The Child Thief

Chapter Eight

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Nathan
The child thief watched the park lamps hum to life one by
one. Night had come early beneath the incessant drizzle. The deep shadows
from the towering tenement buildings squeezed together and there was no
longer a soul in sight. Peter refused to admit that another day was lost, he
couldn’t afford another day, not with the Captain on the prowl in Avalon.
He pushed through the row of buildings, onto another, then another.
He spotted two figures dodging lamplights and darting from shadow to
shadow. Even across the wide courtyard, Peter could tell that these kids
were runaways, could almost smell it. A grin snuck across his face—the
game was on.
The child thief trailed them into the stairwell of a large building,
slipping beneath the stairs. The stairwell smelled of piss and vomit, mold
and stale garbage. He leaned back into the shadows, trying not to inhale
through his nose as the two boys conversed in low, anxious tones.
Now that they were in the light, Peter could see they had to be brothers,
the older one maybe fifteen or sixteen, the younger one no more than
twelve. The older boy had a scrape on his forehead, his left eye was
swollen, the knees of his jeans torn and bloody. Someone had beaten him.
“What we gonna do?” the younger boy asked.
“We just gonna tell him.”
“No way!”
“Nathan, what else we supposed to do?”
“You think he’s gonna believe us?” Nathan said, the anxiety in his voice
rising along with the volume. “That was his dope. He’s gonna blame us, or
think maybe we stole it.”
It’s the same story, Peter thought. Drugs. These days it was always the
drugs. But Peter had seen too much, knew too well that men-kind didn’t
need an excuse to be cruel and murder one another. If it wasn’t drugs, then
there was always something else.
“Shh,” the bigger boy said, glancing furtively up the stairwell. He threw
an arm around Nathan. “Chill now. Your big bro got it covered. I’m tight

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with Henry. He’ll work with us. Hell, if he wants to get paid back he’ll have
to. Now won’t he?” The bigger boy was trying to sound cocky, cool, like he
had it all together, but Peter knew he was just as scared as his younger
brother, maybe more so.
“We can just leave,” Nathan said. “Get outta here. To another town
maybe.”
“Don’t you understand? We got nothing, man. Not hardly a damn
dollar.” A tremor was creeping into the older boy’s voice. “You know
anybody gonna take us in around here? Especially if Henry’s after us? Or
do you wanna go back and live with the old man?”
The younger boy shook his head hard. “No. I’m never going back there.
Never.”
“Look, I got us into this. I’m gonna get us out. Now you just wait here
—”
Nathan grabbed his bigger brother’s arm. “No, Tony. Don’t leave me.”
His voice cracked, his eyes welled up. “Please don’t go up there. Man,
please! Please don’t go up there.”
“Stop blubbering,” Tony said sternly. “You start with that baby shit and
I’m gonna leave you for good. You want that?”
The younger boy’s face became terrified. “No!” he said and wiped his
eyes on his sleeves. “I’m sorry. I’ll be cool. I promise.”
“I know you’ll be cool, ’cause you’re the Coolio.” He rubbed the
younger boy’s head, and a big smile lit Nathan’s face.
“Just wait here,” the bigger boy said. “He ain’t gonna kill me for one
fuckup. I’ll be back in a minute and everything will be fine.” He held up his
fist. “Give it up.” Nathan tapped his knuckles against his brother’s fist.
“Hang tight, Coolio,” the older boy said and headed up the stairs.