Meanwhile, Mom and Dad had been talking a lot more on the telephone. Not always great conversations, but at least they were in touch. It gave Oggie and me a little ray of hope. What I kept telling Oggie was, if we could just keep Mom and Dad talking, maybe they’d start getting back together. People do get together again, even after they’re divorced, right? You hear about it happening with movie stars all the time.
I was thinking about this while I was walking along, trying to get myself pumped up for the Night Riders. And I WAS getting pumped—until I turned onto Garden Street. Then a terrible smell hit me in the face. I looked down and saw a skinny brown dog puking up a big lump of something right in the middle of the sidewalk.
It was a rat.
You could still see the gray fur and the flesh-colored tail and the feet. The little mutt must have been so hungry, he swallowed a whole rat in one gulp.
That almost got me. I had to hold my breath to keep my stomach down. I pulled my cap lower and walked by fast. I started checking numbers on the buildings for where 5446 was. After a couple of minutes I was okay, but it was a close call.
Not only dogs are in bad shape on Garden Street. You hate to even look at the people around there because they’re so beat-up. Everybody has their hand out for a quarter, or they’re lying slumped over in a doorway. Nobody has a job over there. Most of the stores moved away. The ones that are still in business have bars over the windows and sell things like brass knuckles and triple-bolt locks.
On one block is what everybody knows is a crack house. It’s boarded over in front, but these bad-looking guys are always lounging around the back. They’re the runners who deliver the stuff, supposedly, and compared to them, the Night Riders are nothing. Some of these guys have already been in jail. A bunch of us from school would ride our bikes over for a look sometimes. A kid had told us where the house was. The hair would kind of rise on my neck whenever we passed that place.
It was starting to rise again, right then, as I walked along, but I kept going, checking for the Riders’ building number. Finally I saw 5446 painted on a board that was nailed over a broken window. My heart kind of jumped. The building wasn’t as rundown as the crack house, but it didn’t look good, either. The front porch was half falling off.
Something Shades had said about me the night before came into my mind.
Fast on his feet and good with a gun, he’d said.
At first I thought he was kidding me. Then I decided he must have some reason for hiring a younger kid like me, so maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he really thought I was fast on my feet. Which was pretty funny because that’s the one thing I’ve never been. I never could get on the soccer team, even after trying out three years in a row.
As for being good with a gun, up to that night in Mr. Wong’s, I’d never held a gun in my hand.
I’d SEEN plenty of guns, on TV and in movies. And once, when a bunch of us were walking around across Washington Boulevard (we’d make these trips over there on foot, to kind of see the sights), there was a man sitting in a lawn chair on his front stoop with a shotgun across his knees.
Somebody said he was waiting for his wife to come home.
Afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I kept wondering what happened to her. I never heard if he shot her, though, so maybe things ended up okay.
I went around back of 5446 the way Shades had told me. There wasn’t anything but a closed door, so I tried it. It opened.
“Hey! Yo! Anybody home?”
Everything was dark inside. Some stairs went down, that’s all. It was like Amory Ellington staring into a slurp hole.
Way off somewhere, there was a scuffle of feet. I stayed by the door. I didn’t want to go in unless I knew who was in there.
Finally, somebody came. It was a girl.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I came about the job.”
“Oh, yeah. They said somebody was coming.”
We walked downstairs, went through another door and along a dark hall with doors on both sides.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Archie.”
“I’m Raven,” she said. She wasn’t that old, probably about my age. I was surprised to see someone that young in a gang like that. I thought maybe she was somebody’s sister.
“What job am I going to get, do you know?” I asked.
“That’s up to the Cat Man.”
“Who’s that?”
“You know, the dude who invited you to come here. Cat Man. He calls himself that.”
I was having this feeling of my mouth drying up into the Sahara Desert, so I didn’t say anything. It was starting to hit me, what I was doing. I was heading into trouble, I knew, going down into something I’d be better off quitting right then, before it got too late.
I didn’t quit, though. I kept following Raven.
We went into a room with a lot of pipes running across the ceiling and there was Shades—or Cat Man, rather. Whatever, he was still wearing the sunglasses.
“Hey. It’s the soccer star. C’mon over here and look at this, soccer star,” he said.
Four or five Night Riders were hanging out in the room, which had two TVs in it, a table and some chairs, and no windows that I could see. I looked at Raven. She gave me a little nod to get a move on, so I went over. Cat Man handed me a piece of paper. On it was written: Bolton Street and Summerville Ave. Green Ford Pinto.
“Know where that is?” Cat Man said.
Well, I knew where Summerville Avenue was. Dad’s apartment complex was on it. Bolton Street took me a minute. Then I remembered.
“It’s where the hardware store used to be. Now there’s just an empty building.” I was surprised Cat Man would have anything going over there because it was across Washington Boulevard, on the good side.
“Whew! This kid is smart!” Cat Man kind of sagged back on his heels as if he was blown away by my brainpower. Some Night Riders laughed. The guy was a real put-on artist.
“Do you know what a Ford Pinto looks like?” he asked next.
“Sure,” I said. Not that I’m so interested in cars, but if you live with Oggie, you get to know every car ever made. He learned them when he was about three and has been yelling them out to everybody ever since. Dad knows cars, Mom knows cars, even Mrs. Pinkerton and Cyndi got to know.
“Well, I know they teach you in school what the color green is. That’s all you have to know for this job,” Cat Man said. He made it seem as if he was kidding all the time, but underneath, something in his voice told you he was dead serious.
“You own a bike, right? Whew, I’m impressed. See, this job’s a delivery. You have to take this brown paper bag and go to this address. Then you wait for a green Ford Pinto to come by. You give the bag to the guy who’s driving, and he gives you another bag to bring back. Then you bring it back here. Got it?”
I nodded. I was looking for Oggie’s wallet the whole time he was talking, but I couldn’t see it. Cat Man didn’t have it in his pocket anymore.
“And for that you get ten bucks. Wow! Easy money, right?”
He handed me the paper bag. It wasn’t that heavy. Inside a couple of things rattled up against each other. I didn’t ask what. It was like my cigarette jobs for Cyndi. I didn’t want to know.
“When should I go?” I asked. I was still trying to see Oggie’s wallet. I checked out Cat Man’s other pockets and was looking around the room.
“Got a watch?”
I held up my arm to show him.
“You’re supposed to meet the Pinto at three forty-five. How long do you think it will take you?”
“I have to pick up my bike at home.”
“So?”
“A half hour?”
Cat Man smiled as if I’d passed some kind of test. He was older than I’d guessed last night, over twenty maybe. You could see he knew his business more than some kid would. Another thing was, he had a beautiful smile.
A lot of gang kids have yellow te
eth or bad gums or something missing from a fight. Or maybe they’re too busy at night to brush right, I don’t know. Cat Man’s teeth were white and perfect, the most shining white teeth I ever saw.
“Listen, just so you understand, you’re only getting this job like special from me,” he said. “Most of my workers have to go through some initiation try-outs before I know they can do it. I already saw what you could do.”
“Thanks.” I wasn’t too enthusiastic. More and more, I knew I shouldn’t be getting into this. If I could’ve seen Oggie’s wallet lying around somewhere, I would’ve felt a lot better. At least then I wouldn’t be getting into it for nothing.
Behind his shades, Cat Man had his eyes on me.
“What’s up, you don’t want the job?” He was a quick read, no doubt about it. “Hey, no problem. I just thought a smart kid like you should be getting some action. Raven, honey, get him out of here.”
“No, no, I want it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Real sure?” He looked me hard in the eye. I looked back just as hard.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, you got it. Go.”
Raven took me back upstairs. She seemed different from everybody else. Not a gang type. Also, I could tell she liked me. We were both younger kids.
“Do you do this, too?” I asked her. She had real short hair, like a boy’s. But it looked good on her.
“Sure. You won’t have any trouble.”
“When do I get the ten bucks?”
“When you get back.”
“I don’t know if I can get back for a while. I have to pick up my little brother at afterschool.”
Raven made a low noise under her breath and stepped up close to me.
“Listen, Archie, you got to get back quick,” she said. “That’s the whole thing. You pick up something for the Cat Man, you got to bring it right back. If you don’t, he gets worried. You don’t want to know the Cat Man when he gets worried. You read?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.” Whatever was in the paper bag shifted again. I jumped.
Raven smiled. “Don’t look so scared, people will notice. Anyway, Cat Man’s not into hard stuff. He has his own racket. Don’t ask what.”
“I won’t,” I said. I tried to smile back at her, but it didn’t come off too well.
She gave me a little push to get me going. I walked out the door and went around to Garden Street. I was kind of shaken up after what Raven had said about Cat Man getting worried. I mean, I knew a job with the Night Riders would probably be borderline, I just hadn’t thought what that would mean.
Right then, on the sidewalk in front of the house, I saw that dog again, the skinny one that had puked up the rat.
He looked terrible. His eyes were sunk in and his mouth was hung open with some kind of yellow drool coming out. He looked like he was about to die. Maybe he recognized me, too, because he started to come over. I jumped away and ran by him.
“Scram!” I yelled. “KEEP AWAY, you dirty mutt.” He was just a sad little thing asking for help, but this scared feeling had come into me about everything that was happening. I didn’t want him near me for anything in the world.
The Job
I PICKED UP MY bike at Jupiter, and rode over to Oak Street, which runs parallel to Summerville Avenue. I didn’t want Cyndi to see me going by Saturn, so I stayed on Oak for a while before cutting over. After a year of living around there, I knew the streets pretty well from driving with Mom, even if I hadn’t biked on all of them.
Finally, I cut over to Summerville. Rush hour had already started. A mass of traffic was screaming along. When you’re downtown like that, you’ve got to watch out for cars turning into the side streets. Some people are so crazy to get somewhere, they’ll drive right over you and never even see what they did.
I came to Bolton, parked my bike in the entrance to the empty hardware store, and looked around for green Pintos. It was 3:35 on my watch. I beat the time by ten minutes.
The Pinto must have been watching for me, because a few seconds later, up it comes to the corner and stops. I go over and pass the bag in the passenger window. Like clockwork, out comes a hand with another bag. It’s all going down so smooth and fast, I’m not even nervous.
Then, just as I’m stuffing the bag in my jacket pocket, my eye catches on something dark across the street. I look up. There’s a cop staring straight at me. He’s standing there with his hands on his hips, staring.
My knees went weak. Before I could do anything, off goes the Pinto into the traffic and it’s just me and the cop, facing each other across the street. I was so scared, I didn’t know if I could walk.
Somehow I did, I guess, because suddenly I was on my bike pedaling back down Summerville. I didn’t look behind me. I just pedaled and pedaled with everything I had. About three blocks down, I cut off Summerville and looped around on some back streets. Even then I didn’t feel safe. The whole time I thought the cop was on my tail, I thought I was a goner.
I swung back onto Oak Street, took Reed Street across Washington, and came down Garden Street from the other direction, going about a hundred miles an hour. Well, maybe not a hundred, but twenty-five at least. Just before I came to 5446, I sneaked a look over my shoulder.
The cop wasn’t there. Or not yet, anyway. I turned in the drive, flashed around in back, threw my bike on the ground and crouched down against the side of the house, sucking air. For a while, it seemed as if the wind was still screaming by my ears. Then, slowly, everything died down into one long, terrible silence.
That was the worst silence I ever lived through. When it goes quiet like that, you start thinking like a madman. Your mind takes over. I was sure the cop was coming. I had myself going downtown to jail. I had my mother looking at me through the bars. I swear I heard the cop’s cruiser pull into the driveway. Maybe it was a breeze crunching around in some branches, or maybe he really did come by, I don’t know. It took me about a century to get up the nerve to look around the side of the house. When I finally did, nothing was there.
I got a hold of myself and went and knocked on the Night Riders’ door. One of the Night Riders came. It was this kid I remembered from the hold-up at Wong’s.
“Hey, it’s only me, Ringo.” He laughed. I guess I must have looked kind of wild. “How’d it go down?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said. I gave him the paper bag, which felt empty, if you want to know. It felt like there was nothing in it.
“That’s what money feels like in a paper bag,” Raven told me later. “Even a couple of hundred bucks feels like nothing, especially if it’s in big bills.”
Ringo took the bag downstairs. About five minutes later he came back and gave me a ten-dollar bill.
“The Cat Man says come by tomorrow. You probably got another job,” he said.
“Tell him I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if I can make it tomorrow.”
“Well, try,” Ringo said. “The Cat Man says he can use you. You did real good. You did record time.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” I didn’t want to get into a discussion about it.
I picked my bike up off the ground and rode out. All I wanted was to get away from there. The cop was still in my mind. I was sorry I’d ever bumped into the Night Riders, sorry I’d run that job. I knew it was about the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my life, and I never wanted to see Garden Street again.
Oggie wasn’t ready to go when I got to Mrs. Pinkerton’s. Everything had happened so fast that I was early. Mrs. Pinkerton’s helper made me stand in the hall and wait. I didn’t mind. I was working on getting myself back to normal.
I started watching the kids. They were running around and yelling, grabbing things and ganging up on each other behind Mrs. Pinkerton’s back. If you stop and really look at what’s going on with little kids, you see they can be just as rotten to each other as big kids. They get the same dirty looks on their faces and pull the same stunts. The only di
fference is, everything in their world is small, and the action goes on at about three feet and under, so it’s easy to miss.
Oggie got his coat on at last and came out.
“How’d you do today?” I asked. He always looks a little gray when he gets out of Mrs. Pinkerton’s.
“Okay,” Oggie said. It reminded me of me answering Dad’s questions about school, putting the best face on things.
“Who was that redheaded dude pushing people into the wall?” I asked.
“Marvin,” Oggie said. “He’s a bad actor.”
I laughed. That’s what Dad always says about people at his job.
“You don’t let Marvin push you around, do you?” I asked.
“No,” Oggie said. “I just go in the closet.”
Dad would have hated to hear that. He believes in people standing up for themselves. He would have said something to try to make Oggie shape up. I let it pass, though. Oggie’s not a fighter and most likely never will be. I could see how I’d probably be looking out for him the rest of our lives. Not that I’d ever mind. He’s my brother.
“Did you get my wallet?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“I know.”
I wished like mad I could tell him what happened, the kind of wall I’d run up against with the Night Riders, but I couldn’t. The only thing to do was keep up a good front and try to think of another plan.
I guess I could’ve handed him the ten-dollar bill to show I was trying. But I knew that wouldn’t be enough, and he’d probably think I was going to let him down. The last thing Oggie needed right then was to think that somebody else planned to let him down.
“Hey, Oggie. Did you know that Amory Ellington met another kid, an investigator just like him, in the Mysterious Mole People’s kingdom?” I said as we walked along.
“When did he do that?” Oggie said, only half-interested. He was still in the dumps.
“Recently,” I said. “In the last twenty-four hours.”
How I Became a Writer and Oggie Learned to Drive Page 5
