DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
STREET KID
Sam got to school early the next morning. He wanted to find Al before classes started. Joey's mother said he could invite Al over to study and have dinner. He was looking forward to having Al try to teach him chemistry. Next time he met up with older Al, he'd have to remember to ask him about the studying and let him in on the secret. They'd have a good laugh, at least Sam would. He finally saw Al trotting toward school. There was a special kind of joy in seeing his friend at this age. As he drew closer Sam called out, "Al! Wait!" Al stopped and turned to the voice. Sam saw the bruise on the boy's face, "Wow, how did that happen?"
The young boy had almost forgotten the mark on his cheek, "I fell."
Sam knew a lie when he heard it, especially from Al, "That looks like someone hit you."
There was something about this Joey, this new Joey that Al trusted with things he never told anyone else and with a shrug that Sam knew well Al responded, "So, someone hit me. Big deal. It's not the first time."
Sam noticed the cuts and bruises on Al's hands, "Did someone do that to you, too?"
Well, he sorted of trusted him, "You a cop all of a sudden? I fell."
"You said you were hit."
"I'm a pathological liar. You want something, O'Brien?"
Sam was excited, "Yeah, my mom said I could ask you to come home with me after school and help me study. She said to invite you for dinner. Can you come?"
Since his future at the seminary was already determined, why not do what he wanted to do, "Yeah. Right after school. I'll see you in chem class." Al ran up the steps.
Sam threw both fists into the air. "Yes!" He was going to spend time with an adolescent Al. If the ramifications of failure weren't so frightening, he'd be even happier, but Al's life was on the line. Sam had to figure a way to keep Al from running away and that would be a lot easier if he knew why the little guy thought it necessary. Sam wanted more information.
The morning went by uneventfully. Joey had first lunch which meant at 11:15, Sam had the choice of a dried out hamburger or something that might have been chicken ala king. He opted for the burger and made his way to an empty table in a quiet part of the room. St. John popped in as he took his second bite. With his mouth full of meat he demanded, "Where have you been?"
"Did you talk to Mr. Calavicci like this?"
"It's Admiral Calavicci and yes." Another bite of burger and Sam mumbled, "Any more news on him? Do you know why he runs away?"
"We're not sure, but it may have to do with what we found in the newspaper reports. The nun that headed up the orphanage said the boy was supposed to enter the seminary the Monday after he was abducted. I must say, after looking at his school records and history, he's the last young man on earth that should be in a seminary."
"Finally! There's something that you and Al agree on."
"He has a history of running away. In fact, when he was ten, he was missing for four months."
"Black Magic Walters. He took care of Al. Taught him that people cared."
St. John stared at Sam. "This boy really is your friend, isn't he?" The look that St. John got from Sam answered the question far more eloquently than mere words. There was disappointment in St. John's voice, but his integrity was shining. "I believe you. Young Calavicci is the person destined to be the project administrator. The thing is, he's in trouble right now and since no one ever found out who kidnapped him, I can't give you much more than you already have."
Sam felt sorry for St. John. This man cared about his position at Quantum Leap, but even more important to him was maintaining Quantum Leap's mission. He wasn't going to put his own benefit ahead of making right that which was wrong. Admiration for St. John grew and Sam knew he had a true ally in the fight for Al's life.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Young Al managed to get through the day without any major incidents. No detention, for a change. In truth, Al worked hard at not getting in trouble. He wanted to go to Joey's house and be free of the orphanage for a few extra hours. This was his last weekend of freedom and he didn't care what Mother Theodora did, Seminary was the last place he wanted to go and maybe, if he broke enough rules, even the seminary wouldn't want him around.
He and Sam ended their school day in the gym. The exercise made Al's bruised hands start to ache, but he wouldn't give in to the pain in his swollen knuckles. The final piece of equipment he attempted was the horse, Al's favorite and Sam's nemesis. By now, Al's hands were tired and sore. One of the gashes opened up a bit and he kept wiping blood away. "Al, maybe you should sit this one out. Your hand is bleeding."
"My hand is fine."
Sam stood back as Al approached the horse wiping his bleeding hand. The teen closed his fists around the pommels and pulled himself onto the apparatus. He began to rhythmically swing his legs around. A thin stream of blood trickled steadily from Al's open cut and his hand slipped while he was doing a release move. Al fell hard, his ribs bouncing against the pommel. He dropped to the floor, holding his side. One of the boys yelled, "Mr. McLean! Alberto fell!"
Sam ran to his friend's side. "Al? You okay?" The boy had the breath knocked out of him. He started to roll over. "Lie still. You might be hurt."
Air started to fill Al's lungs. "I'm fine. Let me up, Joey."
The coach arrived and took over. "You okay, Alberto?"
"Yeah." Coach McLean pulled up Al's shirt. A red bruise covered his right side.
He tried to stand, but Sam held him down. This was a way to keep Al alive. Sam would convince the coach that Al needed to go to the hospital. "I don't know, coach. That bruise looks pretty bad. I think he should go to the hospital. Maybe he broke a rib."
The coach touched the growing red mark on Al's body. "O'Brien may have a point, son. That's looks pretty ugly."
Al pulled his shirt back down. "I don't need a hospital."
"Let the school nurse decide that. O'Brien, you go with Alberto."
"Yes, sir. Come on, Al." Sam pushed Al in front of him.
They made their way into the locker room. Al was obviously not happy. Somehow Sam had to redeem himself in Al's eyes. Right now the kid had no use for him. Changed into their street clothes and outside the gym, Sam turned to his friend, "Great, let's go. They think we're with the nurse." He ran toward the exit, but didn't hear any feet behind him. Looking back he said, "Coming, Calavicci?" Al grinned wickedly, flew past Sam and out the door. Sam ran after. "Hey! Wait!"
They didn't stop until they were two blocks away. Al was Cheshire Cat smiling, "I didn't think you had it in you, O'Brien. You got potential."
"Yeah, well, it was the perfect out."
"Too bad it was gym. That's the one class I like."
Conversation was essential to making Al believe he had a friend in Joey. "How did you get so good at gymnastics?"
The boy shrugged, "I'm small. It's easy when you're small. Where do you want to go?"
Sam hadn't the foggiest notion. "I don't know. I've never ditched school before." That was the truth. Sam Beckett never ran out on class in his life.
Every kind of scam was rolling through Al's mind. "You hungry?"
Teenage boys are hungry all the time. "Sure. I could eat."
They walked through a busy section of lower Manhattan. Al's eyes darted around and Sam could see the boy making mental notes about all he saw. Sam was watching survival instincts and he paid close attention so he could learn. Al's gaze zeroed in on a pretzel vendor. He whispered. "You like hot pretzels?" Sam nodded even though he never had one in his life. "Okay. I'm going to run into the street next to the pretzel guy. I'll get hit by a car and you go grab the pretzels."
"Hit by a car? Are you nuts?"
Al looked at Sam as if he was the nutty one. "I'm going to fake it, stupid. I got the bruises, so it will work. If we're lucky, I could get us some big bucks, too." Sam didn't understand exactly what Al was going to do, but obviously, he had done it before. He watched as the boy rubbed a scab off his hand so it would bleed again. "This is going to be good, Joey." He pointed discreetly toward a row of cars waiting by a light. "That's the car, the blue Buick. Get ready to grab the pretzels." Before Sam could stop him, Al took off and choreographed an impact with the oncoming automobile. He darted out in front of the big car and jumped up onto the hood. Al's athletic ability made it look like a bad hit, even though Sam could see that Al did the flying on his own. There was no impact except for the books which were heavily dropped onto the hood, a nice move hiding the fact that the boy's body didn't hit. Al fell to the street, started screaming and holding his side. The pretzel vendor ran to the boy's aid. The driver flew out of the car scared half out of his life. Al caught Sam's eye as if to tell him to grab the snacks and run, so Sam did and then darted into a nearby alley to watch from a safe distance.
The driver was beside himself. "I didn't see him. Is he okay? Kid, are you okay?"
Al was acting up a storm. "I . . . I think so." He looked at the blood on his hands. "I'm bleeding." Then he grabbed his side again and groaned. "It hurts a little."
The vendor helped him stand up. Al lifted up his uniform shirt which was now dirtied from his dive into the pavement. The red bruise from gym class gave false testimony. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt too bad. I guess I just got scared. I'll be okay. The nuns at the orphanage will take care of me." He looked around. "Where are my books? I have to study. I'm going into seminary on Monday."
Sam started to laugh. Al was putting these people through the ringer and while it really wasn't very nice, it was very funny. They believed every bit of his pathetic little story.
The driver gathered the books and placed them on the car. "Are you okay? I mean, I can take you to a hospital."
"Thanks," he winced in false pain and wiped away an invisible tear, "But I'll be fine." He looked at his bleeding hands. "Do you have a handkerchief or something? If I get blood on my shirt, I'll have to pay for a new one and I don't have any money."
From the edge of the alley, Sam laughed. "Oh brother."
The driver pulled a silk pocket handkerchief from his expensive suit. "Use this." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sure it's nothing at all. I'm sorry I ran into your car."
"No, kid. Don't worry about it." He handed a twenty dollar bill over to Al. "Here. Take this. If you need to buy a new shirt that should cover it and get a few extras, too."
"Gosh, mister, that's not necessary." He refused the bill.
The man pushed it into Al's hand. "No. I want you to have it. You're going to seminary. Have some fun this weekend."
With wide eyed and completely fake astonishment Al took the bill and stared at it. "Wow. I've never had this much money in my whole life." He took his books from the car, thanked everyone for their kindness and slowly ran off with a bit of a limp. Sam was practically on the ground, unable to control his laughter. Al, a true con artist, doubled back to meet up with him. "You get the pretzels?"
"Yeah, but for twenty bucks, we could eat at the Ritz. How did you do that?"
"It's an old scam. I learned it a long time ago. You have to be pretty fast to try it. Once I wasn't fast enough and the car really hit me."
Sam knew Al's predisposition for stretching the truth. "Really?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't anything more than the bruise I got now. Give me a pretzel." Sam handed one over and Al started chewing on one end. "Man, I love hot pretzels. Too bad you can't steal mustard." Sam stared at Al and then he stared a little more and a little more. "What?"
"You're amazing. No wonder you survived Vietnam." Sam heard the slip as he said the words, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself.
"Vietnam? You actually know the name of a country in Southeast Asia? I'm impressed." More pretzel found its way in his mouth.
Sam was caught, but decided the best out was ignore the slip. "Why don't we get going home?"
"Sure, but first we got to get change for this twenty."
"Why?"
"Half of it's yours, stupid. Don't you want your ten bucks?"
"Mine? I didn't do anything."
"You stole the pretzels. Let's go by Benny's He'll break this and not ask questions."
Sam wasn't sure if Joey was getting a street education here, but he sure was. Al's childhood had been a mystery to Sam for most of their friendship and now he knew why. The boy absolutely had to cheat, lie, and steal in order to embrace life rather than simply survive it. Yet there was honor with this little thief and Al would give half the twenty to Joey, though he had taken far more of the risk.
Sam started to laugh as he recalled Al's performance for the driver. "You were terrific back there. What a story. I mean I know the orphanage was real and stuff, but going into the seminary on Monday. That was too much. Really funny."
"Not that funny, Joey. The good sisters are shipping me out. I enter seminary on Monday. Me, a priest. Go figure." In a thin weasel voice he squeaked in mock prayer, "Bless me fodder, for I has sinned. It's been a gazillion years since I thought this was worth anything." He sighed in disgust. "Damn, I don't want to go."
"Then why go?"
"They don't want me at the orphanage any more. Reverend Mother Theodora doesn't like me. She never did." He was opening up to Joey in a way he hadn't opened up to anyone in years. There was something okay about it, but he didn't know why. "She says I'm trouble. I guess she's right. I ran away a couple of times. It wasn't any worse than seminary is going to be. There was a Negro man in Chicago who really liked me. His name was Charlie Walters. They called him Black Magic, greatest pool player ever. He even beat Willie Mosconi. He taught me to shoot pool. Said I was good, too. He was a real good guy. Magic would take me in. I know it."
Al's story was matching up with Alpha's predictions. Fear of being tossed out of the orphanage and into the seminary put Al on the street. Sam couldn't tell his young friend about the future, but if he could only change his mind. "Listen, Al, maybe seminary won't be so bad. I mean, you get to stay in school. They pay for everything, don't they? And who says you got to be a priest?"
"I don't have a lot of scruples, but if you're going to do the religion thing, you should commit yourself to it. My going to the seminary would be a lie."
"You just lied big time to that guy back there and he gave you twenty bucks for it."
Somehow that didn't seem as important as lying about faith. Al wasn't going to go to seminary unless he meant to be a priest. "That's different. Come on. Benny's place is around the corner."
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Traffic was a little heavier than usual. The delay gave him time to think. After all, it wasn't his responsibility. Whatever Paul and Dave did with her after they finished was up to them. She was a hooker. The kid was good at it, too. It didn't matter she was only 13 years old. This wasn't any inexperienced neighborhood kid. Throwaways were a menace to themselves and the city. They stole, mugged people, got pregnant, putting more babies on welfare. Getting rid of them was a good citizen's obligation. He was a good citizen. His family was cared for. The little slut was a piece of nothing. He had his share of her and now Paul and Dave could do what they wanted. It didn't matter if kiddy porn and snuff films weren't his thing (he got his kicks with hands-on experiences), but there was a market for the pictures. Everyone had their own taste and since he took all the risk in getting the kids, he figured he had a right to make money in this enterprise. Street kids were nothing more than city refuge and Paul and Dave were garbage men. They took what they wanted from the trash and disposed of the rest in the most efficient manner available. A taxi cut him off. Yeah, he hated traffic like this.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The boys left Benny's pool hall with their ten dollars. Sam stared at the crisp ten spot in his hand while Al counted out ten singles. "Why did you want singles?"
"I show up with a ten dollar bill and I'll get in trouble. Singles I can hide easier. Besides, it's nice to have a lot of bills. Then I feel rich."
"Ten dollars is a lot of money."
"Not really, but it'll get me through the weekend and I'm going to have one hell of a weekend." His eyes flashed with a brilliant idea. "Hey, O'Brien, you interested in adventure?"
Sam's stomach knotted up. "I don't know, Al. What do you have in mind?"
Al's brain was flying. He was used to getting in trouble and he had nothing to lose. "With twenty bucks we can run away for the weekend. You want to?"
When he was young, even at his most daring, Sam wasn't reckless. "Run away? I don't know. That seems kind of dangerous."
A sudden anger flew into Al. "Forget it, O'Brien. I'll go alone." He started to run off.
Sam knew that he had to get to him or Al's fast feet would get away. With a football tackle he downed his friend, books flying. The young actor grabbed his side and his face twisted with pain. Not about to fall for Al's game, Sam stood up and proudly announced, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."
"Great, O'Brien. Now, help me up. I hit my side again."
"Are you serious?" Sam helped Al off the cement. "Listen, my apartment is just up the block. My dad is a doctor. He'll take care of you." This time, Al was really hurting. "I'm so sorry. My apartment is up the block. Can you get there on your own?"
Wisecracks were an easy way to hide pain. "Take a close look at me. I'm not built for football. Help me get my books."
Sam began picking up Al's books. "I'm really sorry, Al. I never meant to hurt you. It's just that I didn't want you to run away."
"Yeah, okay, Joey." Time to change the subject. "Your mom a good cook?" Sam considered last night's dinner, so he nodded. "I guess every condemned man deserves a last meal. Maybe your dad can check me out. Between gym class, the Buick and your flying leap back there," he started to finger his side, "I'm starting to hurt some."
There was concern, "Did you really get hit by that car?"
Al made his admission with reticence, "You got to get hit a little when you pull that stunt. Otherwise they catch on and you don't get the bread."
They continued on to Joey's apartment. Al hesitated. The impressive facade made him reconsider going in. Sam wondered what stopped his friend. "You coming in or what?" Al didn't make any movement. "It's just a building, Al."
"For you maybe, but . . . Never mind." He pushed past Sam. As they got to the huge covered entry, a uniformed doorman opened the front door and ushered them inside. Sam watched Al stare at the man in the red coat. "O'Brien, you need someone to open doors for you?"
The doorman pretended not to hear the comment. "It's his job, Al."
"Waiting on people too lazy to open doors? We don't have any doorman at St. Paul's."
Al was covering. He wanted a life like Joey's and from his current perspective, he would never have it. Sam wanted to tell him about the hero's welcome he would receive in 1978 after he walked on the moon and then returned his crew safely to earth despite the power failure in the command module. Time Magazine's cover story called him the premiere pilot and astronaut in America. He didn't think he could convince the boy there would be three books (all unauthorized) telling of his survival in Vietnam's most hellish prison camps. This boy wasn't ready to believe his life was going anywhere at all, so Sam just pushed Al gently into the waiting elevator and said, "I live on the sixth floor. Push the damn button, Calavicci."
They entered the O'Brien apartment. Al's swagger and bravado vanished. He shyly walked around, afraid of breaking anything. Sam called out, "Mom, we're home."
Mrs. O'Brien came into the entry way smiling. She wasn't prepared to see such a diminutive boy next to her lumbering son. "My goodness, are you really in Joey's class? You're so small."
Al hated comments about his size almost as much as comments about his curly hair and deep brown eyes. "And look at those beautiful curls and dark eyes. You are a very handsome young man even with that bruise on your face."
Through clenched teeth, Al muttered embarrassingly, "I fell yesterday, Mrs. O'Brien."
Sam decided to move onto other subjects. "Mom, Al is the smartest kid in the entire school. He's going to help me with chemistry."
"Joey thinks very highly of you, Alberto."
Sam jumped in. "It's Al, Mom. Only the priests and nuns call him Alberto. He doesn't like it very much."
Al was getting more and more uncomfortable. "It's okay, Ma'am. You can call me Alberto if you want."
Mrs. O'Brien smiled. "Around here, you're Al. Well boys, how about a snack?"
Sam and Al looked at each other conspiratorially. The hot pretzels took care of any afternoon hunger pangs. "No thanks, but can we have some root beer?"
"Sure. You can take it into your room today, Joey. Just be careful and don't spill any on your carpet. Understand?"
He gave her the obligatory home from school kiss. "Thanks, Mom. Come on, Al. The kitchen's back here." Al smiled at Mrs. O'Brien and followed Sam down the hallway. "You like root beer?" Sam knew full well adult Al's bizarre fondness for the sweet drink bordered on the silly.
Needless to say, Sam was surprised to hear Al state, "I never had any. What's in it?"
"What's in it? I don't know." He spun and stared at Al. "What do you mean you never had it before. You love root beer."
"I ought to know if I ever had it. Maybe I'll like it, but until you get me some, I won't know. What's it taste like?"
Sam had answered some very complicated questions in his life, but this one was past his brilliance. "It's . . . well . . . it's root beer. It tastes like root beer."
"With analytical skills like that, O'Brien, you're going to go far. Pour me some."
Sam filled two glasses with ice and poured out the brown foamy soft drink. He offered a glass to Al. "Okay, try it."
Suspiciously Al picked up the glass. "It looks like dark beer." Not sure what to expect he took a sip, then another. A smile of childlike joy grew on his face. "This stuff is good." He downed the drink quickly. Sam smiled too, but his smile was one of realization that he had introduced Al to his not so secret passion for root beer.
Sam poured more soda into Al's glass. "Let's go to my room. We can start studying."
"You think we can get some ice? My side is still hurting a little."
The request told Sam that Al was hurting a lot, not a little. "Maybe my Mom can take a look. You okay with that?"
"I guess. She seems nice."
"I'll take the books. You grab the root beers." They walked toward Joey's room. Once inside, Sam put the books on his bed and said, "I'll be right back. I'll go get Mom."
Al was left alone in the bedroom. He knew some boys had their own rooms, even though he never did, but this room was a candy store. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling. A real radio sat on the night table. A box in the corner held a football, a basketball, Joey's hockey stick and skates. Al's first instinct was to get angry at the unfairness of his life. It wasn't right that some kids had so much and others like him didn't, but his anger transformed pretty quickly into a more self-destructive point of view. Al figured he didn't have stuff because he didn't deserve it. He was a bad kid. Lying and stealing were everyday parts of his life. Joey's parents obviously loved him unlike Al's parents who deserted him or died because he was a bad kid. It was pretty easy to figure. Running away would be better than living down to other people's expectations. Looking around him, Al decided he would somehow get to Chicago and find Black Magic.
Sam came back in with Joey's mother. "My son says you fell today."
Al wasn't used to motherly concern. It threw him. He became shy and childlike, more like a young awkward teen than a streetwise throwaway. Sam noticed the change and his heart broke a little. Al's eyes got bigger and he answered Mrs. O'Brien. "I fell in gym class and got a black and blue mark."
"That's what Joey said. He also told me how he tackled you on the sidewalk and hurt you again."
"He didn't mean it. We were just goofing around. It was my fault."
"Well, he needs to be more careful. He's a big boy and you're . . . not so big. Can I take a look?" Al nodded. "Why don't you sit down on the bed and let me see." This lady actually seemed to care. He followed her directions and showed her the ugly mark. "Oh, my. Joey wasn't kidding. That's some bruise. When Dr. O'Brien comes home, he can take a look at it. Does it hurt much?"
Al whispered clumsily, "A little, I guess."
"Are you allergic to aspirin?"
"No, ma'am."
"I'll get you one. Joey, get one of your shirts for Al." She put her hand on Al's shoulder. "If you're like my son, you hate your uniform shirt."
"Thanks, Mrs. O'Brien, but I don't think Joey's shirts would fit me very well."
"You know I think I may still have some of his old things. I'll get the aspirin and then see what I can find. You boys start your studying." She left the boys alone.
Al looked longingly at Mrs. O'Brien. "Your mom's nice."
Sam's thoughts went to Thelma Beckett. A gentle smile warmed his memory. "Yeah, my mom's the best." He was talking as Sam now. "My mother really likes you. She says you have true courage and integrity."
"She doesn't know me." He put his shirt back on. "We're supposed to start studying. Let's get it over with. Get your chem book."