Finders Keepers, page 4
Yes, James Richard declared to himself, dismissing all doubt from him mind. He would do it. He had to do it. He needed basketball. It was all he had left.
"I hope so," Coach Barczak said. "Partly because I know you like to play. Mostly though, I'll be honest here, with your outside shooting and with Tommy Glaser in the middle, man, we can be deadly this year. It'd be like John Stockton and Karl Malone."
"Who?"
Barczak looked at the expression on the thirteen-year-old's face. What is it with kids today? he wondered. Didn't they study history?
"Never mind," he said.
***
The public library was across the street and half a block down from St. Rose and the two institutions sponsored many programs together. The library informally stored St. Rose texts, computer programs and other materials for students to study after school hours. The librarian knew James Richard and was happy to see him sitting in his old, familiar spot at the table across from the door and near the floor-to-ceiling windows. He hadn't been around much lately. She called to him softly, only he didn't hear. He was wearing headphones and listening to a Spanish language tape played on computer while scrolling through Spanish-English transcriptions on the screen. She moved to his side and tapped his shoulder. Startled, he removed the headphones.
"We close in fifteen minutes," she warned him, pointing at the clock above the door. It was a quarter to nine. James Richard nodded his thanks and replaced the headphones over his ears.
His mother would not approve of him staying so long at the library. It meant taking a city bus to get home, for one thing. Yet James Richard felt he would get more work done here than at his home, where he would be distracted by TV and video games and Facebook and all the rest. Besides, since she now worked nights and couldn't pick him up, he'd have to take the bus home after basketball practice anyway. What was the difference if he left at five-thirty or nine?
Later, while he stood at the bus stop three blocks north of his school, James Richard realized that there was a big difference. For one thing, it was dark. For another, he was alone. At five-thirty the bus stop attracted a lot of other kids who were going home from school and grown-ups returning from their jobs. Then there was the ride itself. James Richard would be traveling all the way from the southern suburbs through the heart of the city and into the northern suburbs. The bus ride would take nearly an hour. Well, at least he'd be able to get some more studying in, he decided.
"Only two weeks left," he reminded himself as the lights of the bus approached.
***
The sound of squealing brakes followed by a car horn startled James Richard, forcing him to look up from his American history textbook. The bus was on University Avenue now, a major thoroughfare that cut the city in half. It was lined with retail shops of all kinds: pizza joints, auto parts stores, fast food restaurants and bars. Dozens of people walked the sidewalks. When James Richard looked up, he saw a man dressed in dark clothes running toward the bus. He was carrying a large suitcase above his head with both hands and yelling something. The bus slowed and stopped in the middle of the block as the man ran in front of it. Its front doors swished opened. The man carrying the suitcase climbed on board. He was breathing hard and his face was pale from running. He spoke earnestly with the driver as he fished in his pocket for money. He seemed relieved when he discovered the correct change.
The bus driver hit the accelerator and the bus jerked forward. The man with the suitcase nearly fell as he made his way past James Richard to the back of the bus. Upon reaching it, he slid the suitcase on the seat, but he did not sit down. Instead he stood, watching something outside the back window. James Richard looked through the side window. He saw two men trying to cut across the busy street, but on-coming traffic forced them back to the curb. One of them bent over and rested his hands on his knees and if he was exhausted from running a long, long, way. The second man was gesturing wildly at the bus. The driver didn't see him though and kept the vehicle moving down the avenue.
James Richard glanced over his shoulder at the man now sitting on the back seat of the bus. He was clutching the handle to the suitcase with both hands and smiling.
James Richard shrugged and went back to his textbook.
***
"Oh no! No! No! No!"
A half dozen passengers, including James Richard, turned in their seats to look at the man with the suitcase. Only about five minutes had passed since he had boarded the bus. He was standing again and looking out the back window.
"Now what am I going to do?" he asked himself aloud.
James Richard looked out the side window. There was a car coming up fast behind the bus, but he couldn't make it out.
"Nuts," the man with the suitcase said loudly. "Nuts! Nuts! Nuts! Nuts! Nuts!"
James Richard returned to the window. The car in the next lane had overtaken the bus and was now matching its speed. The vehicle was sky blue and had four doors. James Richard told himself he had seen it before, but couldn't remember where. Inside the car were three men, two in the front seat and one in the back. The man sitting on the passenger side of the front seat was pointing a finger at the back of the bus. He then drew it slowly across his throat, moving the finger from ear to ear. He seemed to be laughing.
James Richard glanced back at the man with the suitcase. He was also watching the car and holding his throat with both hands as if he had just been cut there. He seemed even more pale than before.
James Richard looked for the car again. It was speeding past the bus. All he could see were its taillights. He went back to his history text.
***
James Richard heard a low scraping sound behind him that he couldn't recognize. He glanced over his shoulder. The man with the suitcase had abandoned the back seat. He was now sitting across the aisle from James Richard, two rows back. The suitcase was standing upright in the aisle next to him. It reminded the boy of one his mother owned. He didn't linger over it. He was studying a chapter on the Spanish-American War - Teddy Roosevelt was about to lead his Rough Riders up San Juan Hill and he wanted to learn how it turned out. The scraping noise distracted him again. Only this time when James Richard looked, he discovered that the man was now sitting directly behind him. He had crossed the aisle, dragging the suitcase with him. His face had turned a ghastly white and his breathing was irregular. At first James Richard figured the man was sick. Then he realized that he was scared. That made James Richard scared, too.
The man with the suitcase paid no attention to James Richard. He didn't even seem to notice he was sitting there. Instead, he stared straight ahead without expression. When the bus slowed and stopped, his eyes grew wide and the corners of his lips turned downward. He looked like he was in pain.
The bus doors swished open and a man climbed the three front steps. He ignored the fare box and turned toward the back of the bus. He studied the faces of each passenger until he found one he recognized crouched down in the seat directly behind a blond kid maybe twelve or thirteen in a private school uniform, SRL stitched over his heart. The man smiled and when he did, the man with the suitcase gasped. That made James Richard gasp, too, although he couldn't tell you why. The man who had just boarded the bus had sandy-blond hair and blue eyes and didn't look frightening at all.
"Hey, buddy," the bus driver said. "Forget something?"
The sandy-haired man glanced at the driver who was pointing to the fare box.
"Correct change, please," the driver said.
James Richard heard a scraping noise behind him.
The sandy-haired man scowled like he didn't appreciate the interruption and dug deep in the pocket of his blue jeans for money.
The man with the suitcase hopped up.
The sandy-haired man, attracted by the sudden movement, turned toward him.
The man left the suitcase and dashed to the back door of the bus and hit it hard with his shoulder. The door gave and he squeezed through.
The sandy-haired man cursed. The bus lurched forward as the driver pulled away from the curb, knocking his passenger off balance. The sandy-haired man cursed again.
"Let me off, let me off!" he screamed at the bus driver. The bus driver was happy to oblige, but took his own sweet time about it. The sandy-haired man dashed out the door and began chasing the other man.
James Richard watched it all from where he was kneeling on his seat. All of a sudden the Battle of San Juan Hill didn't seem that interesting.
***
James Richard was still kneeling on the seat and looking through the windows when once again the bus began accelerating away from the curb. Someone yelled, "Hey!" and the driver pounded his brakes. The bus jerked forward violently and rocked backward. The abrupt movement threw James Richard from his perch. He hit the back of the seat in front of him and fell to the floor. A heavy object slid into him, banging his head. It was the suitcase that belonged to the man who had jumped off the bus.
"Everyone all right?" the bus driver called. The passengers murmured adjectives concerning the state of their health. Everyone was more or less intact.
"How 'bout you kid? You all right?"
The bus driver was looking in his mirror at the reflection of James Richard rubbing his head.
"Yeah," said James Richard. He climbed to his feet and righted the suitcase, setting it next to his seat.
"Sorry about that, folks," the bus driver called over his shoulder. "Some jerk in a blue car pulled out in front of me without signaling."
James Richard rubbed his head some more and stared angrily at the suitcase. His mom was right. Riding the city bus was the pits.
***
The name of the street changed from University to Lincoln Parkway as the bus left the city limits and entered the northern suburbs. It drove three miles without a halt until James Richard pulled the cord, signaling the driver with a low ting that his stop was approaching.
James Richard was standing in the back doorway as the bus slowed. He couldn't wait to get off.
"Don't forget your suitcase," the driver called to him.
"What?"
"Your suitcase."
"That's not my…"
"Take the suitcase," the bus driver insisted, yelling at the boy.
James Richard hesitated.
"C'mon kid, I gotta schedule to keep."
James Richard flinched at the words and grabbed the suitcase by the handle. It was heavy and he half-carried, half-dragged it out of the bus. As he set it on the ground, the big vehicle shuddered and pulled away from the stop. James Richard looked after it.
"It's not my suitcase," he finally found the voice to say.
The taillights of the bus became dimmer and dimmer until they disappeared altogether. James Richard kicked the suitcase.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" he wondered out loud.
He kicked the suitcase again.
Finally, the boy grabbed the handle and began carrying-dragging it to his house. Normally, the trip would have taken five minutes tops, however, between the suitcase and his book-laden backpack, James Richard was moving a lot of weight and the job took him fifteen minutes. When he reached his front door, he kicked the suitcase again.
"I sure hope I get a reward for this," he declared.
The first thing James Richard did after unlocking the door with a key he wore on a chain around his neck, was dash to the bathroom. The second thing he did was drag the suitcase into the kitchen. He attempted to heave it up on the table, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. He left it on the floor.
James Richard went to the refrigerator, found a root beer and pulled its top. He drank thirstily while he regarded the suitcase. Should he open it? It was private property after all. But how else was he going to learn the identity of the owner and return it? There were no outside tags, nothing with a name on it. The heck with it, he decided and set the root beer on the table. He pushed the suitcase on its side and snapped open the locks. He lifted the lid slowly.
His ears filled with a loud rushing sound like air escaping from a leaking automobile tire. He swallowed hard and the sound stopped. He blinked his eyes once, twice, three times, closed them for a few seconds, opened them again. He reached out and gently touched the green bills before pulling his hand back, afraid his fingers would be burned.
The suitcase was filled with money.
James Richard began picking up packets of bills. One, then another, and another until he couldn't hold anymore.
"My God," he said in a whisper. "It's real."
***
Three men stood before the dispatcher at the bus depot.
"You're in luck," the dispatcher told them. "Bus 115 is pulling in just now. If you left your suitcase aboard, it's probably still there."
Only it wasn't. The bus driver told the three men that nothing was left on his bus. He even let them look for themselves.
"Somebody must have taken it," said the man with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes.
The bus driver looked at him like he had seen him before but couldn't place where.
"I don't know who," the driver said at last. "There was a fella… Naw, he didn't take anything when he jumped off. Hey, wait a minute. Now I remember. A kid. Got off in the suburbs, about a mile from the nature preserve. Had a school uniform on. He was carrying a suitcase. Big sucker. Almost forgot it. I had to remind him."
Without so much as a "thank you," the other two men each took an arm of the third and pulled him away from the bus driver. The sandy-haired man protested, but the others didn't care.
"This is really making me angry," said the one named Sickler.
"You and me both," said Truax.
"It's not my fault," said Worlie.
"You said your guy was trustworthy!" Sickler was shouting now. "This guy. This Fast Eddie. You said he could be trusted to sell us the cocaine. Only what happens? The man tries to sell us powdered sugar, instead. Powdered sugar! Looks like cocaine but it ain't! Then he steals our money and runs - this Fast Eddie you think is so trustworthy. We end up chasing him all the way across town."
"It's not my fault," Worlie insisted.
"Whose fault is it?" Truax wanted to know. When Worlie didn't answer, Truax said, "Eddie didn't have the suitcase when he got off the bus."
"The kid's got it," Sickler said.
"This kid who took the suitcase, do you remember him?"
Worlie closed his eyes, tried to see the boy in his mind's eye.
"What about it?" asked Sickler.
"Do you remember him?" Truax asked again.
Worlie opened his eyes. He almost wished he couldn't remember, but the picture was clear in is mind. He said, "Blond kid maybe twelve or thirteen in a private school uniform, SRL stitched over his heart."
Back to TOC
CHAPTER FIVE
The police station was crowded and noisy with people bustling back and forth, all of them looking like they were late for something and James Richard wondered if it was always like that. From where he and his mother sat on a bench against the wall, it reminded him of an airport except he was the only one with a suitcase.
James Richard was working on only three hours of sleep, yet he never felt more awake. All his senses were revved up. Adrenaline surged through his body like water in a faucet; he could see and hear everything. The snatches of conversation he picked up fascinated him, especially one exchange between two police officers who walked past him and his mother.
"We found him at the county fairgrounds. Name 'a Fast Eddie."
"What is it with crooks and nicknames?"
"He was pretty beat up, couple of broken bones. He'll be in the hospital for a month."
"Who's catching?"
"Rustovich got the call."
"He has all the fun."
James Richard looked at his mother, who also heard the conversation. She shook her head sadly and said nothing.
They sat on the bench for another twenty minutes with Mrs. McNulty growing more and more impatient. She was looking at her watch for about the fiftieth time when a man dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt and a black sports jacket walked into the station house. He saw Mrs. McNulty, couldn't miss her sparkling blonde hair and her chocolate ice cream eyes. He smiled. James Richard saw the smile. He didn't like it. Men were always smiling at his mother and he wished they would stop.
"Hey, Matt," the desk sergeant called out to the man
"Yeah?" he answered.
He went to the police sergeant who was sitting behind a large desk on top of a high platform in the center of the room. The police sergeant spoke to him quietly and motioned toward the McNulty's. The man smiled and came toward them like he couldn't think of doing anything he enjoyed more.
"Can I help you?" Rustovich asked Sheila McNulty, still smiling.
"I don't know, can you?" she answered in a way that let the policeman know that she had been smiled at before.
"I'm Detective Sergeant Matt Rustovich with the major crimes unit," the man answered and offered his hand. Sheila shook it. The man completely ignored James Richard. He said, "The desk sergeant mentioned something about a suitcase."
Sheila McNulty frowned, debated how to answer. While she hesitated, James Richard answered pointedly, "I found a suitcase on the bus last night." Sergeant Rustovich looked at him like he was seeing the boy for the first time. "We're here to turn it in."
James Richard didn't want to turn it in, God knows. He argued with his mother about it most of the night. She was adamant though and when James Richard at last forced himself into a crying jag in an attempt to get his way, she simply sent him to bed with the promise that they would take the money to the police station before school the next morning.
"You found a suitcase on the bus?" Sergeant Rustovich repeated.
"Yes," James Richard said. He nearly added, "sir" to his answer, but saw no reason to be respectful to this man who kept smiling at his mom.
