Brilliant.
Just the position I always wanted to be in.
I thought my
shoulders would pop out of their sockets when he wrenched my hands behind me.
Cold metal closed around my wrists. The ominous click of the cuffs resonated in
my ears, sending a red haze of hysteria through my head.
Oh please, not again.
Debby’s first
rule when caught shoplifting: deny everything.
Swallowing hard,
I gathered what was left of my courage. “Leave me alone!” The words were
muffled with my cheek grinding painfully against the pavement. “I did nothing
wrong!”
My long hair
caught in his hand as the officer yanked me up. I winced. This was going to end
nastily. I needed a Plan B. Fast.
The officer
named Riley rummaged through my backpack. Then he laughed harshly. “Of course
you didn’t do anything, kid. Let me guess, you’re a kleptomaniac, and you’ve a
medical certificate for legal pilfering in London?”
Making fun of
me
?
Debby had also
taught me not to show fear in these moments. And she’d taught me well. I stuck
out my chin. These jerks wouldn’t get the best of me. “Take off the shackles
and I’ll fucking
klepto
your balls!”
“Watch your
tongue, Missy. You’re in no position to threaten a police officer.” Riley gave
me a hard stare. “Is this your backpack?”
I returned his
glare with a snarl and exhaled loudly. “Nope. Never seen it before.”
“Ah, that’s
funny. Because in it there is an identification card from the Westminster
Children’s Home, which coincidentally holds your picture.” He held up the ID,
grinning broadly. If he moved his hand an inch closer, he could’ve shoved the
small yellow card up my nose.
“I lost my
wallet last week. Someone obviously found it.” I fought to keep my expression
neutral.
“Of course. And
that person forced this bag on you then. Oh, and the sales lady stuffed this—”
He pulled out the purple sweater and dangled it in front of me. “—into the
backpack as you walked by her shop, right?”
I stared him
straight in the eye and cocked a brow. “Shit happens.”
The tall man
behind me grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “That’s enough. You’re coming with
us.”
He pushed me forward.
I cast a sneer over my shoulder. “How could I ever resist when you beg so
nicely, Officer?”
The muscle on
Riley’s jaw ticked, but he restrained from speaking. His grip on my arm
tightened as he led me out of the market. Shaken, I walked alongside the
officers with my gaze on the ground to avoid the curious stares of pedestrians.
Their stares tormented me more than the steel cuffs cutting into my wrists.
Across the
street from the patrol car, Debby-
the-bitch
-Westwood lurked in the
doorway of a dirty gray house, with a snide gleam in her eyes. I stopped short,
my anger heating my blood. “I hope you’re happy now!” I jerked my arm free from
the officer and marched forward.
But Debby
disappeared even before the bobby grabbed me again and pulled me back to the
car. “This one’s mental,” he whispered to Riley.
Bearing down on
my molars until my jaw hurt, I scowled at the two men.
The taller
officer shoved me into the backseat and slammed the door shut. My body shook as
the truth of my situation washed over me.
The officers
climbed into the front seat. My gaze hardened once more as Riley inched the car
into London’s traffic. “I always wonder what drives kids like you to steal.”
The tall one curled his lips as he glowered at me through the cage partition.
“Doesn’t the system provide you with all the luxury you need?”
I gathered my
saliva to make a good spit at him. But that wouldn’t exactly help my situation,
so I struggled to swallow my anger along with the phlegm. He wasn’t the only
one in London who rated homeless children as lower than dirt.
“I get a kick
out of riding in police cars,” I replied, my tone dripping saccharin sweetness.
“It’s always the highlight of my week.” The steel around my wrists dug
uncomfortably into my back. I shifted a few times, ending up propped against
the door with my legs pulled to my chest and my dirty boots resting on the
worn-out beige cushions of the backseat. The heat of early August had warmed
the cabin like a sauna. In the stuffy air, tickles of sweat rolled down the
valley between my breasts.
At a traffic
light, my gaze drifted past a bus and skated over a black woman inside. She
carried a baby, trying to cool the kid down with puffs of her breath. A sigh
escaped me. She’d never let her child down and send her off to an orphanage to
fend for herself. Her child would grow up in a cozy home, with a loving mother,
far away from the kind of mess I was stuck in.
Always falling into a pile of
crap.
I cleared my throat, trying hard to stop it from constricting.
Riley pulled up
in front of a narrow, familiar brick building. Seconds later, he opened the car
door for me. I decided my butt had grown roots as I scowled at his blotchy
face. It seemed the heat troubled him even more than me.
“What? Does the
Skillful Dodger
need an invitation to
get out of the car?”
“What? Is
Mr. Donut
actually referring to
Dickens
?” I pulled a wry face then scooted
over to clumsily climb out. “You better read the book again, doofus.”
I bumped my head
against the door frame. Pain exploded in my skull, followed by a shower of stars
dancing behind my eyelids.
Just another
bright spot in my crappy day.
“That serves you
right,” Riley snorted between hiccups of giggles.
“Lord, let him
choke on his laughter,” I mumbled, my gaze raised skyward. With my wrists
crossed in the small of my back, I tugged up my hand-me-down jeans that always
sat loosely on my hips.
The taller
officer marched into the building, holding the door open like a gentleman. If
only I had my hands free to open the door on my own and then slam it in his
goddamn face.
Riley fought to
keep up with my quick stride, but I beat him to the stairs.
“Don’t worry, I
can find the way myself.” I climbed the steps to the first floor where the main
office was located. Unfortunately, I had to wait for one of the oafs to open the
door.
As Riley and his
partner arrived on the first floor, my exaggerated sigh drew their attention.
One flight of stairs had Riley gasping like a puppy.
The taller cop
planted a hand on my shoulder. “No need to hurry, lass. You’ll face justice
soon enough.”
I shrugged his
hand off. “I’ve got news for you, Riley and Riley’s partner. I’m only
seventeen. That means I’m not old enough to face legal punishment for a minor
crime—like borrowing a sweater.” I gave them a wide grin, which didn’t come as
easily as I had hoped with Miss Mulligan’s warning ringing in my ears.
“Borrow?” Riley
puffed. There was amusement in his tone, but his pissed face confirmed I would
be walking out of here. I turned my face away and exhaled, relieved.
Riley twisted
the doorknob then walked into the office first. Shoulders squared and back
straight, I followed him into the room with the high, arched ceiling. The sun
shining through the narrow but tall windows blinded my eyes for a second, while
the stench of sweat and police dogs bit my nose.
A handful of
cops lingered behind beige desks, sipping from huge coffee mugs and chatting to
each other. No one glanced at us, so I avoided the German shepherd sprawled out
on the floor and strode down the aisle between two straight lines of desks
directly to the reception.
Hip against the
counter, I gazed down at the black-haired guy with designer stubble. His bright
eyes stood out against the dark blue of his uniform.
“Hi, Quinn. How
you doing? Sorry, I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid that right now—” I
twisted and raised one shoulder, displaying my shackled wrists. “—I’m slightly
indisposed.”
Quinn rubbed his
hands over his suntanned face. The moan came through muffled and somewhat
choked. “Shit, Jona, please tell me you were part of a sick party gag and now
you’re here to get trick cuffs removed.” He peeked through the slits between
his fingers.
A sheepish smile
crept to my face. “You might want to take a second guess.”
He lowered his
hands and folded them on the desk. “Why can’t you keep your butt out of
trouble? Kids your age are supposed to hang out in parks, not at police
stations.”
Quinn was a nice
guy. Big eyes, styled hair and muscular body, I guessed he was no more than ten
years older than me. Maximum. Once, I asked him for his real age, but he just
told me he was “old enough to know better.”
Unlike my
relationship with Debby, I did consider Quinn a real friend, even though he
worked for the police. And not just because he’d made a stop at McDonald’s to
buy me a sandwich when he’d volunteered to take me back to the orphanage after
his shift. He was someone who saw me, the teenager, and not the criminal.
During the good
year we had known each other, he had never passed on a chance to try to talk
sense into my rebellious head. And today was no different. His nostrils flared
as he heaved a hopeless sigh. “What did you do this time?”
Riley punched
his fist on the countertop, the purple sweater clenched between his chunky
fingers. “
Jim Hawkins
here went fishing at Camden Market.”
I rolled my
eyes. “Jack. It’s Jack Hawkins. Someone should smack a copy of
Oliver Twist
over your head.” I’d have volunteered if I had a book within reach that was
thick enough to leave a dent in his bonehead. And, of course, if I wasn’t
currently shackled. I cast Quinn a meaningful glance. “Why are you surrounding
yourself with idiots?”
Riley started
forward with fire in his eyes, but Quinn held him back by his arm. “Thanks for
bringing her in, but I better deal with her now.”
The stout
officer snarled, but finally trudged away throwing off steam that would make
Thomas the Tank Engine proud.
Once Riley and
his partner disappeared, Quinn regarded me with wry sympathy. “You know, Abe
will have your head for this.” He paused as I gulped.
Stealing a
Nintendo from T&B Electronics eleven months ago had gotten me the first
chance to see a courtroom from the inside and make the acquaintance of Judge
Abraham Smith. I liked to call the balding judge a special friend, even though
“
a plague”
became his choice
description for me.
Minor offenses
cultivated our friendship
extraordinaire
ever since. Although Miss Mulligan
continuously saved my butt, the last time I saw Abe, he had sworn he’d lock me
away for the next five hundred years if I showed up in his office again. I’d
half-expected steam to come out of his ears. He’d sent me out of his office
with a glare as sharp as Superman’s laser vision. I wasn’t too keen on meeting
him again anytime soon.
Quinn stood up
and placed his palm on my shoulder. Unlike the other officer’s hand, I allowed
Quinn’s to stay. “Let’s fill out the forms, kiddo, and then we’ll call Miss
Mulligan. I can’t get off right now, so your warden needs to come here and pick
you up.”
My stomach
dropped. I could picture the freckled beanpole freaking out when she heard
about me being at the police station—again. My eighteenth birthday was only
seven weeks away. Six weeks and five days to be exact. She wouldn’t make her
threat real and turn me over to the hands of law so close to my release from
the orphanage, would she?
*
A couple hours
later, Miss Mulligan led me through the wide double doors of the institution.
My eyes focused on the gray linoleum floor, but the whispers and contemptuous
stares of my fellow inmates didn’t escape me.
“Go to your
room,” Miss Mulligan ordered. The effort it took for her to control her temper
reflected on her red face. “I’ll make a call to Judge Smith now and deal with
you later.”
Calling Abe?
Thank Goodness, she was on my side after all. I knew her tactics from the past.
First, she called the court and tried to reason with the officials, promising
to make up for the damage or in this particular case, the stolen sweater. Then
she’d take me to a hearing where I would show my good will and act very, very
sorry. In the end, I might get away with being locked in my room for a couple
of weeks and probably no TV.
Acceptable.
The warden came
to my room on the third floor that evening to inform me the dreaded audience
with my friend Abe was set for next Tuesday—and to tell me she would be the
happiest person in the world the day that I turned eighteen and left the
orphanage for good.
No reason not to
believe her.
The four days
between my capture and the meeting at court I spent in my sparsely furnished
room with dirty white walls. Curled up on the worn metal cot, I stuck my nose
deep in a book, my feet shoved under the thin blanket. The weak bulb of the
lamp placed on the stool that served as my nightstand provided hardly enough
light to decipher the letters on the pages at nights, but that didn’t stop me.