Part 4
Stifling a yawn, Chris headed for the kitchen, stopping short at the welcome scent of coffee brewing. he called, pushing into the kitchen. The coffee maker was bubbling away on the counter, but the kitchen was empty. Frowning, Chris turned around, listening intently for the sound of the shower. All he heard was Buck's muffled snoring. What the....?
Good mornin'.
Chris spun around to see Vin watching him from the sofa. Morning. You're up early.
Vin shrugged. I always wake up early.
I hope you make good coffee, Chris said with a smile, moving closer to the couch. Buck can be a real bear if he doesn't get his morning dose of caffeine.
Vin gave him a hesitant smile.
Noting the book in the boy's hands, he said, I see you found something to read.
Vin looked down at the book then back at Chris, his eyes flickering with apprehension. I... um... I didn't think you'd mind?
Nah, go ahead, Chris said, smiling reassuringly. Reading's good for you. Least, that's what Sister Mary Catherine used to tell me in the fifth grade.
Vin smiled, the tension leaving his posture.
Which one caught your eye?
Vin held up the book.
Patriot Games. Chris nodded approvingly. One of my favorites.
Looked interestin'.
Buck chose that moment to come shuffling down the hall. he said in a sleep-muffled voice. Coffee ready?
Just about, Chris replied.
Buck flopped onto the couch with a sigh.
Vin hid a smirk, turning back to his book.
What're you smilin' about? Buck said, frowning at Vin.
Looking up nervously, Vin relaxed when he saw Chris chuckling behind his friend's back. Tilting his head thoughtfully, Vin pointed to Buck's hair. Bed head.
Buck ran his fingers through his unruly curls, which were currently sticking up in all directions. The ladies like my bed head, he sniffed.
Ain't no ladies here, Buck, Chris pointed out.
Buck said. I'm going to take a shower. He pushed himself off the couch and stomped down the hall to the bathroom.
Like I said, Chris explained. He's a bear before he has his coffee.
Guess so, Vin agreed.
What say we get ourselves some?
Vin followed him into the kitchen, heading directly for the coffee pot. Want me to pour you some?
Chris answered, pulling some mugs out of the cabinet.
Vin poured him a cup, then filled one for himself. Can I have some milk for this?
Go ahead. There's some in the fridge.
After returning to the table with the milk, Vin looked up and asked hesitantly,
Over there on the counter. Chris pointed to the sugar bowl, sitting near the coffee maker.
Vin retrieved that as well, dropping a healthy spoonful into his coffee. He stirred it carefully, then took his first sip with a smile.
Buck takes cream and sugar in his, too, Chris commented absently, taking a sip from his cup. This is pretty good. Where'd you learn to make coffee?
Vin shrugged, answering vaguely, Much to his relief, Chris didn't press him for further details.
Want to help me rustle up some breakfast?
Nodding, Vin joined Chris at the counter as he gathered what he needed. Together, they whipped up some pancakes and sausages, and had just finished eating when Buck strolled into the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower. He immediately poured himself a cup of coffee, taking a deep gulp.
Wide-eyed, Buck looked at the cup in his hand. This stuff'll put hair on your chest for sure.
You don't like it? Chris asked mildly.
Nah, it's good. Buck waved dismissively. Just a mite stronger than your usual brew.
Well, I didn't make it, Chris said. Vin did.
Buck took another sip. Not bad, kid. We'll have to get you to make some of this at the office. It's way better than the dishwater Nathan makes.
Vin's face reddened slightly at the compliment. It was a small thing, but he felt inordinately pleased that these men liked his coffee.
Eat up, Buck. We left you some breakfast on the stove, Chris said. Vin's gonna help me feed the horses.
Buck waved them off and started in on his breakfast. Chris and Vin got their coats and headed for the barn. Inside, Vin looked at the horses with a smile.
You ever ride, Vin? Chris asked while he was filling a feed bucket.
Vin answered. Stayed on a ranch for a while. Had my own horse. He had loved that horse. His foster father, Eugene Reed, had let him name the animal when he had purchased him. Seven-year-old Vin had named him Dusty, because his coat was a grayish-brown color that looked like he was covered in dust. Mr. Reed had laughed at that reasoning, but had agreed with him. He sighed, wishing he had been able to stay there. Then again, he never would have met Ezra if he had stayed with Mr. Reed. As far as tradeoffs went, he would take a brother over a horse any day.
Maybe we can do some riding this weekend.
Vin looked at him, stunned that the man would let him ride one of his horses.
Chris grinned at him. The boys were planning to come over this weekend for a barbecue, while the weather's still nice enough to have
Smiling, Vin turned to pet the nose of the horse nearest to him. It was something to look forward to... if he was still here on the weekend. As nice as this place was turning out to be, it was still missing one thing: Ezra. No place would feel right to him without his brother. The two of them had been through too much together to let fate screw up their plans now.
After making the rounds of the shops where they worked, to inform them of Vin's absence, Ezra made his way to the library.
Ms. Peterson took one look at him and immediately rushed to his side, guiding him to a seat. What happened?
Ezra repeated the explanation he had given Rosie, making the previous night's unpleasantness sound like a simple scuffle as opposed to the attempted sexual assault that it was. Thus far, all of Ezra and Vin's adult friends had been understanding about their desire to remain outside of the reach of Social Services, but if they thought the boys were in real danger, they would not hesitate to bring in the authorities. Ezra disliked lying, but he was even less fond of the child welfare system, so he had fabricated a less disturbing story to explain his injury and Vin's absence.
What are you doing here? Ms. Peterson chided sympathetically. You should be resting.
Ezra sighed. I was rather bored.
And worried about Vin? Ms. Peterson guessed.
I need to find him, Ezra said earnestly.
she began.
I just need to know where he is, Ezra pleaded. He paused, then looked her in the eye. I have to make sure he's safe.
All right, she said with a sigh. Let's start with what you know.
It was the ATF that took him away, Ezra said, relieved that she was going to help him.
They probably handed him over to social services. Unless... she frowned, tapping a finger against her chin.
Unless what?
Well, they might have pressed charges, which would mean he would be taken to a juvenile facility.
Ezra paled at that thought. Having spent some time in such facilities, he hated the thought of Vin being stuck in a place like that.
I'll make a few calls and see what I can find out, okay? She patted his hand gently, then walked back to her desk.
Ezra nodded, leaning back in his chair. He picked up the daily newspaper and attempted to concentrate on the headlines, but his thoughts kept turning to Vin and what he might be going through. Giving up on the paper, he pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and began shuffling them one-handed. The cards had been one of the few gifts his mother had ever given him, and even though she had had an ulterior motive in giving them to him, he still kept them with him all the time. It was a mystery, even to himself, why he didn't throw them away... like his mother had done to him.
Ms. Peterson's return roused him from his gloomy reverie.
He's not at juvenile hall, she said with a smile.
Thank god, Ezra said, slumping back into his chair.
Social Services doesn't have him either.
What does that mean? Ezra asked, his fears returning. Where is he?
The ATF had him last, so perhaps that's the place to start.
What would they want with Vin? Ezra wondered aloud. Then it hit him. The two ATF agents had known Digger. The dark-haired one had seemed upset upon finding the old man's body. They probably thought that Vin knew something about who killed him... or about the weapons Digger had mentioned in his short drunken discussion with MacDermott. Ezra wondered if one of the agents was the cop friend' Digger had called about the weapons.
What is it, Ezra? Ms. Peterson said, her voice betraying her concern.
Ezra assured her. I'm just worried. He had not told anyone about witnessing Digger's murder, and now Vin was being detained in his place. It was all his fault.
Maybe Vin will be able to call at some point? she offered. He knows this number, doesn't he?
Ezra nodded. He will try to contact me, if it is safe to do so.
Of course he will, she said encouragingly. Now, why don't you just relax and pick out a book to read. You won't do yourself or Vin any good if you make yourself sick with worry.
I'm rather tired, Ezra said. I'm afraid I didn't sleep much last night. I think I'll go home and take a nap.
That's probably a good idea.
Will you apologize to the children for me? he asked sincerely. I do hate to disappoint them, but I fear I'm not up to reading to them today.
I understand, dear, Ms. Peterson said comfortingly. You get some rest.
Giving her a weak smile, Ezra trudged out of the building, already planning his next move. There was no way he was just going to give up and wait. Vin wouldn't do that if their positions were reversed, so he wasn't about to give up on him, either. The ATF had Vin, so that was where he would start his search. With a new determination in his stride, Ezra headed for the federal building.
The massive gray building loomed upward, eighteen stories of government bureaucracy located within its concrete domain. Ezra stared at the building from his position in a doorway across the street, like he had been doing for the past hour. Now that he was here, he was at a loss as to what to do next.
Stupid, Ezra, he chided himself. What had he hoped to accomplish by coming here? Vin was nowhere in sight and he had no clue as to how he was going to find him. He couldn't exactly stroll inside and ask for him. He sighed and started walking back the way he came, threading his way through the lunchtime crush of pedestrians.
Scanning the crowd warily, as he usually did, Ezra pulled up short at the sight of the big, mustached ATF agent he had seen at the old factory the previous night. Turning on his heel, he ducked into the doorway of a copy shop, pretending to read the flyer that was taped to the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the man approached, chatting animatedly with a shorter, dark-haired man.
... long is he staying with Chris? the younger man said.
Don't know, the tall man – named Buck, if he remembered correctly – said in reply. Chris thinks the kid's interesting. I think he wants to....
The rest of the man's words were drowned out by the engine noise from a passing garbage truck, and Ezra turned to follow him and his companion. He felt suddenly energized, certain that they were talking about Vin. Their walk ended a few minutes later when the two men turned into a small restaurant. Ezra walked up to the building cautiously to take a closer look. The windows were made of frosted glass, so he couldn't see inside, and it was too risky to attempt to enter the establishment, so he continued past the doorway, stopping in front of a row of newspaper vending machines. He kept one eye on the door while he made the pretense of scanning the headlines.
He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes later, the two men exited the restaurant carrying several large paper bags. Affecting a casual stride, Ezra followed, hoping he could overhear more of their conversation. His efforts were wasted, however, since the only thing the two men discussed during their return trip to the federal building was the upcoming football season.
Watching the two men disappear inside the imposing building, Ezra blew out a breath and leaned against a mailbox, processing what he had learned. There was no doubt in his mind that the ATF agents still had Vin, and from what the big man had said, he was staying with a man named Chris. At the factory, he had heard the blond ATF agent identify himself to some policemen as Chris Larabee, so that gave him a place to start. All he had to do now, was find an address to go with the name.
He stared at the federal building while his mind considered and discarded various possibilities. His eyes slid to the underground garage he could see on one side of the building. Crossing the street, Ezra strolled casually along the sidewalk in front of the building, giving careful study to the metal garage door. At the end of the driveway was a post, topped by a card reader that controlled access to the garage. A camera mounted above the door provided extra security, monitoring vehicles entering the building. The door was marked Entrance Only', and Ezra assumed there was another similar exit door on the other side of the building. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he contemplated the possibilities.
Food's here, guys, JD called out as he and Buck carried their bags into the break room.
Vin, who was sitting at the table concentrating on his book, looked up quickly, startled by their boisterous entrance. Hurriedly, he marked his place in the book with the paper he had been using to assist his reading, and jumped up from his seat, retreating to a chair in the corner.
Where ya goin', kid? Buck asked. We got you some lunch, too.
Vin stared at him, surprised that they had bothered.
Hell, we ain't gonna let ya starve, Buck said, pulling out some sandwiches and potato chips.
Wouldn't be the first time, Vin thought to himself as he hesitantly made his way to the table.
Chris, Nathan, and Josiah joined them, eagerly digging into the pile of sandwiches.
What kind of soda do you want? JD asked as he poked his head into the refrigerator.
Anything is fine, Vin said quietly.
How bout Coke?
Vin nodded, accepting the bottle from the young agent. Buck handed him a sandwich and joined him at the table, tearing noisily into a bag of chips. The noisy camaraderie at the table gradually drew him in and Vin again found himself relaxing in the company of this unusual group of men. His eyes met Larabee's across the table and the blond tipped his bottle of soda toward him, giving him an encouraging smile. Vin returned the smile with a tentative one of his own, before lowering his eyes and starting in on his lunch.
After lunch, when all the mess had been cleared away, Larabee approached him and inquired casually, Are you doing all right? Getting bored with just sitting around here?
No, I'm fine, Vin answered succinctly, holding up the book. This is enough for me.
Chris said. I'll try to find something more interesting for you to do tomorrow, though, okay?
Vin nodded, trying not to think about the future. He had contemplated running away from Larabee's ranch, but after waking twice during the night to find one or the other of the agents checking on him, he decided to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself. There was no way for him to get out of this building unseen, especially with five men watching over him, so he had not even bothered looking for a way out. He also thought about calling the library or the diner to check on Ezra, but did not want to risk drawing attention to his friend.
Despite the kindness these men were showing him, Vin needed to get back to his home and his friend. This situation wouldn't last for long, anyway. Sooner or later he would be sent to another foster home, and there was no telling how bad it would be this time. Sure, he could wait and just run away from there, but he had realized something yesterday in the interrogation room. While he didn't know anything about Digger's death, he couldn't say the same for Ezra.
When he had arrived at the factory, he had heard his friend say to MacDermott, I won't tell anyone. At the time, Vin assumed Ezra was talking about what MacDermott was attempting to do to him, but in retrospect, he realized that it was more likely that the other boy was talking about what had happened to Digger. If he was right, Ezra could be in danger. MacDermott might be in custody, but his gang of thugs was not, and they may well view Ezra as a threat to their boss. It was frustrating not to know whether or not his friend was all right, and the thought of him facing off against those goons alone was unacceptable. He and Ezra were a team and he was going to do whatever he could to get back to where he belonged.
When he spotted the entrance to the parking garage, Ezra had gotten a sudden flash of inspiration. Vin often teased him about the occasional leaps in logic he would make, cracking jokes about seeing a light bulb floating above his head. Initially, he had bristled at the comments, believing that Vin was making fun of him, but eventually he came to realize that it was just the kind of teasing that friends often did. Now, he teased his friend right back, reveling in the warmth of the friendship they shared. That friendship was what brought him to this place and inspired the plan that was slowly forming in his head.
The obvious place for him to have started looking for Agent Larabee's address was the phone book, but he doubted the man would be listed. His mother had told him once that most members of law enforcement preferred to be unlisted, hoping to prevent miscreants from discovering where they lived. It made sense, so Ezra figured he would need a better means of getting the information he required.
After escaping from the factory building, Ezra had gotten a good look at Larabee's truck, including his license plate. If he could find that truck, he could take a look at the man's car registration, which was certain to have his address on it. Getting into the parking garage would be tricky, but Ezra believed he could do it without being detected. Finding the truck was another matter. He didn't know what kind of camera surveillance they might have inside, or if Larabee's vehicle would even be there. For all he knew, the man had stayed home today. But he had to try.
Turning around, Ezra hurried back to the newspaper vending machines he had seen earlier, purchasing a copy of the local paper before crossing the street. Nonchalantly, he approached the federal building, scanning the headlines of the paper he held in his hand. He selected a spot to the right of the garage door and took a seat on the ground, leaning back against the wall. It was difficult to hold the paper with just one hand, so he gently eased his other hand out of the sling and affected a relaxed pose, peering around the edge of the paper toward the driveway.
Two hours later, Ezra was starting to reconsider his plan. His legs were getting stiff from sitting on the ground and his shoulder was beginning to ache. He had just started to fold the paper when a car approached. Watching surreptitiously, he waited until the car had entered the garage, then dropped his paper and slipped over the raised side of the sloping garage entrance, staying out of the line of sight of the camera. Keeping low, he ducked under the garage door as it started to close, darting immediately to one side and hiding behind the nearest car while he studied the area around him.
The pounding of his heart seemed loud in his ears, but Ezra smiled, pleased with his accomplishment. No one had seen him, judging by the lack of response to his presence during the ten minutes he had been crouched behind the vehicle. He hadn't spotted any cameras inside, other than the ones by the elevator and stairway, and that would make his task much easier. Slowly, keeping himself hidden behind the cars parked in the garage, Ezra made his way around the perimeter of the first floor of the underground facility, searching for the black truck.
He finally located his quarry, parked against the far right side next to an old pickup truck. After he verified the license plate, Ezra crept along the side of the truck, peering inside intently. There was no sign of an alarm system, but that meant very little, since the newer systems were much less obvious than older ones.
He had learned a lot about car alarms during his time in New York. One of the other boys in his first foster home had spent some time in juvenile hall for car theft, and he had taught Ezra everything he knew about stealing cars. It was something he had never even shared with Vin, not wanting his friend to think less of him for wanting to acquire such skills. He never intended to use what he learned, other than in an emergency; he was simply curious about the process. The only thing that his mother had ever appreciated about him was his inquisitive mind, and he made sure to put it to use as often as possible.
Removing his lockpicks from his shoe, Ezra made short work of the door lock and carefully opened the door, prepared to act quickly if an alarm went off. He breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened, hurriedly sliding into the truck and popping open the glove box. The compartment was full of maps, receipts, and other scraps of paper. Ezra rummaged through them quickly, finally locating the registration under some shell casings and an empty gun clip. After quickly memorizing the address, he stuffed the registration back where he had found it and slipped quietly out of the vehicle.
Now that he had the information he needed, it was time to find an exit from the garage. Perusing his surroundings carefully, Ezra spied an exit door on the opposite side of the garage. Warily, he made his way along the rows of cars, dropping to the ground when the elevator suddenly dinged and two men entered the garage. His heart was racing as he waited to see which direction the men would take. When they climbed into a silver Lexus and left the garage, he sagged against the wall and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Wincing, Ezra rubbed his shoulder. Sudden movements weren't kind to the healing joint, so he slipped his arm back into the sling, relieving some of the strain. Resuming his journey, he finally reached the exit door, pushing out into the gray afternoon. The sun, which had been shining brightly earlier that afternoon, had given way to thick, gray clouds that threatened rain. But Ezra's mood was not dimmed by the gloomy turn of the weather. He had been successful in his endeavor and with any luck, he would soon be seeing Vin. With a confident smile, Ezra gave the federal building a last look before starting off toward his next destination.
Vin had to force himself not to roll his eyes when the door opened to admit JD into the house. He had known what they had in mind since the moment Larabee invited the young agent to stay for the night. Larabee and the others expected that he would feel more comfortable with someone closer to his own age – maybe comfortable enough to reveal some new information. Vin snorted softly. He might be young, but he wasn't stupid. Social workers had tried that ploy with him before, trying to get him to give up the names of other runaway kids he had encountered during his own time on the streets. They could try all they wanted, but there was only one person in the world he trusted with his secrets, and that was Ezra.
Still, Vin did find JD to be a likeable sort. He chuckled inwardly. It might be kind of fun thwarting his attempts to pry information from him. He was pretty good at playing dumb. Hell, most people thought he was dumb anyway, based on the way he looked and talked, or the difficulties he had in school. It didn't bother him much anymore. He knew who he was and didn't need the opinions of others to validate that.
Hey, Vin, JD called cheerfully, interrupting Vin's ruminations.
Vin answered with a faint smile.
I ordered some pizza, Larabee announced from the kitchen. You like pepperoni?
Vin nodded at the question directed at him, watching curiously as JD carried a stack of what looked like videos into the living room.
I brought some video games, JD said. The rest of these old farts never want to play, so I figured you might like to.
Vin had to smile at the young agent's enthusiasm. He had to admit being curious. The only video games he had ever played were in an arcade back in Dallas, and even then, he had only played the target shooting games. Eugene Reed had owned a large collection of antique guns, and had insisted that Vin learn about gun safety from an early age. When he was seven years old, Reed had started teaching him how to use the weapons, setting up targets out in the field for him to use. Vin had proven to be quite adept, hitting the targets most of the time. Reed had been proud of Vin's skills and had promised to take him hunting when he got older, but unfortunately, Vin had been forced to leave before that happened. It was the first in a long string of disappointments in his life.
Which one do you want to play? JD asked.
Vin shrugged, unfamiliar with the titles.
How about kickboxing? That one's lots of fun.
Vin said.
JD grinned and set up the game, explaining how to play. Vin learned quickly, giving JD more of a challenge than he expected.
Oh! Roundhouse to the head! He's down! JD said with a laugh as his electronic persona was defeated.
You lose, Vin said, returning the smile.
You're pretty good at this, JD said.
I know a little about karate, Vin replied, knowing he was divulging some information. It was an unimportant thing, and this way JD would have something to tell his boss.
Vin nodded. Gotta know how ta take care of yourself out there.
Guess so, JD said, looking at him thoughtfully.
The doorbell rang and JD immediately jumped to his feet. Pizza's here!
I heard, Larabee said, heading for the door. He returned a minute later carrying two large pizzas. Come and get it.
The three of them headed into the kitchen for dinner.
Ezra brushed the rain off of his face, shivering as more water dripped down his back. He glared up at the cloudy night sky as the intensity of the precipitation increased, wishing the bad weather had held off for at least one more day. The rainfall that had been threatening all day had begun shortly after he got off of the bus, much to his dismay. The rain had soaked through all of his clothes, so he supposed it didn't matter anymore how hard it was coming down. Trudging on resignedly, he fervently wished the bus stop was a little closer to Larabee's house.
After obtaining the ATF agent's address, Ezra had returned to his basement home to get some money to pay for his transportation. His arm ached and he shifted it slightly in the sodden sling. He had thought about leaving it at home, but realized it would make his upcoming task more comfortable. It might also work in his favor if he needed to play the sympathy card for any reason.
Once he had what he needed from home, Ezra had returned to the library, telling Ms. Peterson that he was feeling refreshed after his nap and wanted something to distract him for a while. He hated lying to her, but he knew she wouldn't approve of what he was planning to do later that night. Avoiding the library entirely was not an option, since needed to get directions to Larabee's address. Using the library's computers, he had looked it up on one of the online mapping web sites, along with the bus routes he needed to get there.
Unfortunately, the bus didn't go all the way to Larabee's place. The last bus stop was almost nine miles from his address, so Ezra had spent the last couple of hours plodding slowly through the rain. Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearly midnight. He smiled at the fact that the watch was still running, despite being dripping wet.
Vin had given him the watch as a gift last Christmas. He already owned one, but it was an expensive Swiss timepiece that his mother had bought him – appearances were very important to her. It was stupid to wear a pricey item like that on the streets, so it usually stayed locked in their strongbox. He acknowledged the practicality of doing that, but he had missed being able to tell the time at a glance. This watch wasn't expensive, but it was of decent quality and Vin had assured him it would work under adverse conditions. Apparently, Ezra thought with a chuckle, he was right.
The rain was coming down so hard that he nearly missed the driveway to Larabee's house. It was the red flag on the mailbox that finally drew his attention, and Ezra turned onto the gravel track gratefully. The driveway was long, but the house eventually came into view, a single light on the front porch providing the only illumination of the area. He could see the faint outline of the black truck parked beside the house and a wide grin split his face. He had made it.