Okay, it has been pretty boring, but now stuff is gonna happen, okay? I promise.
Mr. Jared Hooke, founder of such honorable establishments as Angels of Mercy and participant of New Yorkers for the Homeless and Hungry, was troubled. He paced his office, appearing to be thinking hard. Every moment or so, he would mumble something about 'Shep', or 'money', or once even 'find'. His assistant, Harold Smee, was understandably anxious.
"Is there anything I can help you with, sir?" He asked nervously at one point, wiping his glasses. But the aforementioned Mr. Hooke simply held out one finger in the universal sign for 'one moment', then sat down at his ornate oak desk, sank into the plush chair, and twiddled with a paperweight.
"That Shep!" he called suddenly and quite forcefully, slamming the glass paperweight down so hard it almost cracked. "He's lost me nearly everything!" He groaned then, closing his eyes and retreating further black into the plum velvet cushions. Mr. Smee merely looked at him warily.
"Well, sir, I'm quite sorry, to be sure, but you never actually told me-" he began timidly, on a rare streak of boldness. Mr. Hooke wasn't necessarily someone to fume, and Mr. Smee wasn't necessarily someone to worry, but as circumstances had it, they each did.
"Hmm, I don't suppose I ever did..." he mused moodily, and suddenly sat up in his chair, ramrod straight.
"Years ago, when I was young and foolish.." Mr. Smee hurriedly tried to say that no, he was never foolish, but Mr. Hooke waved him down. "... I happened upon a particularly sorry-looking young man on a street corner. He was begging, surrounded by small children who clung to him like their lifeline, and the sight nearly brought tears to my innocent and unsuspecting eyes." he paused here ruefully, for dramatic effect. Mr. Smee watched his face, wide-eyed with interest. "Overcome with grief, I rushed him and the other three boys to Angels of Mercy. The younger ones were quite cooperative, mingling and learning their lessons. They are still here, now; but this boy, this boy was a wrangler. Never grew up, he did; always refusing his food, ignoring his teachers, and sneaking out of the dormitories. He was, to be sure, the moodiest boy you'd ever meet."
He paused, glaring at the paperweight like it was the boy. Mr. Smee watched him, curious.
"Every day, he'd come up to my office. 'Mr. Hooke', he'd say. 'Let me go. Give my board money to New Yorkers for the Homeless and Hungry. I don't want to be here.' Oh, he started out polite as could be. But as he gathered a small group of a couple of other troublemakers, he grew bolder. 'Now, see here!' He'd say, almost yelling at me. 'None of us want to be here! Let us go! Free us from this prison you call 'merciful'!"
Mr. Hooke, snarled here, glaring at the paperweight with such ferocity it seemed like it would burst into flames at any moment.
"I was kind to him, oh yes. I offered to transfer him to another orphanage, to get him a tutor, anything. A family offered to adopt him, but he didn't show up to the meeting.
"He wasn't at the orphanage. He wasn't at the video arcade or the street corner, some of his favorite haunts. His friends were gone too. Overcome with grief and worry, distraught that something had happened to the poor, troubled boy I'd found begging, I'd gone to my office.
"What did I find when I got there?" He said, voice low and dangerous. His eyes flashed, and he continued. "Those innocent, orphaned children had left me a note. It read, 'We've freed ourselves. Oh, and to save you the trouble, we went ahead and donated $75,000 to N.Y.H.H. Take care.'
"They had. Don't ask me how, but they had. Oh, it was a flurry of thank-you cards and complimentary tote bags. I got a big article in the paper, too. And how could I say, 'Oh, never mind, give me my money back'? I would've looked like the biggest jerk in the history of the world. But the money was gone, the orphanage was suffering, and my gold cuff links had to wait. And now, they've been whining for more of my hard-earned money. Seems that now they've developed a taste for it, as they've been hounding me since that boy made the gracious donation.
"I've been looking for him with a fetish. Played the worried-sick card, nobody suspected a thing when I set out scouts to look for more orphans, with special instructions to find him. The boy; his name was Shep. Odd name, yes? But he got here, no papers, refusing to give us a real name, or an age, or the time of day. I, personally, suspected that the name was related to gang action- but I couldn't quite tell anyone that, could I? Look like a paranoid, suspicious fool.
"By then, I'd been hardened." he continued gravely. "The incident had finally knocked some sense into me, made me realize that just because they have a hard life doesn't mean they're angels. No, they can be despicable and hateful if they wish to do so.
"Anyway, I've just recently discovered that one of the people he left with- a Native American girl named Lily, if my memory is correct- has joined a small clan of other homeless Native Americans residing in the subway system. This is how I see it; if we can get her to the orphanage, Shep will have to play hero and get her, yes? Then we will have him." He concluded, setting the paperweight down and peering at Mr. Smee, looking pleased with himself. Mr. Smee nodded vigorously.
"Oh, yes, sir-a fine plan indeed-perfectly foolproof-" He stuttered, tripping over his words as he so often did his feet. Mr. Hooke, rather smug, nodded smartly.
"Now, Harold-" he said importantly, using Mr. Smee's first name; this surprised him, as he never had before. "-I need you to tell the scouts to find this Lily character. She's about 5'4, dark skin, black hair, brown eyes. A right pretty girl, to be sure."
Mr. Smee, overjoyed to have been given such an important job, rushed out the door mumbling excitedly to himself. As the door swung shut behind him, the respected and well-publicized Jared Hooke turned to the window, muttering darkly as he watched the rain fall through the dark night, the sounds of the city wafting into his room. He stayed silent for a few moments, apparently thinking hard, then turned away.
"Come, Shep... I've a surprise for you..."