Part 6
Chris returned to his office and slumped into his chair. Buck entered his office shortly after, slouching comfortably in the visitor's chair.
No sign of him anywhere, Chris said.
Did you really expect to find him? Buck asked.
Chris shrugged. I was hoping... I just can't figure it. I thought he liked staying with me. What could be better about being out there? He gestured futilely toward the window.
Buck rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. It's what he knows, Chris. He don't trust the system, and like it or not, that's what you – all of us – are to him. He shrugged. Been my experience that kids who don't trust usually have a pretty good reason.
Chris leaned back in his chair. His file said he was a repeat runaway – kept taking off from his foster homes, claiming they were abusive. There was never any proof, though.
Don't mean it wasn't true, Buck pointed out. Kid was awful leery about being touched.
Chris said. I still need to find him. He knows something about Digger, I can feel it.
You're probably right, Buck commiserated. But if he's as smart as Josiah thinks he is, then he's probably long gone.
I know, I just... Chris lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.
Me too, pard, Buck said sympathetically. Me too.
The coast was clear. Vin breathed a sigh of relief and rapidly made his way across the street. Several of MacDermott's drug-dealing minions had been walking down the street and he had almost been too late in spotting them. Luckily, they were not very observant and he had been able to hide behind a delivery truck until they passed him by.
He had already gone by Mr. Watson's hardware store and Mrs. Chan's flower shop to do the daily cleaning, and was now on his way to Miss Opal's beauty salon. Since Ezra was going to be out of commission for a few days, Vin was determined to cover both of their work schedules. It wasn't much of a hardship, since the cleaning chores didn't take that long. The shop owners were all very understanding and wished Ezra the best, giving Vin advice on how to treat his cold.
Chuckling, Vin patted the outer pocket of his backpack, stuffed with the packets of tea that Mrs. Chan had insisted that he take to Ezra. Good for sick, she had said, determinedly pressing the tea into his hands.
Mr. Watson had also provided his own cold remedy, handing Vin a paper bag containing a bottle of brandy. A few sips before bedtime, he had quietly explained. Does the trick every time. My grandpa swore by it; gave it to me any time I had a cold.
Vin had accepted both offerings graciously, looking forward to Ezra's reaction. His friend was always embarrassed by this kind of attention and Vin was determined to take advantage of the opportunity to tease him. It was sweet revenge for the fussing he had endured after having his nose broken in defense of Mr. Watson last year. Ezra had made sure to tell everyone what a heroic effort Vin had made, leaving him completely mortified by the attention the admiring shop owners lavished on him in the aftermath.
As he pushed through the door to Miss Opal's, Vin wondered what the heavyset African-American shop owner would have to suggest. She was a colorful and energetic woman, with her own unique way of looking at things that both boys often found entertaining, if not downright amusing.
Miss Opal, clad in a brightly-colored African print pant suit, rushed toward him the moment he stepped through the door. Lord, it's good to see you, boy! She wrapped him in a huge hug.
M'fine, Miss Opal, Vin said, his voice muffled as he tried to speak while pressed against her ample bosom.
Mr. Benevito told me all about what's been happenin' with you an' Ezra, the big woman said after she finally released him. How's my favorite Georgia boy doin'?
Vin grinned. Early in their association, Miss Opal had decided that Ezra was from Georgia, despite his protests of having spent only a little bit of time in that part of the south. Being from Virginia, she insisted she could recognize a Georgia accent when she heard one. When Rosie had approached her about letting the two boys work for her, she had not hesitated, claiming that, Us southern folk have to stick together. Since then, Ezra had been her Georgia boy' and Vin was her Texas cowboy.'
Ezra's okay, Vin explained. He's got himself a cold, though, so he won't be around for a couple days.
Oh, that poor boy, Miss Opal said. Come with me. I have just the thing. Leaving her assistant in charge of the last customer of the day, she shuffled into the back room and began rummaging through her cabinets.
I'll get started on the windows, Vin offered, heading for the closet that held the cleaning supplies.
Miss Opal waved at him absently, muttering to herself as she pulled things from the cabinet and stacked them on the counter. Vin had just finished cleaning the windows, when he heard a triumphant shout behind him.
I knew it was here somewhere! Miss Opal hurried out to the front of the store, a jar clutched tightly in her hands. This is my Gramma Eunice's special cold remedy. You just heat it up an' rub it on your chest. Makes that cold disappear. She smiled broadly and snapped her fingers. Jus' like that. Works like a charm.
Thank ya, ma'am, Vin said, stifling a smile. I know Ez will appreciate it.
Make sure you take this with you when you leave, ya hear?
Yes, ma'am, Vin replied, stashing the jar in his backpack with the rest of the cold remedies he had acquired that day. Returning the window cleaner to the closet, Vin pulled out the broom and started sweeping the floor, while Miss Opal returned to her customer, putting the final touches on her new hair style.
A half hour later, Vin had finished cleaning the hair salon and had just started toward home, when he spotted Larabee's black truck driving slowly down the street. He started to duck, but was too late, his eyes locking with Larabee's for a long moment. Pulling himself together, he turned on his heel and sprinted down the street, searching his memory for the best escape route. Vin turned to look, grimacing when he saw the truck bearing down on him.
He knew the area well – hopefully well enough to elude Larabee, who had abandoned the truck as soon as Vin turned into the narrow alley, and was following hard on his heels. Pivoting on one foot, Vin turned a corner, crossing the street and ducking into another filthy alleyway. A taxi horn blared behind him as Larabee narrowly avoided being hit as he followed Vin's path across the street.
Turning another corner, Vin felt his heart pounding in his ears as he ran. A smirk lit his face as he saw Larabee trying to make his way around the city bus that had pulled in front of him, spewing smelly diesel fumes as it lumbered slowly down the street. He drew on his reserves and ran as fast as he could, a destination clear in his mind. The bus had slowed his pursuer, maybe enough to allow him to escape. Rounding a corner, he immediately darted behind the Chinese restaurant that stood there, heading straight for the far end of the small parking lot.
The grate that covered the storm drain was loose, and Vin was thin enough to fit through the narrow space. It was an escape route he had used in the past – not very frequently, since he was somewhat claustrophobic if he had to spend much time in enclosed spaces. But, it wasn't a place most people would consider looking, and thus, was the safest place to be in this kind of situation. With one last look behind him, Vin slipped into the storm drain, dropping into the dark and slimy pipe.
Chris Larabee cursed in frustration. It had been a spur of the moment decision to take a detour through this neighborhood on his way home. He hadn't really expected to see the Tanner kid, agreeing with Buck that he was probably long gone from the area, so he had been completely stunned when he spotted him walking around in plain view. Now, though, he stood panting for breath, kicking himself for losing the boy. Tanner had disappeared into thin air, and judging by the full backpack he was carrying, probably for good. Chris figured he was on his way out of town when he saw him walking down the street.
It took an hour of searching before he finally gave up looking for Tanner. The kid had well and truly disappeared and Chris knew he wasn't going to find him this night. Taking one last look around, Chris heaved a sigh of resignation and climbed back into his truck.
His mind wandered on the ride home. What was it about Vin Tanner that intrigued him so? Chris had seen his share of runaways and street kids during his years with the police department and had long ago realized that they were usually a lost cause. Most ended up dead or in prison, lured into crime and drugs by the vultures who preyed upon them, using them until they had no more to give. It was a sad and brutal fact of life in this world and one he had come to terms with long ago.
As a member of law enforcement, he had learned to harden himself against the depressing situations he encountered in his job. It was the only way to do this kind of work without burning out. But something about Tanner had struck a chord with him. There was something in the kid's eyes that he had never seen in a street kid before. Vin Tanner had pride. By the time he encountered most of those kids, any pride or sense of self worth they might have had was long destroyed. But not Tanner. The fact that there was no police record for him since he had last run away told Chris volumes about the boy. It either meant that he had managed to stay away from trouble or had simply been smart enough to avoid being caught. Something told Chris it was the former.
Chris chuckled to himself. Buck had seen it right away. Tanner had gotten to him and Chris felt something deep within him stirring, getting past the barriers he erected against his emotions. Something made him care what happened to the boy and he found himself wanting to help him any way he could. Unfortunately, it was probably too late. Tanner was gone, and Chris felt strangely disappointed that he had not gotten to know him better.
Night had fallen by the time Vin felt it was safe enough to leave the sewers. Crawling out of the dark hole, he breathed deeply of the fresh air and started toward home, watching the streets with a intensity that bordered on paranoia as he took a meandering route back toward his basement apartment. Once he arrived, he opened the door quickly, slipping inside with an almost giddy sense of relief.
Ezra croaked hoarsely. What's wrong?
Vin set his backpack down, giving his friend a crooked grin. Ran into Larabee again. Had to play hide n seek with im in the sewer. He looked at his soiled clothing and grimaced. Guess I need to take a trip to the laundry tomorrow.
Ezra protested in as loud a voice as he could manage. It's too dangerous.
Ez, it's always dangerous, Vin said with a sigh. There's always a chance someone'll find us, but we've managed this long. Hell, I got away from him, didn't I?
Please, Vin, Ezra pleaded. I just don't want you to get hurt.
Me neither, Vin said. But we can't just stay locked up in here forever.
I'll go out tomorrow, Ezra insisted. The police aren't interested in me.
You're sick, Ez, Vin argued. You need to stay here.
I'm fine. Ezra covered his mouth as another coughing fit struck.
Yeah, you sure sound fine to me, Vin said sarcastically.
Ezra glared at him and Vin shook his head, digging in his backpack for the collection of home remedies he had been given. Got somethin' for ya. He gave the items to Ezra, who looked at them in consternation.
Mrs. Chan gave me the tea for you, Vin explained. Said it's good for when you're sick. Mr. Watson gave me the brandy – his grandfather's favorite cold medicine, he says. Pointing to the jar, which contained a muddy brown substance, he said, Miz Opal sent that along. Says it's her grandma's recipe. You're supposed to heat it up an' rub it on your chest.
Ezra eyed the jar for a moment before opening it and taking a tentative sniff. His eyes watered and he started to cough again. I don't think so.
Vin leaned closer, then backed away from the stench that wafted from the jar. Damn! Smells like boiled skunk.
Ezra agreed, chuckling at the appropriate comparison.
Vin started to laugh as well. She just wanted to help. They all did.
I think I'll try the tea, first, Ezra said, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment at the gestures of kindness.
Still chuckling, Vin plugged in the hot plate and set a pan of water to boil. You feelin' any better?
Ezra said.
Stripping out of his dirty clothes, Vin quickly donned a clean pair of pants and a sweatshirt. I'm gonna borrow your coat, okay? Mine's real dirty.
Where are you going?
Don't know about you, but I'm hungry, Vin said. I'm gonna go get us some dinner.
It's a little early to go Antonio's, Ezra said, speaking of Mr. Benevito's Italian restaurant. He doesn't close up for a few hours yet.
I know, Vin said. I'm going there later, but I wanted to get something for you before then, so you can get some more sleep.
I've been sleeping most of the day, Ezra protested. I can wait until later.
Ez, you can hardly keep your eyes open, Vin pointed out. You know how bein' sick always makes you tired.
I'm not the only one, Ezra countered. I seem to remember you sleeping for a couple of days straight last time you got sick.
Vin said smugly. That's why I know how tired y'are.
Ezra rolled his eyes, but gave up on the argument. He really was tired and he knew he didn't have the energy to win this particular battle.
I'll be back in a little bit, Vin said. And, yes, I'll be careful.
Ezra nodded, turning to pour his tea once the door closed behind Vin. The last few days had left him in a perpetually worried state with regards to his friend. Vin was the first and only friend he had ever had and he was afraid to lose him. No one had ever taken the time to get to know him, the real Ezra Standish. He had spent his life being ignored or used by everyone, including his own mother, so he had not known how to deal with someone like Vin, who actually cared about him as a person.
It was strange, having a friend to stand by his side. Ezra had been alone for most of his life, depending on no one. He had learned quickly that other people could – and would – let you down, so he simply refused to trust anyone other than himself. Until Vin came along, the concept of friendship had been as foreign to him as the idea of a loving family. The quiet, loyal Texan had changed all that.
In Vin, Ezra had found a kindred spirit – someone who understood him and didn't judge him or use him for his own ends. Vin simply gave him friendship without asking for anything in return, and Ezra found himself returning the gesture, slowly allowing himself to open up to this strange new kinship. He and Vin had become close friends, brothers even, and Ezra was not going to give that up for all the gold in the world. Or all the tea in China, he whispered to himself, smiling as he sipped the fragrant tea Mrs. Chan had supplied.
Vin returned twenty minutes after he had left, carrying a small grocery sack.
What's for dinner? Ezra asked with a smile.
Got us some eggs and bread and some other stuff, Vin said, shrugging out of the borrowed coat. Figured I'd whip us up some omelettes.
Ezra nodded, knowing that Vin had chosen their meal based on what would be easiest for him to eat with a sore throat. Thank you.
Vin waved away the thanks and started preparing their dinner. No problem.
Ezra watched him cut some mushrooms and cheese and wondered what he had ever done to deserve a good friend like Vin Tanner.
Ms. Peterson exclaimed when he walked into the library with Ezra. She gave them a pleased, but puzzled look. What happened?
Ez found me, Vin said simply.
Ms. Peterson gave Ezra a hard look and he flinched slightly under the scrutiny. Do I want to know the details?
Probably not, Ezra said in a sheepish whisper.
You sound awful, she said, her voice tinged with worry. You should be home in bed.
That's what I told him, Vin said, ignoring the glare Ezra sent in his direction.
How's the arm? she asked Ezra, who was wearing the sling at Vin's insistence.
Not bad, Ezra replied.
Why don't you boys go sit down, she directed. I have some new books for you.
Thank you, ma'am. Vin nudged his friend.. Come on, Ez. The two boys headed for their favorite corner of the library.
We should resume our studies, Ezra suggested. It wouldn't do to fall behind our schedule.
Long as you rest your voice, Vin said. I can work on some math today. Don't need as much help with that.
Ezra nodded in agreement as Ms. Peterson returned.
The librarian handed them four somewhat worn textbooks. An old teacher friend of mine gave me these, she explained. The school changed to a new book vendor this year so she can't use these any more. They're teacher's editions, with the accompanying answer guides. She looked at them sternly. I'll let you have those, too, if you promise to use them properly.
We will, ma'am, Vin said sincerely.
Indeed, we will, Ezra agreed.
Ms. Peterson smiled warmly at them. That's what I thought. I'll bring them over in a few minutes. I have to prepare for story hour.
Ezra looked up at her guiltily. My apologies...
Hush, now. The librarian held up her hand to stop the forthcoming apology. It's not your fault. In fact, you probably caught that cold from some of the children. Many of them have been home sick this week.
Bein' out in the rain didn't help none, either, Vin said.
I imagine it didn't. Ms. Peterson frowned at Ezra, who slumped lower in his seat. I hope you're getting enough rest?
Ezra nodded vigorously.
He slept all day yesterday and he's been taking cold medicine, Vin assured her.
Good. I expected you boys were smart enough to be sensible. She returned to her desk, leaving them to their books.
Four hours and several stifled coughing fits later, Ezra finally admitted to being too weary to continue. Vin agreed and the two boys gathered up their new books and prepared to leave, stopping by the main desk before they did.
All done for today? Ms. Peterson asked with a smile.
Yes, ma'am, Vin replied. Got some work to do and Ez is gettin' a little tired.
Ezra rolled his eyes, but did not disagree.
I'll see you boys tomorrow? she inquired.
We'll be here, Vin promised.
Ezra nodded, then turned to follow Vin out the door.
Take care of that cold, Ezra, Ms. Peterson called after the two boys.
Frowning, Vin watched Ezra attempt to stifle his coughing again. He shook his head. He had wanted Ezra to go directly home, while he went to the flower shop and beauty parlor to do the daily cleaning, but the other boy wouldn't hear of it, insisting he felt well enough to do his share. After arguing good-naturedly for a while, Vin finally gave in to his stubborn friend, though he did make sure to do the heavier chores, like cleaning the floors, while Ezra washed windows and counters. Both Mrs. Chan and Miss Opal had attempted to talk him into going home, but Ezra refused, determined to carry his own weight. Now, though, the exertion was taking its toll, evidenced by the increasing frequency of his coughing fits and the pallor in his face. Vin was glad they were finished with the chores, since he was anxious to get Ezra home to rest.
All done, Mrs. Chan, Vin proclaimed, stowing the cleaning supplies.
Thank you, Vin. The diminutive woman patted him on the arm before turning to Ezra. You go home now. Sleep.
Ezra smiled at her. I intend to, ma'am.
They left the shop a few minutes later, carrying another packet of tea bags.
You look done in, Ez, Vin remarked.
I'm a bit tired, Ezra admitted.
I'll make us some more omelettes after we get home, Vin said. Don't think you'll last long enough to wait for Mr. Benevito's minestrone soup.
Ezra laughed. Probably not. He and Vin turned the corner and walked straight into trouble.
Leo Jones was Jerry MacDermott's lieutenant, the oldest and smartest of his motley group of employees.' He was tall and thin, with greasy hair and a sallow complexion, looking older than his years from the abuse of the same drugs he peddled to others. Behind him, stood four more of MacDermott's crew, all staring at the two younger boys with the same hostile expressions.
Well, well, Jones said, a yellow-toothed grin splitting his face. If it isn't the two troublemakers.
The rest of the boys quickly spread out and surrounded Ezra and Vin.
You caused us lots of problems, Jones continued, cracking his knuckles as he stared malevolently at them. You got Mac busted and now we ain't got no fuckin' product to sell. He paced in front of them. We can't even contact him yet to find out about the new business he was workin' on. You little shits cost us plenty, and that means you got to pay.
We didn't do anything, Vin said heatedly. If MacDermott had been able to keep it in his pants, he wouldn't be in this mess. Feeling Ezra flinch beside him, Vin met his eyes and sent him a silent apology.
The slight flicker in Jones' eyes was the only warning they had before the man lashed out, planting a fist firmly into Vin's face and setting off the rest of his friends. The brawl was on in earnest. Ezra and Vin held their own for a while, but Ezra's illness and the superior number of their opponents slowly overwhelmed them.
They were both on the ground, being kicked and beaten, when the wailing of sirens became audible. As one, the group stopped fighting, then immediately scattered, disappearing into the night. Vin and Ezra lay on the ground, trying to catch their breath as the sirens drew closer.
Gotta... move, Ez, Vin panted, rolling onto his side.
Ezra nodded, trying to find a way to stand that wasn't excruciatingly painful.
Ezra and Vin slowly pulled themselves to their feet, clinging to each other for support, then staggered away, making their way toward home as quickly as they were able. They had not survived this long by giving up easily and were not going to allow themselves to fall into the clutches of the police, no matter how battered their condition. It took them twice as long as usual, but finally they arrived at the basement they called home and stumbled through the door, locking it securely behind them.
Grimacing, Vin slipped out of his backpack, letting it drop to the floor. Ezra, who had not carried his pack due to his injured shoulder, simply collapsed onto their mattress, moaning in pain. Vin shrugged out of his coat, then crawled painfully over to his friend.
How bad? Vin asked.
Don't know, Ezra replied, his good arm wrapped around his midsection. Everything hurts.
Me too, Vin admitted, rolling gingerly onto his back beside Ezra. Think I got a busted rib. He shifted uncomfortably, then winced. Maybe two.
Ezra just groaned.
Neither boy felt like moving and soon, both fell into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.
He was staring out across the lake, unaware that the fishing pole in his hands was twitching and jerking.
I think you got a bite there, Chris, Buck pointed out.
Chris turned his head, finally noticing the hyperactive fishing pole. Oh, thanks. He jerked back sharply on the pole, then reeled in the fish, grinning at the sight of the shiny creature twisting and flopping on the end of his line.
Nice one, Chris, Buck commented, strolling up to his friend.
Not bad. Chris tossed the fish into the cooler they had brought along. Good start on dinner, anyway.
Buck grinned, squatting beside him. Little slow on the uptake, though.
Chris turned to glare at him.
You seem a little distracted today, pard, Buck remarked quietly, unfazed by the look.
Blowing out a breath, Chris turned to look out at the lake again.
Still thinkin' about the kid?
Chris lowered his head. Some. Saw him again Thursday.
Buck exclaimed, startled by that piece of information. Where did this happen?
I took a drive through that neighborhood before headin' home that night, Chris explained. Spotted him walking down the street.
Took off after Chris said simply. He spotted me and ran off. Kid's pretty fast. I lost him a few minutes later.
Why didn't you say anything?
Chris shrugged. Wouldn't help anything. The kid was carrying a backpack, probably on his way out of town.
We figured he wouldn't stick around long.
I was surprised as hell to see him there, Chris said with a rueful shake of his head. You should'a seen the look on his face when he spotted me.
Ya can't save em all, Chris, Buck said gently, sensing his friend's dilemma. Sure, Chris claimed he wanted to find the Tanner kid because of Digger, but Buck knew better. He had seen his friend like this before.
I know, Buck. Chris sighed wistfully. But saving one might be nice.
We save a hell of a lot more than that, Chris, Buck stated earnestly. Think of the lives we save every time we take a gun off the streets and out of the hands of a gangbanger.
Yeah, but...
No buts, Chris, Buck interrupted, then said softly. He isn't Brian.
Chris flinched at the name, fighting the memories that pushed forward.
Chris had been with the police department for five years, partnered with Buck for three. They were checking an old, dilapidated warehouse, one of the known gathering points for the homeless in the area. On this day, they found a few new faces and made a point to check them out. One in particular caught Chris's attention. The skinny, red-haired boy glared at them defiantly when they approached his home', a dirty collection of cardboard boxes piled against the crumbling brick wall.
Hey there, Chris said to the boy, who didn't look a day over twelve years old.
What do you want, cop? the boy said belligerently. I didn't do nothin'.
Just checkin' the area, Chris said. Haven't seen you around here before.
I been around, the boy grumbled.
What's you're name, kid? Buck asked.
The boy just glared at him, not saying a word.
Have to call you something, Buck shrugged. How about
That works, Chris agreed with a smile, then turned to the boy. Unless you have something else you'd prefer?
Do you, shithead? Buck prodded.
the boy said through clenched teeth.
Well, that does sound a little better than shithead, I suppose, Chris said. So what are you doing out here, Brian?
You got any family? Buck asked.
Brian answered, a little too quickly, his eyes darting around nervously.
I see, Buck said. Well, that means we need to find one for you. Why don't you come along with us, now son.
Brian shouted, ducking under Buck's outstretched arm. He turned to run, only to find his path blocked by Chris.
Come on, Brian, Chris said soothingly, trying to control the struggling youth.
No, please, Brian pleaded. They don't care about me. No one cares.
It's better than being out here in the cold, Buck said. Isn't it?
After a few minutes, the boy went limp, giving up the struggle and resigning himself to his fate. He didn't say another word as Buck and Chris drove him back to the police station and called Social Services.
Watching the boy leave with the social worker, Chris mused, What makes a kid choose the streets over a home?
Not all homes are like Leave it to Beaver', ya know? Buck said sagely.
I know, Chris said. But the streets aren't any picnic, either.
During the next few years, Brian became a repeat customer. For reasons he kept to himself, he would run away from his foster homes, and Chris and Buck would bring him back in. Each time they saw him, he seemed to lose a little more of himself, grow a little more hardened against the rest of the world. Until the day they brought him in for the last time.
Wasn't anything we could do, Buck said to his friend as they watched the body bag being loaded into the morgue van.
There had to be something, Chris said. He shouldn't have ended up this way. He turned sad eyes to Buck. No kid should have to die in a filthy rat hole like this.
We did our best, Buck said helplessly, the same anguish reflected in his own face. Sometimes it's just not enough.
Chris watched the morgue van drive away on this gray, rainy day and whispered, It should be.
Chris? You still with me, pard?
Yeah, Buck, Chris said rubbing his hand over his face. Just thinkin'.
'Bout Brian?
Chris acknowledged. Don't want to see another kid end up like him.
You said yourself, Tanner is different, Buck said. Maybe he'll be one of the lucky ones who makes it.
I hope so, Buck. Chris gave his friend a weak smile. Come on, let's get back to the others.
Buck squeezed his old friend's shoulder in support as they took their fishing poles further down the shore to where the rest of their friends were setting up their picnic lunch.