A.N. – This chapter is part of the reason for why this story has such a high rating. It contains implications of child abuse and gritty scenes which may make some uncomfortable. Nothing explicit, but not shying away from the ugliness of living on the streets. Many people in real life face equally if not more horrifying circumstances in our country. It is no use trying to make it seem grander, more romantic than it is. So, you have been warned. This is not for those with delicate sensibilities.
Chapter 3
---
"Alright, brats! Get up. Dawn's almost here!"
The rough shout was enough to make Remy stir under his ratty blanket. He shivered. The brown, scratchy material did little to keep out the chill morning air. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. Not that there was much to see. The floor he was laying on was wood, old, scratched, and covered in filth. There was another stirring brown lump just a few feet away from him. That would be Joey. He too must have been woken by Fullard's call.
Remy yawned and stretched. Every bit ached.He was tired. Very tired. He was hungry too, but he was always hungry. He'd probably been out late last night, picking wallets from the drunks wandering back from the bars. Judging from how dark the drafty room was, it wasn't dawn yet. He frowned. Fullard usually didn't wake them before dawn if they'd worked the drunk bit the night before.
Not that Remy would remind Fullard of this. He didn't want to be hit.
Pushing his dirty auburn hair from his eyes, the undersized boy quickly scrambled to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He hastily bent down again and picked up the battered pair of sunglasses that had lain next to him in the night. He knew Fullard didn't like it when he didn't have them on. Something was wrong with is eyes, and it made the others nervous.
That done, he quickly made his way to stand before the hunched man. Joey had managed to emerge too, and stood next to him as the rest of the kids began to fall into line. Remy couldn't see into all of the corners of the room, not with his sunglasses on and only the small, dirty light bulb illuminating the room. But he saw enough. He'd always been able to see better than the others in the dark.
Other children began to emerge from the ratty blankets. They were shivering, the drafty building let in the cool morning air, and their clothing did little to protect them. The kids themselves blended together with their surroundings. Ranging in age from 3 to 14, they were all dirty and too thin. The Children's Guild. Usually orphans, kids of prostitutes, drug addicts, and gang members, Fullard had taken them in, teaching them to pick pockets, making his own guild. Remy was five. He'd been here since he could remember.
Joey shifted next to him. He was a few years older than Remy, though not much taller. Though Remy was woefully thin, he was tall for his age. He could almost look Joey right in the eyes. Not that he ever did without the sunglasses. Joey was paler than him, and coughing, again. Remy didn't look well, with bags under his eyes, being unnaturally thin, and always dirty. However, Joey looked worse than him. Remy had heard him coughing through much of the night. Everyone had for the last week. Joey hadn't been doing very well picking pockets, either. Which meant Fullard gave him less food. The coughs made his whole body shake, like it was trying to break in two.
Remy frowned. He'd have to try to get some extra for Joey today. He owed him. Despite his misfortune, Joey was the one who looked after Remy. Remy was always getting picked on by the other kids. It was his devil eyes. They called him Le Diable Blanc. When things got a bit too rough, Joey told them to back off. It was well known Joey had Fullard's ear, and no one wanted to draw Fullard's attention. Though recently, Joey didn't seem to command Fullard's favor in the same way.
"A'right. We all gonna go out today. You've all done crap work." Fullard's breath filled Remy's nostrils, smelling of alcohol, again. No doubt he'd spent all their earnings on the drink last night. "Y're not bringing in enough money. No food. None, fer three days. And it'll be longer if ya don' start bringing more in!"
Three days without food? And more money? Remy brought in more in the last few days than he'd ever had. How could he get more? He didn't know why, but he couldn't last as long as the others without food. He went weak. Thinned out faster. No matter what Fullard said, he'd have to take time to steal food. Couldn't work, otherwise. And what about Joey? The other children seemed to blanch even more at the news. Not that any of them moved or dared to say anything.
"GET!" Fullard threw the nearest kid out the door, and the rest scrambled behind. No one wanted to be the last out and subject to Fullard's rage.
Outside, in the dark of predawn, the children skittered off, melting into the shadows. Remy joined them, pushing his dark sunglasses up to make sure his eyes remained covered. He slinked down an alley, headed towards the bakeries. The Guild House wasn't far from the French Quarter, and he knew the bakers would be the first up and moving today. He paused briefly and frowned. He could hear Joey's cough from two blocks down.
---
By late morning, Remy's hands were shaking. Yesterday had passed in a blur of hunger. The day before had been tough, but not as bad. It was now the third day. Remy had only taken time to snatch some bread yesterday. That he'd shared with Joey, who could barely walk now. He worried that if he didn't bring in enough money today, Fullard would extend the time without food.
The man before him obviously had money. Wasn't too bright either. Remy saw him sell a jewel to another man, saw the money go into the pocket of his trench coat. He could still make out the outline of the wallet. But his hands were shaking. He was dizzy, the distances seemed longer and then suddenly shortened. He was beyond hunger. He felt his belly was a huge cave squeezed down, clamped down into a painful ball.
Joey was sick. If Remy was able to get this man's wallet, with all that money…
Maybe Fullard…
His small form crept forward, as silently as he could make himself be. Small, unnoticeable. No one turned. The man was still talking, unaware. Just a bit more. His hand stretched out to the pocket, trembling. A bit, a bit more…Merde! He'd hit the jacket! How could he have hit the jacket?! He hadn't done that since he first learned to pick! He couldn't have misjudged, it was there, right there, and…
Merde. The man. He was looking at him. Right at him.
Remy took off down the nearest alley, stumbling as he ran.
---
Jean Luc was impressed. The normal street urchin couldn't get anywhere near him without him noticing. This one had nearly nabbed his wallet. Right out of his pocket. But he'd missed.
He'd immediately turned to see who had tried to pick his pocket. The boy was scrawny, underfed, and very filthy. Not to mention the smell. His eyes were covered with large, dark sunglasses. The gaunt face was painful to look at. He looked like he should be from some war torn country in Africa, rather than in the midst of wealthy tourists in Louisiana. The boy seemed to be frozen in shock, but only for a second. He was soon trying to run away. Though, he seemed to be falling, more than running. Normally, Jean Luc wouldn't have given it a second thought. A child trying to pickpocket you in the French Quarter was as common as hearing the French language itself. However, he had almost managed to pick the pocket of the head of the Thieves Guild. That was something to note.
---
"Joey, Joey, wait!," Remy whispered in the alley in front of Fullard's base.
"Remy? Tha' you? Didn' see you there." Joey turned, squinting into the dark alley. It was well past midnight, past the prime pickpocket hours. Time for the kids to report back to Fullard with what they'd collected, so he could go out and drink.
"Joey, I got more." Remy slinked closer to Joey, sitting beside him in the dirt next to the dumpster.
"Wha'? What ya mean, ya got more? No one could'a got more than Fullard wanted." Joey crept forward, crouching down next to Remy. Joey peered at his friend. Remy's hands were clasped around something.
"Look," Remy opened his hands, revealing a cache of bills, folded and thick.
"Where you get all that?" Joey whispered, awe in his voice. It looked like more than he'd ever managed to get in a week, let alone a day.
"Bunch 'a tourists. Couple 'a stupid people, down by the docks." Remy began dividing the bills, making two piles on the dirty asphalt. "Got enough, can split it, yah? You get half, I get half, plus you have what ya got before."
"Why? Why would ya?"
"'Cause. I don' need all it. Fullard would just wan' me to bring in tha' much normally if ah did." Remy slipped his dark glasses off, revealing his glowing pupils. Though Joey could only make out his outline, Remy could see him quite well. He looked paler than usual, and he was sweating, even though it was a cool night. He was sick, really sick.
"T'anks, Remy. I'll help ya, no matter what." Joey smiled, and Remy smiled too. Together, the two boys carefully picked up the precious bills, and made their way into the building, to present their earnings to Fullard.
---
"Where did ya get tha' money?" Fullard growled, eyes narrowed at the two boys before him.
"Docks. Bunch 'a tourists," Remy replied. Joey just coughed. They were in Fullard's personal room. Remy had never been inside. Fullard didn't let them in. Though Joey had been in there before. Before he'd lost Fullard's favor. Before he'd gotten sick. Now both boys had been ushered inside after showing Fullard the cache of money.
"Worked together, then?"
Joey slid down to sit, his back against the wall, his tiny frame shaking as he tried to breath.
"Yah, that's right," Remy said, looking back at Fullard.
Fullard grinned. He didn't normally grin. Remy shifted his weight, glancing back at Joey. Joey just stared back at him, not saying a word. Revealing nothing.
"We gonna go now? Get some food?" Remy asked, backing away from Fullard. He didn't know why, but the grin still on Fullard's face was unnerving him. He just wanted to go.
"Didn' say ya could go, Diable Blanc." Fullard reached out, grasping Remy's frail wrist tightly in his meaty hand.
"Joey, make sure no one bothers us. We're gonna be busy," Fullard ordered, his voice low and husky.
Joey stood shakily, looking at Remy. Remy was pulling, squirming, trying to free his wrist from Fullard's suddenly steely grip. His red, glowing eyes sought out Joey, pleading. Fearful.
Joey stood, just a moment more, then left. Turned and left, walking quietly out of the room, locking the door behind him.
Fullard pulled Remy closer, still grinning. The money lay forgotten, scattered on the ground.
---
"What took ya so long?" Henri asked as Jean Luc entered his study, removing his heavy coat and draping it over the chair behind his mahogany desk. Henri watched as his father turned to look at him.
"A boy nearly got my wallet today."
Henri blinked. Jean Luc smiled. Did he mean...No, surely not.
"You're joking, right? No one gets near you." Henri moved closer, eyes squinted. What was he saying? What did he mean by that? Jean Luc just smiled.
"Not joking. Small thing. Couldn't have been any older than four. Maybe five." Jean sat down, pulling the canter of bourbon to him and pouring a bit of the amber liquid into a glass.
Henri took a seat in one of the maroon chairs opposite of him. He ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. His thirtieth birthday was approaching and already he was loosing his hair. Not like his father. Past fifty, Jean Luc still had a full head of nearly black hair. It was only just now showing a slight sprinkling of gray.
"Got to be Fullard's." Henri said, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. A child that small wasn't generally a proficient pickpocket, unless taught how. And the French Quarter was part of Fullard's territory. Though, his urchins never had been proficient enough to nearly take a wallet from a Theif, especially not the patriarch of the Guild's wallet.
"That's unusual," was all Henri said. "What are you thinking?"
Jean Luc took a sip of the alcohol and then set it down again, leaning back into his chair. The room was fairly dark, not only because it wasn't well lit, but also because of the way it was furnished. Mahogany furniture, walnut shelves filled with books. And a few display cases, filled with varied objects. A dagger inlaid with jewels. A bronze figurine, a richly decorated magnifying glass. In the corner was a large, standing globe, made of semi-precious stone and precious gems. Everything from opal to diamond. A normal man may have locked such valuables in a safe, but then Jean Luc wasn't a normal man. No one could penetrate the security around him. Besides, someone would have to be crazy to try to steal from the King of Thieves.
"Such talent is a rare gift. It shouldn't be wasted in Fullard's rotten company," Jean Luc said, looking at him.
Henri nodded.
"How are you going to integrate him? It's been a long time since we've taken anyone outside of the family." The Guild was a closely knit group. Members were family, raised in the art of thievery. Trained from a young age. The only outsiders in many years had been the spouses members. And none of them had taken any jobs. Instead, they played other roles in the guild. Caretakers of children, housekeepers and the like. His own wife, Merci, was good at working with Tante Mattie in taking care of kids and treating wounds.
"He'll be family. Our family. Your brother." His father was looking at him, waiting for his reaction. Brother? Henri didn't know what to think. It made sense. As an adopted child of Jean Luc LeBeau, the kid would be tied firmly to the guild. Raised and trained to make the best use of his apparently natural talent. But a brother? A younger brother? He'd been an only child for so long. What would it be like, having a kid running around the house?
"Makes sense," was all he said. "You want us to contact Fullard?"
"Yes, if you would. Convince him that he'd be better off without the child." In other words, convince him he didn't want the wrath of the Thieves Guild focused on him, Henri thought.
"When?"
"A month from now. I have some things to get in order." Henri stood to go, turning toward the heavy wooden door. In a month he'd have a brother.
"Henri?"
He stopped, turning to see his father had risen from his chair, and was walking toward him. Jean Luc still was a few inches taller than him. His blue eyes locked with his.
"You're my son. Always will be." His father hugged him, strong arms embracing his body. Henri smiled, hugging him back.
"It might be nice to have a brother," he whispered back.
---
Remy felt cold. He didn't know what had happened to his shirt. Was probably still there. He shivered against the wall. The main room was empty. All the others were out working, picking pockets. It was late morning. Not Remy. Fullard had ordered him to stay. In case he needed him again.
He'd tried to throw up. But he didn't have anything in his stomach to empty. Instead, he'd just dry heaved in the corner, acid burning his throat. He couldn't think. Couldn't. Cold. He was so cold.
He heard the door creak. He tried to ignore it. Didn't want to think what it meant. Couldn't think. Wouldn't think.
He felt the hot hand on his neck, sweaty, disgusting. He flinched, tried to squish into the wall. But it was irresistible. Pulling, demanding. That hand. That horrid, hot, sweaty hand.
He was in the corner again when Joey came back. Shirtless, shoeless, no socks. Cold sweat covered his thin frame. His ribs stuck out harshly. Joey didn't say anything. Didn't ask. Didn't talk about it. He just went and got two of the blankets from the floor. He touched Remy's shoulder. He flinched.
Joey paled. He knew. Still, he said not a word, just wrapped his friend in the blanket and sat down next to him.
"You knew. Why? Why'd ya go?" Remy asked, his voice hoarse, accusing. Joey didn't say anything. He knew. He didn't want it to be him, so he'd left Remy to take his place.
"Ya left. You said you'd help. No matter what."
Joey said nothing. He stood, looking at Remy. Small, squished to the corner, covered in the two ratty blankets, still shivering. It was him or Remy.
Joey left. He chose himself.
---
Two weeks. Two weeks since he'd first been in Fullard's room. He'd been given more food than the others since that time. Now that Fullard…he'd been allotted more food. He couldn't stomach it. Half the time he heaved it up again. But he ate it. He would never turn down food. Couldn't afford to.
At least he was working again. Picking. If he tried hard enough, he wouldn't think of it. Instead, he became more daring, plotting the best ways to get the wallets of the richer, more paranoid people. He was better than ever.
He didn't talk to Joey anymore. Or the other kids. He always slept as far away from them as possible. Alone. He just didn't talk anymore. He didn't hide his eyes from them either. He wanted them to be scared.
He still wore the glasses outside. The light still stung his sensitive eyes and it was still better not to attract attention. He'd done well today. Again. Like always. It was just past 5:00, people would be rushing about, heading home soon. Too busy. He'd wait 'til closer to 6:00 to pick some more. When people were more relaxed, on their way to restaurants for supper.
In the meantime, he decided to hide out in an alley next to one of the hospitals. He took off the glasses, which were rubbing his face, making his ears sore. He'd nicked a few roles from the bakery down the street. He was nibbling on them when the maintenance door opened.
---------------
Kathy had been promoted not long after that night. The night she'd taken the infant. They never knew it was her. Never suspected. Though, they'd never really tried. Dr. Hunst had looked resigned about it when he'd heard. Almost like he'd expected it to happen. Like he knew the baby would just disappear. She watched as his blank eyes, watched his blank expression when he was told. Ever since, he'd always seemed blank to her.
She'd waited a few days before calling the number again. Waited to make sure no one suspected her. Waited to give him time to get used to having a new baby. Then she'd called. She just wanted to check up on him.
A woman answered the phone. She had no idea who Dr. Essex was. Baby? Her baby was over a year old, and why did she have this number? Kathy had been advised, rather forcefully, to never call again.
That's when she'd remembered. Remembered all the twinges, the uneasiness around the man, the subtle oddities. How could she have been so stupid? Now she realized. Now, when it was too late.
And she'd been promoted. That was the worst part of all. No late nights for her, only occasionally working weekends, no working holidays. More time to herself. More time to remember.
She drank. Not an alcoholic, she never got drunk, but she drank just the same. Spent hours with the lights turned off, in her apartment, nursing a drink, letting infomercials run on the T.V. It was the same dirty apartment she'd had five years ago. She could afford more now, a nicer rental, maybe even a down payment on a house. She didn't bother.
Kathy didn't bother about a lot of things now. The dishes would pile up in the sink, she never wore make-up, didn't do much with her hair. She didn't sleep well, either. She almost always had dark circles under her eyes at work. Work. Kathy still did that. She worked hard, did the best she could. Trying, trying to make up for what she did. Not that she ever could, in her mind.
Her shift ended at five now. She collected her stuff from the staff room, and moved down that hallway. Past the room where he'd stayed. Out the same maintenance door she'd gone out that night. Forced herself to remember. To punish her idiocy.
She was rummaging about in her purse for her car keys when she looked up. Kathy didn't know what had caused her to look over at the dumpster. Some movement, a flicker of red, some feeling? She didn't know. But she did. And there were the red eyes.
She froze. It couldn't be. Red eyes, glowing, surrounded by black. Auburn hair, though it was so dirty you could hardly tell. So thin. Emaciated, almost. God, he was so thin. And his clothes. If you could call them that. No more than rags really, all reduced to the same dirty gray color, no matter what color they'd originally been. And the burning red eyes. Still so intense. Knowing.
God. He was alive. Sort of. He looked a bit like a corpse, but there was food in his hand, his thin chest was moving up and down, he was breathing. There. He blinked. Alive, yes. Oh God. He must be living on the street. She had to help, get him in the hospital, feed him, something!
Katy took a step toward him, the shock still apparent on her face. The boy twitched, and then was gone. Just gone. Disappeared, so quickly down the alley. Gone. He was gone. There for no more than a few seconds, then gone.
Kathy collapsed to the dirty asphalt, he purse dropped, the keys forgotten. She just sat, staring blankly at where the eyes had been.
---
It hadn't been hard to arrange a meeting with Fullard. Henri just spied one of the street urchins roaming the French Quarter, pulled him aside and gave him a message to deliver to Fullard. The kid didn't say much, didn't acknowledge that he worked for Fullard. But Henri was confident that the message had been delivered.
It was just past dusk when the kid appeared. Joey? Was that his name? Henri couldn't remember and didn't really care. The ratty kid looked like he belonged in the alley, part of the dirt and the trash, but not a true thief. Not one with the shadows. If he had been, Henri wouldn't have noticed. No, this one was doomed to mediocrity. A rat if he ever saw one.
Henri himself could have just disappeared into the shadows. He was dressed in all black, the subtle clothing blending well with the surroundings, yet not so unusual that they couldn't pass in the busy streets with the crowd of people. He could have escaped the urchin's notice altogether, but he needed the brat. No doubt he was sent to lead him to Fullard.
The kid approached slowly, looking wary. He stopped just short of Henri's reach. Untrusting. Henri just nodded. The kid turned away, walking back the direction he came, and Henri followed.
He didn't say anything as they walked. Instead, Henri just watched, took in the surroundings. They were moving farther away from the main thoroughfares, farther from the decadence of the French Quarter, into the decay that marked the slums. Henri hated coming here. Nothing worth stealing, and never needing the services of the lowlifes, the Thieves had no reason to tread down these shadowy streets. The smell alone was deterrent enough.
Fullard was not a character he liked to deal with either. Greasy, drunk, and a pervert. His Children's Guild was a shameful aspect of the city. A place where humanity decayed and the lowlife perverts of the next generation created. Disgusting as it was, it was left alone. No one else took care of the kids. Abandoned by what parents they might have had, the government certainly wasn't going to do anything for them. The government was more concerned with the wealthy and their votes, making only token efforts towards the poor to appeal to the middle class. The rot was unavoidable. At least with the mockery of a Guild, it was somewhat contained.
The boy brought Henri to the most dilapidated building he'd seen yet. Without stopping or looking back, the kid opened the weathered door, and stepped back, holding it open for him. Henri entered, confident Fullard wasn't smart enough to stage an ambush. He stepped into the room and heard the door close behind him. Only one dusty light bulb lit the room. Maybe twenty sets of eyes reflected the light, all gazing at Henri, in his subtle, but well kept clothing. Perhaps seven others were laying down on the dirt covered floor, with tattered blankets pulled over them. The stench was incredible. Sickening smell of unwashed bodies and a pathetic lack of sanitation.
His guide led him across the room. Henri followed, careful to avoid stepping on any of the sleeping forms, avoiding the as much of the filth as possible. He passed one kid, a little girl, who was eating some moldy bread. No wonder most of the kids seemed ill.
Henri turned away, disgusted. For the first time, he really thought about what the kid he'd be picking up would be like, his new brother. An urchin. Filthy. Starved. With lice. It made him sick.
The room the kid led him to wasn't much better. A beaten up bed in the corner, a few blankets in slightly better condition, a pillow. And bottles. Lots of bottles. The smell of alcohol and sweat mixed. And there was Fullard. Sitting in wooden chair, far to small to support the overweight man's bulk.
Fullard turned to look at Henri. He smiled, yellow rotting teeth showing between his cracked lips.
"Ya can go, Joey," Fullard ordered. The kid looked briefly between the two, before going out the door, into the other room. He closed the door behind him.
Fullard didn't move, didn't stand or offer Henri a seat. Not that he would have sat down in this place anyway.
"Wha' can the great Children's Guild do fer ya?" Fullard said, grinning up at him.
"The Guild? Do you mean that pathetic group of underfed kids out there? Nothing. They can do nothing," Henri replied. He stared at Fullard, at his gut, the dirty yellow shirt, stained with spilled drink. The few stands of greasy, gray hair still clinging to his bald head.
"Well, ya'r tha' one that wan'a meet wit me. Wha' ya want then?"
"A boy from your Guild nearly picked Jean Luc's wallet about a month ago."
"Is tha' all? Well, din' get it, did he? So, what's the problem?" Fullard shifted, leaning his weight back on the chair, propping it on only two legs. The chair groaned in protest.
"The point is, he nearly got his wallet. Managed to sneak up on the head of the Thieves Guild. And we want to know which kid did it. That's the point." Henri shifted as well, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.
"Yah wan' ta punish 'im?" Fullard asked, not at all concerned.
"Look, just bring the kids out so I can talk to them."
Fullard grunted, shifting again in his chair. The wood groaned again, then gave out with a crash. Fullard dropped straight down, landing on his back and hitting his head on the table on the way down.
Henri smirked. Pushing off the wall, he strolled over to gaze down at the man on the floor. He quirked one eyebrow up, questioning.
"The kids?"
Fullard grunted again. Henri didn't bother hiding his soft chuckle. Stepping back, he let Fullard pick himself up, leaving the remnants of the chair splayed on the floor.
---
The urchins were lined up in the dank room in Fullard's attempt to make some pretense of keeping order in his guild. Some of the kids were coughing, others swiped their noises with their grubby hands. None of them watched Fullard pacing back and forth, all of them gazing fixedly at Henri. They knew who was in charge of this meeting. Knew who was responsible of having them roused and brought in front of the two men.
Henri smirked. These kids were smarter than the man who professed to lead them. Not that it was a hard of a feat to accomplish.
"Now, listen up, ya brats. This man here," Fullard pointed unnecessarily at Henri, "says one of ya tried to pick the pocket of the head of his Guild. Which one of ya was it?"
Not surprisingly, none of the urchins spoke up. Hell, like they'd know if whose pockets they were picking. Henri stepped forward. They weren't going to get anywhere with Fullard questioning them. He'd already been here longer than he'd like to be.
"Look, I just want to know if any of you tried and failed to pick the pocket of this man. He would have been tall, with a big, black coat on. Dark hair. Thick wallet. Lots of money. Just meet with a man, sold a jewel. It would have been a month ago, just outside one of the really nice jewelry stores in the French Quarter. Any of you remember trying to do that?"
Still, none of the kids spoke. Henri was getting frustrated. Why would they bother to fess up to the failed deed? Would they even remember that one incident?
Finally, the boy who guided him spoke up.
"Was pro'bly Remy."
Fullard hacked. Henri glanced over at him. Fullard shifted foot to foot, sweat slipping down his fat face. Deciding to ignore him, for now, Henri walked over to the boy, squatting down to his level, and looking him in the eye.
"Why do you think it was Remy?"
"'Cause he's the only one who'd 'a tried. Rest o' us know we'd get caught outside a store like that."
Henri squinted at the kid, trying to see if he was telling the truth, or just trying to get an enemy in trouble.
"He's good, then?"
"Yah. 'Surprised he din' get the wallet. Guess has to 'appen sometimes." The boy turned aside, coughing feebly. Finished, he straightened and looked right back at Henri.
Henri straightened. Turning back to Fullard, he noticed the man's obvious discomfort.
"Which one's Remy?"
Fullard's little eyes quickly glanced up and down the line.
"Mus' not be back yet."
Henri turned back to the boy. Joey?
"That true?"
The kid just nodded. Henri patted the kid's bony shoulder. He felt him tense in response, but didn't pay it much attention. Kids living in this condition were bound to be skitterish. Instead, he turned back to Fullard, glancing at him to make sure he followed him, then moved to the corner of the room.
"I want to wait for this Remy to show up. Then I'm going to talk to him. You are not to interfere. You understand?" Fullard hesitated, looking around the room, as if he were afraid someone was listening.
"Look, ya aren' the on'y one interested in tha' brat. I got other interested parties."
"I don't give a damn about your other interested parties." Henri turned back to the line of kids. He moved back in front of Joey, leaving Fullard to sweat in the corner.
"Will you tell me as soon as Remy gets back? I'll just be over here, okay?" Henri pointed at the single chair in the room, situated directly across from the door. Joey nodded.
Henri moved back to the wall and sat down, facing the door. Fullard, recovering himself, moved quickly back to the center of the room, dismissing the kids, ordering a few out to work in the streets. Grudgingly, he left Joey to inform both himself and Henri of when Remy returned. He then went back to his own room, grumbling the whole way, and closing the door behind him.
Henri waited. Sitting on the chair, occasionally getting up to stretch and pace a bit before settling back down in the chair. This Remy, he seemed to be the most likely candidate. Remy. Good French name. Other interested parties? Was that just Fullard trying to keep hold of his most profitable pick-pocketer, or was there really someone else looking for the same kid as he was? If there was, who? And why? This entire situation was more complicated than he thought it was going to be.
It was past 11:00 when Joey approached him. Henri hadn't seen anyone come in the door.
"Remy back?" He asked, glancing quickly around the room, but not noticing any new faces. Joey shook his head. "Well?"
"You, I just…ya arn' gonna hurt him, are ya?" The kid was a quivering mess. Pale eyes looking imploringly up at him. Henri was surprised. Hadn't expected him to say something like that.
"No. Just want to talk," Henri assured him. Joey didn't seem convinced.
"Never jus' wanna talk." The kid didn't move an inch, still standing in front of him. Looking ready to take off at the slightest movement.
Henri smiled sadly. Yes, the kid wasn't dumb. Knew more than a kid that age should.
"How old are you?"
"Eleven. Bin here almos' as long as Remy."
"Yeah?" Henri sat up a little straighter. Maybe he'd find out a bit more about this kid who may be his new brother. "How long have you been here?"
"Four years. Remy still a baby then, though he was sorta walking."
Henri did the math in his head. That'd put the kid at about five. That was about the age Jean Luc guessed the kid would be. Merde. That was young. And he'd been here as a baby?
"Remy 'da best pickpocket dere is. Always get more than tha rest o' us. Even if he still be little." Henri swore the kid's voice hinted at pride. Probably helped the kid along. Taught him some. Without another word, Joey walked away, back to the blanket he'd left to come over to Henri. Back, not by the door, but by a small hole in the side of the building.
It was a little over an hour later when Henri noticed movement back by that hole. It was dark in that corner, but he could just make out a small, thin kid crawling through. Henri looked at Joey. He nodded.
Standing slowly, Henri carefully made his way towards the new kid, taking in his appearance as he did. Dark sunglasses on, despite the dimly lit room, dirty hair, couldn't make out the color with so little light. Tall for his age, though. Not much shorter than Joey.
The kid caught sight of him and froze. Joey quickly got up to go fetch Fullard from the other room. Henri kept walking towards him. Remy backed up, crouching down, prepared to skitter back out the hole in the wall at the first sign of danger.
Fullard crashed through the door, a heaving and bulbous mass. The kid visibly shook. Henri would have whipped around to glare at Fullard, but he was afraid that if he took his eyes off of the kid, he'd just disappear the way he came.
"Remy, get over here. Now," Fullard demanded, his words slightly slurred. Henri watched as the boy cringed, slinking forward silently and warily towards Fullard. Not that he went far. He was still a good five feet away from the man when he finally stopped. This seemed to enrage the drunk man. He lunged forward surprisingly fast, grabbing the kid's head and pulling him right up against his fat body.
"Tryin' ta keep yer' distance, are ya? I'll teach ya better than that." Fullard's hand was firmly in place on the boy's head, keeping the struggling kid firmly pressed against his sweaty thigh. Henri had seen enough.
"Fullard! The boy. Mine. Remember? No interfering." Henri rushed forward, glaring at Fullard, his body coiled, every muscle tense. Fullard froze, his gaze barely focused on Henri. He slowly nodded, then steered the boy into his own room. The kid protested mutely the entire way, squirming, trying to slip out of his grip. However, Henri followed closely, ready to grab the kid if he did manage it. He knew if the boy left the building, he'd probably never find him again. He couldn't let that happen.
Inside the room, Fullard flung the boy over to the wall, and latched the door shut. The kid quickly scooted as far from Fullard as he could get, pressed tightly into the corner, his knees folded firmly up against his body. Fullard grinned, but didn't move any closer. Henri glared a Fullard, silently warning him to stay out of this. He walked slowly over to the boy, as unthreateningly as possible. Crouching down, he tried to look the kid in the eyes, only to see himself reflected back in the opaque black plastic.
Couldn't have that. He moved swiftly, not giving the boy a chance to protest and removed the sunglasses from his face. Henri found himself stilled by searing red. Twin dots of burning red surrounded by glistening black. They were, without a doubt, the most shocking eyes he'd ever seen. And the look. Intense. Scorching. Fearful? There was so much emotion in those eyes. Henri stood up, and took a step back. Taking a breath, he turned to face Fullard.
"A mutant?" Fullard just nodded. Turning back to the boy, he noticed the light had diminished some from his eyes, a bit of a softer glow, and the look spoke more of fear and resignation, rather than defiance and anger. Henri crouched back down, looking to catch the full attention of the boy again. Hesitantly, the kid looked back up at his face.
"You're name Remy?" He spoke softly, trying to calm the obviously panicked boy. Merde. This was not what he'd expected at all. A mutant. A small boy with mutated eyes, raised by Fullard in this squalor. He wondered if his father knew what he was getting them all into.
The boy nodded. Remy nodded, Henri thought.
"Do you remember, about a month ago, trying to get the wallet of a tall man, in a black coat, outside a jewelry store? He just sold a big gem. Do you remember trying to do that?"
Remy nodded slightly. Barely perceptible. But he seemed to be calming, somewhat. His eyes still flickered nervously to Fullard's face, but he wasn't shaking nearly as badly.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Henri asked softly. Again, Remy's eyes flickered over to Fullard. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, swallowing. When he began to speak, his small voice sounded gritty, disused.
"Ah…ah saw 'im outside de shop. He jus' got a bunch 'a money from another man. Put it in his pocket. Big coat. Easy enough. But, ah hit the pocket. Hand kinda shook."
Henri nodded. Jean Luc had said it was a faint brush on his coat that first alerted him to the fact someone was trying to get his wallet. He had also just received a cash payment for one of the Guilds smaller jobs. Stealing a gem. He'd also described the kid as looking starved, probably too weak with hunger to keep his hands steady. Looking at the boy in front of him, Henri could believe it. He practically looked like a skeleton.
Henri nodded. He was convinced. He didn't know why, but something was telling him this was the boy they were looking for. Henri learned long ago not to dismiss his instincts. He stood up and turned to face the still grinning Fullard. Disgusting man. That grin just didn't look right to Henri's eyes.
"This is him. I'm going to take the boy back with me, and you are not to interfere, do you understand?" Henri kept his voice low and level, though the tension and underlying threat was prevalent not only in his tone, but in every line of his body.
"Ah can't. I mean, I got people interested in this boy. Can't have 'im disappear." Fullard ran a hand over his forehead, the grin finally gone from his face. He shifted back against the door, nervously eyeing the man in front of him.
"I said I don't care about your other interests. Now, move."
Still Fullard didn't move, looking down at Remy, still sitting in the corner. Henri turned back to the boy as well. He reached his hand out towards him. And he waited. Remy looked at his hand, back a Fullard, and then up at Henri. He gave a slight nod, and then put his own tiny hand in Henri's. Henri straightened, and Remy stood up, following him, though quickly letting go of his hand.
"Move." Henri demand through clenched teeth. Fullard moved. Henri moved out the door, with Remy following him at a distance. They moved though the room with the other kids, all of them watching them leave. Out the door, away from Fullard, away from the tattered blankets, away from the stench.
Henri kept moving down the alleyways and streets, with Remy following him. He kept the boy in the corner of his eye, but didn't force him to his side. Remy followed him all the way to where he'd parked his car. There they stopped, and Henri unlocked the door.
He turned to look at the boy. Remy had moved closer, but was still out of reach.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Henri tried to reassure him. "That man whose pocket you tried to pick? He's my father." Still no reaction. The red eyes just kept fixed on Henri's every move. "I promise, we aren't going to hurt you. He's not mad. He just wants to meet you." No movement. "You hungry? I'm sure I can get Merci to make you some gumbo." There. A flicker of interest. "Please, come with me. You decide you like Fullard's better, you can go back. Just give it a try."
Remy shifted, his eyes going back to the alley, looking back towards where Fullard was. Henri watched him visibly shudder. Without another word or any hesitation, Remy walked over to Henri. Henri opened the door, and Remy climbed right in.
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