The Kidnappers (2 page)

“Not enough of them so you'd notice it,” Father said, helping himself to another slice of roast beef. “You don't think it's necessary to earn a steady paycheck, but if you don't have one, you'll soon miss the comforts you have now.”

I wanted to yell that I didn't give a darn about the comforts I had now; most of them were things I didn't care about at all, except for the basics of food and shelter. I didn't need to live in a penthouse or be driven around in a Cadillac.

But, of course, nobody yells at my father.

“Writing is a childish dream, Joel,” he said.

There are hundreds of publishing companies that must pay something to the thousands of authors whose works they buy. Some books make the best-selling lists, and
those
writers do all right. Why didn't he think it was possible for
me
to do it?

The sensible thing for anyone to do when speaking to my father is to shut up, but I was stubborn.

“I want to write,” I said, in a low voice but one that Father could hear.

“Preparing for a lifetime job and writing for the pleasure of it are not mutually exclusive, you know,” he said.

Mark put down his fork. “That means you should prepare for the job, and write for a hobby,” he explained, as if I didn't understand English.

At this point my mother intervened. “That's enough about this at the table. I dislike mealtimes to be unpleasant. Sophie, we need to decide what you're going to wear to the recital next week. The pale yellow is very pretty, I think.”

Sophie groaned. “Mom, it's so babyish! When am I going to have something new, something without ruffles and ribbons?”

I was glad to have the subject turned away from me, but resentful of how insignificant my problem seemed to everyone else.

After dinner, when Mark had gone to visit a friend down on the sixth floor and everybody else was reading or listening to classical music in the living room, I called Pink from the kitchen phone.

“Does everybody think I'm a coward because I didn't come out and fight Willie this afternoon?” I demanded.

Pink got his name from his complexion and the pinkish gold color of his hair. I could trust him to be honest.

“Well, I didn't hear anybody say anything about that, but a few of them were disappointed. You know, like Willie's buddies, Gene and Paul.”

“It just seems silly and pointless to get beat up for nothing,” I said helplessly.

“I don't suppose your dad would let you change schools,” Pink offered.

“Hah!” I gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Fat chance. Pink, I'm dead meat.”

“Maybe not. Maybe something will happen, like he'll break a leg or something before tomorrow.”

And maybe it wouldn't, I thought gloomily as I got ready for bed. Maybe by this time tomorrow I'd be dead.

“Off on another adventure, Joey?” Sherman asked as he held the door for me the following morning.

“Big adventure,” I said. “Off to school to be surrounded by enemies. If I don't survive, tell my folks I don't want any flowers at my funeral. They can make a donation to the public library.”

“I'll tell 'em,” Sherman said solemnly.

Ernie was waiting with the car. “Let's roll, boy. Your dad's got an appointment the other side of town at ten. Don't like to keep the boss waiting.”

Everybody referred to Parnell Bishop as my dad. Mark called him Dad, and Sophie called him Daddy, but I never in my life thought of him as anything but Father. As far as I was concerned, he was completely unapproachable. I didn't remember him ever doing anything informal or just for fun. I had never confided in him, and I had no confidence that he would understand if I did.
He
never needed help or advice, and he took it for granted that no one else did, either.

I was prepared to be a nervous wreck all day. Not only Willie but several of his friends kept giving me speaking looks, so I knew what was coming when school got out. It made me sort of sick to my stomach.

Pink stuck as close to me as he could. His round, freckled face had an earnest expression. “You want me to walk out with you tonight?”

I was grateful for the offer, but I turned it down. “It would just get you in trouble, too. Maybe my father's right. I might as well take whatever comes, and hope for the best. At least it'll be over.”

During study hall I even managed to fantasize a scene where Willie attacked me and I knocked him flat, right in front of all his buddies.

But when I came out of my last period class, I saw Willie behind me in the hall, and my heart lurched. Mr. Soames, the math teacher, was talking to him, and Willie's back was toward me.

If I got out ahead of him, and Ernie showed up fairly quickly, I could avoid Willie again. There were two days of weekend coming up, that much longer for him to cool down.

I didn't bother to put anything in my locker; I just carried my books and notebook right out the front door and, against the rules, out the gate to the sidewalk.

There were a number of cars lined up, but Ernie wasn't there. Glancing back uneasily, to make sure Willie wasn't coming yet, I decided to move toward the back of the line of cars. Ernie would pick me up there; he'd be sure to spot me before he got in front of the school itself.

St. Bart's is an old school, enclosed inside a high wrought-iron fence. It isn't very big, and it looks especially small compared to the apartment buildings on each side of it.

The apartments go right out to the sidewalk, with no yards. They offered no hiding places, so I started to pray that Ernie wouldn't be late.

I walked toward the corner. Pickup cars eased past me, but there was no Ernie. I hesitated.

Had the Groveses' limo already arrived, and I'd missed it? I glanced back, and saw Willie just emerging from the school.

I didn't think he'd seen me yet. I started to sweat, and then I noticed a delivery truck pulling up, double-parking right in front of me.

The driver jumped out, carrying a good-size carton, heading for the nearest door. He jabbed the bell set into the brick wall, waited a few seconds, and then turned the knob when the lock was released.

I didn't have time to think, and I didn't hesitate. Before the door swung shut behind the deliveryman, I got my foot in front of it and shoved my way inside.

It was just a tiny foyer, with mailboxes on one side and an elevator on the back wall. I watched the indicator rise; the deliveryman had gone up to the fourth floor, and the elevator was staying there for the moment.

There was nowhere for me to go from where I was, not until the elevator came back down.

Through the smudged window in the door I could see the line of cars edging along toward the front of the school, picking up dozens of boys in gray slacks and navy blue sweaters. I'd never especially liked wearing a uniform to school, but it was an advantage in a situation like this. It made it harder to identify any individual. As long as Willie couldn't see my face, he wouldn't know which of all those boys was his target.

How long could I hide in the foyer of the apartment house? What if I'd already missed Ernie when he pulled into the line of cars?

Whether anybody else called me a coward or not, I felt like one. This was a far cry from the heroes in my stories, who always fought and won, or, better yet, outsmarted the enemy with guile and cleverness.

None of the heroes in my imagination ever had been in quite these circumstances, though. I hadn't figured out how this story was supposed to have a happy ending.

The cars slid past in a long line. There was Pink's mom, a nice lady with hair the same color as his, in her station wagon. And Tony Albertoni's mother, in a white Lincoln. And chauffeurs, some in uniform, some not, picking up the string of boys until almost no one was left, except Willie.

Come on, Ernie, I urged silently, but he didn't come.

I heard the elevator behind me and turned around as if I'd just come in, as if I belonged there, to face the deliveryman as he came through the sliding doors.

He didn't pay any attention to me, but went out into the street, dodging between cars to get back into the delivery truck.

And there, just before the door closed to hide me again, was Willie.

I drew a deep breath, but he wasn't looking toward me. He was scowling, his face angry and determined. Through the dirty window I saw that his hands were clenched into fists.

He probably wouldn't hit me more than a couple of times, I thought, trying to slow down my racing heart. And then he'd forget it, he'd be even with me.

The lane of cars beyond him came to an end, and for a moment there were no more in my line of vision. Where the heck was Ernie? Where was Willie's own ride, to take him away from here for a long cooling-off weekend?

How long would Willie stand out there, blocking my escape?

I didn't think he could see me, here in the dimly lighted foyer, but I could see him all right.

And then something even wilder than one of my stories took place.

I saw the emblem as the car crept into view. It was like a family crest or something, in bright colored enamel with gold trim, on a gleaming black door. The car was a Chrysler New Yorker like my grandma Louise's.

The car had very dark windows, so I couldn't make out the driver very well. But just as it came abreast of Willie, the car stopped and the back door opened.

A man jumped out, grabbed Willie from behind, and dragged him into the back of the car. The door slammed, and immediately the Chrysler leaped forward and disappeared from sight.

Afterward I knew I should have jerked open the door and gotten the license number, but I was so stunned I couldn't believe what I'd seen.

Blood thundered in my ears. I could hardly breathe. After a few seconds I threw open the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Half a block away I saw the Chrysler moving rapidly away, too distant for me to identify anything about it.

I might have thought I'd dreamed it except that Willie's books were still lying on the sidewalk, papers spilling out of them. One lined page, with a big red A– written on the top of it, blew into the gutter as I watched.

I swallowed, trying to get more air into my lungs.

Hadn't anybody else seen anything?

There was only one pedestrian, an old man walking with a cane, carrying groceries in a mesh bag. He lifted his head when I spoke to him.

“Did you see it? Did you see them pull him into that car?”

His eyes were blank. He didn't answer, but moved closer to the curb.

“Mister? Somebody just kidnapped that kid!”

The man looked away and scurried on past, leaving me wondering in a panic what to do.

I didn't like Willie Groves, but I didn't hate him enough to want someone to kidnap him.

A horn blared, making me jump. It was only a driver objecting to somebody cutting him off, and I saw to my relief that it was Ernie, at last.

I ran around the front of the car and fell into the seat beside him. “Ernie, we've got to call the police! Willie was just kidnapped!”

He put the car in gear and eased into traffic. “Well, that settles the little problem you had yesterday, don't it?”

“No, seriously, Ernie, it really happened! This big black Chrysler pulled up beside Willie, and a guy jumped out and hauled him into the backseat, and they drove away before I could get the license number!”

“The cops ain't gonna like it that you didn't get the number,” Ernie said, making the corner to head for home. “What kind of a detective are you going to make, Joey?”

I jerked desperately on his arm. “I'm not kidding, honest! He's really been kidnapped!”

“Couldn't have happened to a nicer kid, right? Listen, your mom asked me to stop and pick up some stuff for tomorrow's party, okay? Sit tight while I run in and get it.”

I stared at him incredulously. He wasn't taking me seriously at all. “Give me the phone,” I said.

The cellular bag was usually right there beside him on the seat, but it wasn't there now. “Where is it?” I demanded.

“The phone? Had a slight mishap with it,” Eddie said. “Dropped it and somebody ran over it before I could retrieve it. Gonna have to get a new one. What do you need a phone for? You'll be home in a few minutes.”

“I need to call the police.”

“You better reconsider that, maybe,” Ernie advised. “The cops don't like practical jokes. Friend of mine made a call reporting a nonexistent crime, once, and they threw him in the clink. Missed his own birthday party. The rest of us had fun, though.”

He swung the car into a left turn, double-parked outside the place where my mom got her party decorations, and bailed out with the motor running to dash inside.

There wasn't a pay phone in sight. I wondered wildly if I could run home faster than I'd get there by waiting for Ernie, but I didn't think so. He was back in a few minutes with an armload of boxes, which he threw in the trunk, then went back for more before he finally slid into the driver's seat again.

“Listen,” I said desperately, “this isn't a story, it's
real.
We've got to tell the police!”

“Bad thinking, Joey. Listen, I'm having a bad day. Got into a fender bender and got to school late, and then I had to get this stuff for your mom, and I just don't have what it takes to listen to dinosaurs on the roof or a fire in the Dumpster, okay?”

“There
was
a fire in the Dumpster,” I said, half angrily, “and I was only six when I told about the dinosaurs. I didn't make this up, I swear!”

“If you'll carry half this stuff, I won't have to make two trips,” Ernie said, then yelled out the open window, “Watch it, buddy, I'm already using this lane!”

It was no use. He wasn't going to take me seriously. Why hadn't I picked up Willie's books? Just because Ernie came then and I was scared? The books would have proved something, wouldn't they? Would anybody find them? Would Willie get in trouble if they were lost?