by Lavie Tidhar
Boxes were stacked everywhere. On the window sill and against the cupboards, over the fridge and under the sink, peeking through an open cupboard door. They were plain cardboard boxes, and I reached for the one that was open on the counter.
Chocolate bars. It was full of chocolate bars. All in plain silver wrappers. There was no brand name. I took one and tore it open without asking and bit into creamy chocolate, crunchy wafer, heaven.
It was a genuine Farnsworth.
They were all Farnsworths.
“How?” I said, speaking through a mouth full of chocolate crumbs. Mrs de Menthe came and stood in the doorway and regarded me sadly.
“They’re Eddie’s, he keeps some of them here. I know it’s not strictly legal, but it’s only a bit of chocolate, Nelle. It doesn’t harm anyone.”
“No, I mean…” I stopped, the bar halfway to my mouth. “They’re Farnsworths,” I said.
“Are they?” She didn’t seem bothered by my revelation.
“The factory has been shut for three years!”
“They do taste a little stale,” Mrs de Menthe said.
I stared at the boxes. Was that possible?
I thought of my conversation with Detective Levene.
I thought of the elusive Mr Farnsworth.
And I felt the pieces of the puzzle finally starting to click into place.
22
The teddy. It kept coming back to the teddy bear. It was the link to Farnsworth, the proof of … what?
Find the teddy, and you’d find Farnsworth.
He was hiding in plain sight. He was Eddie’s supplier. It was his chocolate that was sold at the playground, his candy that competed with the Consortium’s. He was at the heart of it all.
He was still fighting the chocolate war.
How had I not realized this before? But I’d never tasted Eddie’s chocolate. When Anouk offered me a candy bar at the playground I had turned her down. Everyone must have known Eddie had a stash of Farnsworth chocolate – everyone but me. Or did they? It still didn’t answer the question of just where the chocolate was coming from. And who was giving Eddie a fresh supply. This was finally it, proof that my hunch was right, Farnsworth was still in the city. He was the key to this whole situation.
When I left Mrs de Menthe’s apartment I exited the building to the same quiet neighbourhood and that same sense of watchful unseen eyes. When I went past the swings there was nobody there, though one was still swinging, as if it had been hurriedly and recently abandoned.
I heard a car engine coming to life, but I kept walking. I’d left my bike chained a short walk away. My heart was beating fast and I was relieved to see it was still there. I reached for the lock when the sound of the car engine roared close by, just behind the trees, and made me jump. A sudden siren blared, a screech that tore up the silence and uprooted it from its foundations.
“Fancy running into you again, Miss Faulkner.”
“Detective Tidbeck,” I said, forcing a smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”
They climbed out of their car and came and loomed over me. Webber scowled.
“You’ve been poking your nose in a lot of places, kid,” he said. “It’s like everywhere we go about our lawful business, there you are. Snooping around … even bothering old Mrs de Menthe. She’s very anxious we find her grandson, you know.”
“Right.”
“Talking to all kinds of characters,” he said. “Unsavoury ones, if you don’t mind me saying so. You been sticking your nose in our business, kid, and I don’t like it.”
“What business is that?” I said.
“Don’t be cute.” He glared at me. “We know you have it,” he said.
“Have what?”
“The teddy. We want the teddy, kid. And we’re through playing games.”
I was through playing games, too.
“You don’t want the teddy,” I said. “You want Mr Farnsworth.”
Tidbeck smiled, with those awful white teeth.
Webber, very slowly, clapped.
“Smart kid,” he said.
“Find the teddy, find Farnsworth,” Tidbeck said. “You follow?”
“I think I do,” I said.
At least, I hoped I did. That teddy – it had to have been precious to Mr Farnsworth. I remembered the photo in the newspaper from his father’s funeral. The way he held on to the teddy bear. Like it was the only friend he had in the world. Tidbeck was right, I thought. The teddy must have come from Mr Farnsworth himself – he must have given it to Eddie. It was the one concrete link to the invisible man. It was clearly important to him, and he would want it back. If there was a way to draw Mr Farnsworth out, the teddy had to be it. The one thing that would lure him out of the shadows.
And I was suddenly scared all over again. Tidbeck and Webber were taller and stronger than me, and they were cops. There was no sound but for the car engine and the blood beating in my ears.
“I think I want to go home now,” I said.
“She wants to go home,” Webber said.
Tidbeck hadn’t said a word and hadn’t moved. Then she smiled again, as though she’d just thought of a particularly unpleasant joke.
“Why don’t we give you a ride?” she said.
“Yeah,” Webber said. “Little girl like you on her own. It’s not safe.”
“I have my bike,” I said. “It’s fine. But thank you.”
“We insist,” Webber said. “Serve and protect, and all that.”
“Just get in the car, Nelle,” Tidbeck said.
Webber picked up my bike effortlessly and carried it to their car. He opened the trunk and folded the bike in, like he was putting a baby down to sleep. I looked at him and I looked at Tidbeck and I looked around, but I could see no escape.
“We just want to talk to you, Nelle.”
“I don’t have it!” I said.
“What was that?”
“I don’t have it,” I said. “I had it but it’s gone. It’s the truth. Honest.”
“Ah,” Tidbeck said, and she smiled again, a big tooth-fairy smile. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
23
I sat in the back seat of the car. Tidbeck was in the passenger seat, looking out of the window. Webber drove, his fat fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. The car smelled of strawberry bubblegum and wet dog. There were takeaway boxes and empty soda cans on the seat and on the floor. I rolled down the window. The wind was warm. It was cool inside the car.
“Someone just brought you the teddy,” Tidbeck said, “and then someone else stole it?”
“Basically, yes.”
“And you don’t know who or why?”
“No.”
“If you hear anything,” Tidbeck said, “anything … you will come to me. Are we understood?”
I thought about it. Webber hummed an old song, something about a golden ticket.
“Do I have a choice?” I said.
“Do you have to ask?”
“No,” I said. “I suppose not.”
“Good girl,” she said.
My nails dug into the palms of my hands but I didn’t say anything. Implied in her words were all sorts of threats. And I was still worried about Eddie. I had to find him before they did.
“You’re trying to find Mr Farnsworth so you can shut down his operation,” I said. “Right? Because his chocolate’s competing with the Consortium’s. Because he still has chocolate, and there’s no chocolate like Farnsworth chocolate.”
“I think little girls should keep quiet if they know what’s good for them,” Tidbeck said.
“I’m going to tell the mayor!” I said, with a sudden burst of courage. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
Webber barked a short laugh. “Don’t you worry about the mayor,” he said, and I saw Tidbeck elbow him painfully in the ribs.
“Ow!”
“Shut up, Webber,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I said quietly.
It could
n’t be that the mayor was involved, could it?
Tidbeck turned to me and smiled. “The mayor is a very busy man, Nelle. He has no time for kids’ games. That’s all. Right, Webber?”
“Right, right. That’s what I meant.”
We drove along as the city outside slumbered. The sun shimmered in a haze over the horizon. Dark birds huddled on tree branches and watched us pass. Webber hummed a song about a boat ride.
“Mr Lloyd-Williams said you came in with a teddy for him to look at, a few days ago,” Tidbeck said.
“Yes.”
“A Farnsworth.”
It was too late for lying. “Yes.”
“Do you know where Farnsworth is hiding?”
“No,” I said.
Tidbeck turned away from the window and looked back at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said.
“Because it would be a very silly thing to do, to keep something from me, Nelle. And you don’t strike me as a silly sort of girl.”
“Is that a compliment?”
She turned back to the window. Whatever she saw outside seemed to engross her.
“Your little friend is in a lot of trouble,” she said.
“Eddie?”
“We really do want to help him, Nelle. It might not be too late.”
“You won’t hurt him?”
“Now, why would we do that?”
But she smiled unpleasantly all the same.
“All we want is the old man,” Webber said.
“Bring us Farnsworth, and Eddie gets a pass from us,” Tidbeck said. “Otherwise when we find him he’s going to be in a lot of trouble. You think about that.”
“All right,” I said.
She nodded. Her nails drummed on the window.
I saw the library building just ahead.
“Can you drop me here?” I said. Then I saw the Sweetie Pies on the steps. I saw Tidbeck register their presence too. She exchanged a glance with Webber, who grinned in a mean sort of way.
“Loitering,” he said, “with intent.”
“Selling contraband in a public building,” Tidbeck said.
“I think perhaps we need to do something about that,” Webber said. “Being cops and all.”
“Wait,” I said. “What are you going to do?”
Webber smirked, turned on the siren and sped towards the library, braking with a screeching of wheels in front of the steps. The Sweetie Pies saw the car and tried to run. Webber jumped out and chased them, shouting. They scattered in different directions, though Little May turned back, just once, and threw a chocolate egg that hit Webber in the face. She screeched with laughter. Webber roared and lunged after her but she was too quick and too small for him to catch and he stopped a short way away and stood with his hands on his knees, breathing hard.
Tidbeck pushed the door open. We both got out of the car.
“Wipe that egg off your face, Webber,” she said icily. He glared at her, but said nothing.
“I don’t think those little girls will be back any time soon,” Tidbeck said.
I figured she was probably right.
So much for the Sweetie Pies.
Webber ambled towards us, wiping his face.
“Can I have my bike?” I said.
He grunted but complied, taking it out of the trunk and dumping it on the pavement unceremoniously.
Tidbeck glared at me.
“The teddy,” she said. Her voice was devoid of inflection. “Bring it to us.”
She didn’t say, Or else.
She didn’t have to.
“We run this town,” Webber said. “And we ain’t playing games no more. You got that?”
He climbed back into his seat and slammed the car door.
“No games,” I said. “Got it.”
“Go,” Tidbeck said quietly. Her voice was colder than ice cream. “We know where to find you.”
And with that, they drove away.
24
I entered the library.
I found Sweetcakes Ratchet in the far corner of the fiction section under “Crime”. She had her back to me and her shoulders shook and it took me a moment to realize that she was crying.
I stood there, not sure what to do. Perhaps she sensed me, because she turned her head and glared.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you,” I said.
Her face was blotchy and red from the crying. “It’s not fair!” she said abruptly.
“What isn’t?” I said.
“Eddie and Waffles and … and…” She waved her hand angrily. “This could have been my town!”
“You’re only twelve!” I said. “You still have time.”
“I’m almost thirteen! And I’m better than they are, I’m tougher, I could beat them!”
“Do you want to, though?” I said. I thought of Eddie, missing, and Waffles alone in his mansion on the hill. “Do you really want to live like that? Always being alone, always being afraid?”
“Oh, Nelle,” she said, with a voice as bitter as grapefruit. “Perfect little Nelle. You think everyone’s like you? Going around, poking your nose in things, always telling people what’s right and what’s wrong? Some of us have to live in the real world. It’s not always great to be a kid.”
“I know that!” I said, getting angry. “But what do you want, Mary? What do you want?”
“I want to be big!” she screamed. A solitary browser in the “Romance” section turned her head, then shuffled away. We were alone. “I want to be a grown-up, I want to do whatever I want, without people always telling me what to do!”
“But grown-ups just have even more rules,” I said, frustrated. “They have to have jobs and pay bills and … and … stuff! They have to look after us!”
“Well, they’re not doing a very good job of it!” she screamed, and then she started crying again, but quietly. The tears just flowed down her face as she stared at me.
“Mary…” I said.
“Leave me alone!”
I just stood there, feeling helpless. It felt strange, to see this bully I was afraid of, suddenly vulnerable. Suddenly crying.
“It’s just not fair!” Sweetcakes said. “Everybody hates me. And I didn’t even do nothing! And I had nothing to do with the fire in Mr Singh’s store!”
Snot was dripping out of her nose. I searched for a tissue, didn’t find one. She rubbed her nose on her sleeve and grimaced, looking at me miserably.
“What happened?” I said, quietly.
“I don’t know!”
“But you were there,” I said.
“Yes.” She sniffed.
“You saw it?”
“I don’t know what I saw. Some man.”
“What man, Mary? This is important.”
“Some man! Some skinny guy. He went past and then I saw he had a bottle in his hand and a piece of cloth twisted into the mouth of the bottle. He took out a lighter and he set the cloth on fire and then he threw the bottle through the store window. It broke the glass and it burst inside. It must have been full of gasoline. There were flames. They just … blew up. I never saw a real fire before.”
She was no longer crying. I looked at the set of her face.
“Why were you there?” I said gently.
“I was watching the place, that’s all. I knew Bobbie went for the pick-up.” She snorted when she said it. “So we were gonna grab all the candy when his couriers showed up. Only this guy came along first and then I ran. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Is that it?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know this man? The one who started the fire?”
“Nah. Never saw him before.”
“Why would he want to burn down the store?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone paid him.”
And I thought, Tidbeck and Webber arrived on the scene of the fire awfully fast.
Almost as though they knew it
was going to happen.
“What would you do if you won?” I said. “I mean, let’s say you took over the candy racket tomorrow. Beat all the other gangs. You’d rule this town. You’d have all the candy you ever wanted. What then?”
She looked at me and she looked a little lost; and then she smiled, just a little. “I don’t even like candy that much,” she said.
When she smiled she was almost nice. I gave her my hand and, after a moment, she took it.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where?” she said. She looked so miserable that for a moment I wanted to laugh.
“To a party,” I said.
“Sure, a party,” Sweetcakes said. “Sure.”
She looked away and then back at me, with haunted eyes.
“I’m sorry about, you know,” she said.
I thought about the grief she’d given me at school, and in the case.
“I won’t say it’s all right,” I said. “Because it’s not. But I appreciate you saying it.”
“See?” she said, with a hint of her old anger. “There you go again, being better than the rest of us.”
“I’m not better,” I said. “I’m really not.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m sorry, anyway.”
She looked sincere. I smiled.
“Thanks,” I said.
She stuck out her hand, awkwardly, for a shake.
“What do you say?” she said. “Start over?”
I looked at her proffered hand. I couldn’t say Sweetcakes Ratchet was my favourite ever person, but you had to start somewhere.
Finally I shrugged, and took her hand.
“Sure,” I said.
25
By the time we had arrived at the McKenzie mansion on the hill, the sun was just dipping into the sea, like a doughnut dunked into a bowl of blueberry sauce. I knew it was going to ruffle feathers, bringing Sweetcakes to Waffles’s party, but I had had enough of the war between the gangs. It was time to call it quits.
The gates to the McKenzie place stood open and cars were parked on the street outside and in the driveway. They were big expensive cars driven by big expensive people.
Or, rather, by their chauffeurs.
The chauffeurs huddled in a group to one side of the gates. They wore black ironed uniforms and they were chatting in low voices, some furtively biting into forbidden chocolate bars. They were waiting for their employers, like nannies gathered at the gates to a playground as their young charges played inside.
