From our room, we can only see the sides of some houses, patches of street, backyards. Sometimes one of us used to go into Mom’s room, spy out her window and report loudly on what we saw.
“Yeah, sure. Unless this is just for pity. Sympathy-spy,” I said.
Tom laughed. “Nah, this thing is pissing me off, and I’m tired. I’ll look out our window, and you look out Mom’s.”
“So, full-spy?”
“Okay.” Full-spy is where we do a running commentary of what we are seeing, trying to make it funny. For example, a full-spy of the Greys’ house might go: “Mrs. Grey is at nine o’clock…garbage bag in each hand… wait…she stumbles…drops bags… we can only imagine the foul-mouthed swearing!” Mrs. Grey runs a day care and is the sweetest lady you’ll ever meet.
We’ve almost never seen anything important. Nobody interesting lives near us. But that was the funny part. We made it seem like the innocent people around us were total maniacs.
I clicked off the lights and went and stood at Mom’s window.
“O’Donnells are watching TV,” called Tom from our bedroom. “Breaking Bad…scanning for meth lab in their basement…”
“Mrs. Sharma scrubbing windows,” I called back. “Must have been a lot of spattering from that knife attack…”
Maybe you had to grow up with the game to appreciate it.
Anyway, we kept it up for a while. My binoculars swung left to right, house to house, back and forth.
Tom was calling out something about the new guy who lived down the way smoking in his backyard. But I wasn’t listening.
Because I had just seen something that made me pause. The house two doors down from the one behind us was totally dark. But there was a little flitting, flickering light upstairs. I could only see it once in a while. It danced along the windows at the back of the house, sometimes stopping, sometimes moving on.
I opened my mouth to play-by-play to Tom. Then I closed it.
That was a flashlight. A little one, but it was definitely a flashlight. Who uses a flashlight in their own home? Nobody. Nobody unless there is a power outage. I flicked Mom’s bedside light on and off. No outage.
I ran to our bedroom.
“Tom, Tom, I think the thief is in there. In that house,” I stammered, pointing out our window. But we couldn’t see it very well from this angle. What I didn’t say was And I think the thief is Uncle Dave.
“What? What makes you think that? Did you see them?”
“I saw a flashlight—it was a pretty small one, but it was all over the place.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean it’s a thief. I mean, we’ve used flashlights in here.”
“Yeah, but…”
I made a quick decision.
“I’m just going to go over there for a second. Just to see.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Charlie. I can’t help you.” Tom pointed to his cast. “What if things go south?”
“I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’ll just see what I can see. That’s all. It’s, like, three houses away. You can even watch me with the binoculars. There’s a bit of an angle where you’ll be able to see me. Anyway, I’ll just have a quick look.”
“Okay, but promise me you’re not going to do anything else. No being the hero. Mom would kill me if you got killed.”
“Promise. I'll be careful. It’s probably nothing anyway. I’ll be back soon.”
I pulled on my hoodie, slipped on my shoes and went out through the back door. Straight through the backyard. Over the fence. Through the O’Donnells’ backyard, up to the sidewalk. Then left one house, two houses.
Uncle Dave, if that’s you in that house, I swear to God I am going to lose it. You will have one hell of a freak-out on your hands, buddy.
The house was completely dark other than the porch light. I slipped behind some bushes and watched the upstairs windows. Nothing. No flickering light. Had I just imagined it?
I inched closer to the front windows. All the blinds were down, but one had got caught up on the corner. There was a small triangle of uncovered window.
I moved closer to the triangle, as close as I dared, and looked in.
I saw the thin beam of light on the main floor. Sweeping from side to side. Dancing up out of my vision, then coming back down. I was breathing hard now, my heart pounding. At one point the thief was right on the other side of the window from me. The little beam of light dropped to the floor, falling on the thief’s running shoe. I could actually make out that it was black with a smear of white paint or something on the toe.
I only saw it for a split second before a rumbling sound made me jump. What was that? Car headlights swept down the street, and I realized the garage door was opening. The people who lived here were coming home! Which probably meant the thief was going to come flying out of the house. But where? Back? Side? Which side?
I was desperate for a glimpse of him. I’d know Uncle Dave’s shape, even if he took off at a run, wouldn’t I? I heard a scrambling at the back of the house. The sound of feet running, bushes snapping. It was so dark, so confusing. The hum of the garage-door opener made it hard to pick up other sounds. I ran to the corner of the house and collided with somebody. Hard.
The person lashed out at me.
“Get him! Get him! What the—Charlie? Is that you? Did you see the guy?”
The guy grabbing me was Gary. Gary the mail carrier, grabbing my arms, shaking me. We stared at each other in the gloom, panting. He looked past me, his eyes getting huge behind his glasses.
“He’s getting away!” he whimpered. “Where…? There! There he goes! Down the alley!”
I whipped around and looked toward the alley. I thought I saw a movement over there, a shadow out of the corner of my eye.
We ran to the mouth of the alley. I beat Gary there by, like, five minutes. Let’s just say his skills are not those of an athlete. I looked down the alley. Dead still. And dark.
Was the guy long gone? Or was he crouched there in the dark, hiding behind a garbage can? That was a seriously creepy thought. Who knew? And I wasn’t about to find out.
“Uncle Dave?” I whispered. Just in case he was there. Just so he knew I knew.
Gary pounded up loudly, finally catching up to me.
He was really struggling to catch his breath. “I almost…had him. So…close.” He started coughing, bending over, the coughs racking his skinny body.
“Take it easy there, Gary. Have you been out here looking for this guy?”
“Patrolling,” he said through his coughing. Then he got it under control. “I’ve been watching out as often as I can. I was so close tonight. So close! I saw the flashlight! I would have shown that thief who’s boss. I would have shown him.”
Gary, what on earth would you have done if you caught him?
I had never felt so sorry for him. Lurking around in the dark, night after night, hoping tonight would be his big chance to be a hero.
But then again, I was lurking around in the dark too. But that was different somehow.
“I’m sure you would have, Gary. Look, did you see the guy? Anything?”
“No. Just the flashlight,” he said dully. His shoulders sagged. “You?”
“Not much. Pretty much nothing. Just the beam of the flashlight. I was going for a walk. Thought I’d check it out.”
“Shoot.” Gary took off his glasses and wiped his face with a handkerchief. His eyes looked moist and red. “I saw a shadow run out of the house,” he said. “That’s it. A shadow. It seemed tall. Fast.”
To Gary, almost anyone would be tall, but my heart sank.
Uncle Dave was pretty tall. I’d never seen him run though. Was he fast?
And where the hell was he now? That’s what I wanted to know.
Chapter Seven
When I got home, Tom wanted all the details. He hadn’t seen much (you couldn’t from that window), but in a gap between the houses, he said, he had seen some guys running. I tried to give him a good st
ory—me out there in the dark, practically catching criminals with my bare hands, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t mention my suspicions of Uncle Dave at all. But that almost felt like lying. I wasn’t used to hiding things from Tom.
Mom came home around eleven. She looked tired and worn out. I sat with her in the kitchen for a few minutes while she ate some yogurt.
“You okay, Charlie?” she asked. “You’re pretty quiet. What did you and Tom get up to today?”
“Nothing much. Spy game.”
“You guys still play that?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I really appreciate that you’ve been taking such great care of Tom. What would we do without you, Charlie?”
“No prob. We’re fine, Mom. Don’t worry about us.”
She yawned. “Man, that was a killer of a double shift. But I’ll be home early tomorrow. Tom’s got that appointment with the surgeon at four thirty. Why don’t you come with us, and then we’ll get burgers after?”
“Sure, yeah, sounds good.” I was barely listening. What I was listening for was the door. I needed to talk to Uncle Dave. Tonight. I’d never get to sleep if I didn’t.
I might not get to sleep if I did.
“So tired,” said Mom. “I’m heading up. Love you, baby.” She kissed the top of my head. “You should get to bed soon.”
“I will. I just have to…I have to do this thing for school.” Lie. Ears turning red.
I sat in the dark living room, waiting for Uncle Dave. That’s what they always did in the movies when someone was going to confront somebody else. They sat in the darkness and waited. The time ticked by. Eleven thirty. Eleven forty-five.
Footsteps on the path up to the front door. A thud. A rattle of keys. Then the door opened.
Uncle Dave came in, kicked off his shoes, bent over and then neatly set them to the side. Would a criminal type actually do that? I mean, it was a little thing, but sometimes little things matter. Tidying up your shoes shows respect for other people, right? I was desperate to find any excuse for him. I liked him. I’d always thought he was a good guy. Was he a good guy?
I had to find out.
He was heading to the stairs. “Uncle Dave!” I called out.
He jumped big-time. I flicked on the light.
“Jeez, Charlie, you scared the hell out of me! What are you doing sitting there in the dark?”
“Actually, I’m waiting for you.”
“Why? Is everything okay? Is something wrong?” Again, this concern for other people. It was nice to see. It made me doubt my suspicion.
“Everything’s okay. I just need to ask you some questions.”
“Okay…like, now? It’s pretty late. Could it wait—”
“It can’t wait.”
He came and sat down on a chair. He looked completely puzzled.
“Where were you this evening?” I shot the question out at him.
He frowned. “At the food bank. The warehouse. I told you. Why?”
“You can’t have been there until now.”
“Well, no. Look, Charlie, what is all this?”
“Uncle Dave, I’ve been thinking about all the robberies in the neighborhood—”
“Doing some detecting? Good for you! Found anything out?”
I looked at him closely. He seemed interested. But not in a guilty way. Just regular interest. He was relaxed. Loose. Time to go in for the kill. I just hoped this didn’t get ugly.
“That box of jewelry you have downstairs. Where did you get it?”
“Jewelry?” He looked confused. His eyebrows went up.
“In the boxes against the wall downstairs.”
Uncle Dave’s eyebrows relaxed. “Oh, that,” he said. “I got that from… wait a second, you went through my stuff?”
“Well, yes. Sorry. There’s a lot of stuff down there, right? And I thought, I thought…” It was pretty hard to say it right out loud. I thought you might be the thief. So he said it for me.
“You thought that I might be the thief!” He said it with a shout of laughter. “Me?” He clapped a hand to his chest, laughing. Then he saw that I wasn’t laughing.
“Charlie, hand to God, I’ve never stolen a thing in my life. Not one thing. Not a chocolate bar, not a…not a grape from the grocery store!”
“Everybody steals a grape once or twice. They let you.”
“Mmm, maybe. But you probably shouldn’t.”
This was not going how I thought it would go.
“The jewelry,” I stammered. That was a fact. “Also bags of musical equipment.”
Uncle Dave ran a hand through his hair.
“Look, Charlie,” he said with a sigh, “the job market’s so tight, I thought I’d start a side hustle. That’s what they call it. Some work you do on the side, you know? Only right now it’s my main hustle. Anyway, I’ve got a little business going. I’ve been buying stuff at thrift stores and garage sales and reselling it on eBay.”
I must have looked skeptical, because he rushed on. “It’s true. I’m getting pretty good at it. I got that little jewelry box full for five bucks, and I think there’s a brooch in there worth at least thirty. Old. Vintage. I even pull stuff out of the garbage. Free! It’s amazing what people throw out. Found a pair of snowshoes last week. Got forty bucks for them! Pure profit. I figure out when garbage day is for the ritzy areas, and I look around. They’re throwing the stuff out—it’s not stealing.”
He looked down at his hands.
“Maybe that’s embarrassing to hear. I’m sorry if it is.” Uncle Dave sat back and ran his hands through his hair again. “I didn’t tell you and Tom about it because maybe I’m embarrassed by it. But it’s honest money, Charlie. I told your mom. And I’m making more now, so I can chip in a bit more for living here.”
“Well, that’s good,” I said. I felt really bad for ever suspecting him. “Look, Uncle Dave, I’m really sorry for going through your stuff—”
Uncle Dave held up his hand. “Stop. Forget it. You were just trying to figure things out. Come to think of it, it probably did look pretty suspicious!” He put his hand over his mouth because he was laughing. “Look, I’ll come clean. Totally clean.”
I leaned forward. What was he going to confess to?
“The music equipment isn’t for my business. I’m in a band, dude! I always wanted to be in a band. Played piano as a kid, so I’m on keyboard. It’s with the guys down the street, the ones who work on their cars all the time? Good guys.”
“The car guys? Down the street?” The guys who had just become my main suspects now that Uncle Dave seemed to be in the clear? Those guys? “I don’t know. They look pretty rough.”
“They’re cool,” Uncle Dave said. “Josh and Kyle. Drums, guitar. We practice almost every evening. I love it, man.”
“Tonight? Did you practice tonight?” I said quickly. Just because Uncle Dave was in the clear didn’t mean my detective work was done.
“No, they couldn’t. I went on a garbage run after the food bank. Glendale is a gold mine. Found a side table. Teak! Solid wood and needs oil, but I bet I can get fifty, sixty bucks for it! I left it on the porch. Do you want to see it?” He started to get to his feet.
“Maybe tomorrow. Look, Uncle Dave. How well do you know those car guys? Josh and Kyle. Like, have you been friends for a long time?”
“Not super well, I guess. Couple of months. Just got talking one day about one of their cars. Anyway, they said they needed another guy for their band. Got a space set up in their basement. I thought we might practice in the garage, but it’s crammed with stuff.”
Yes, all that stuff in the car guys’ garage.
Guys Uncle Dave has only known for a couple of months.
Guys who seemed to have lots of money for cars and musical equipment.
I had some work to do.
Chapter Eight
“Doorbell,” said Tom. As usual he didn’t even look up from his computer.
“Yeah, I heard it,” I said blearily. I looked at my clock: 9:00 AM. I pu
t my pillow over my head.
The doorbell rang again.
“I think it’s probably Gary with another package,” Tom said. “Sorry,” he added when he saw my face. “It might be my midi keyboard.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Oh my god,” I said. “Can’t he just leave the package on the porch?”
“With people stealing stuff all over the neighborhood? Please, Charlie. Could you just get the door? I owe you one.”
“You owe me lots more than one. Like, maybe…twenty.” I’m not very witty when I’m tired.
I ran down the stairs and checked the peephole. Gary. Of course.
“Hey, Gary.”
“Hi, Charlie. Another package for ya. For Tom, actually.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed at it, but he held on.
“Another Amazon. Music Central.”
I ground my teeth together. Again with the prying.
“Yep,” I said.
He let go and took out his handkerchief. He swabbed his runny nose. The poor guy had probably caught a cold with all his nighttime patrolling. He kept standing there, like he wanted to say something else. As usual, I didn’t have the heart to close the door on him.
“Hey, kid, those thieves didn’t get anything at that house. I asked the cops. I talk to the cops a lot.”
I’m sure they’re real happy about that, Gary.
“So no need for you to go poking around. Me and the cops, we got it covered. Bad luck last night. But I’m on it.” He looked at the mailbox as he said this.
Despite all the bragging and lumping himself in with the cops, Gary actually seemed worried about me. I was touched.
“Well, okay—”
“Could be dangerous. You never know,” Gary said to the doorbell.
“Anything you’re not telling me, Gary?” I asked.
“Nah. Well, nothing you need to know.” He smiled a little at a bush. “Nothing you need to know.”
Okay, I was sick of these sneaky attempts to get me to keep talking. I needed to get rid of him.
“You’re right, Gary. You are absolutely right. I’ll leave it to the professionals.” The sarcasm went right over his head. “You be careful out there.”
Watch Out Page 3
