”

“I think he’s a killer,” said Ren.

“That could be helpful.” Benjamin leaned back into the pillows. “As long as he doesn’t kill us.”

When Ren woke again, the sun was bright through the curtains. He could not be sure if it had been days or hours that had passed. Beside him on the bed he could feel the heat of Benjamin’s body. In his hand was the revolver. Benjamin had told him to keep an eye on Dolly, but Ren had fallen asleep. Now his neck felt stiff from leaning against the headboard and his fingers were full of pins and needles.

The boy rolled over. Across the room the other mattress was still empty, and probably still full of bugs. Underneath it, on the floor, was a pile of blankets. Dolly was gone.

Ren shoved the covers off. He checked the closet and looked out the window, throwing up the sash in a panic and leaning out over the street. He pulled open the door and hurried down the stairs. He stopped when he heard a small scraping sound coming from the kitchen. There was also a rumbling. A series of muffled knocks.

The boy slowly peered around the corner. Dolly was sitting on a chest near the fireplace, his jacket on, buttoned at the top, his stomach hanging out below. He was eating a bowl of porridge, the spoon a tiny instrument in his hand.

“Are you looking for the woman?”

Ren nodded.

Dolly thumped the side of the chest.

“Let her out!” Ren cried. He snatched the bowl away and pushed at Dolly to get him off the chest. “Mrs. Sands!” He pressed his mouth against the keyhole.

Dolly stood and Ren lifted the lid. Mrs. Sands was inside with her shoes off, her knees bent. A sock stuffed in her mouth. Her skin looked pale but her eyes flashed, blinking against the sudden light as Ren pulled the damp wool free of her teeth.

“
WHO
IS THIS?!” she shouted, her throat covered in blotches of red. Ren had never heard her so loud. Mrs. Sands pushed herself up in the box and crawled onto the floor. Then she began to cough. Deep, shaking coughs turning over something wet and heavy inside her chest. On her hands and knees she reached for the fireplace poker and began beating Dolly in the leg.

The dead man blinked at her but did not move.

“Don’t hit him like that!” Ren took hold of the iron and tried to pull it away, but Mrs. Sands kept on coughing and striking out at him. Dolly easily pinned her arms and covered her mouth, his hand reaching across her face from ear to ear.

“That’s why I put her in the box.”

Mrs. Sands swung her feet.

“Let her go!”

The boy tried to pry Dolly’s fingers off her mouth, but just as he got a thumb loose, Benjamin came rushing into the room, holding the King James Bible from their room. He thrust the book at Dolly, who dropped Mrs. Sands in surprise.

“That’s our landlady,” said Benjamin. “You don’t touch the landlady.” Then he began to scold the dead man as if he were a child.