The Gypsy Game (13 page)

Some time later Toby began to feel hungry and made the discovery that unzipping a backpack and getting out a paper sack full of food while lying flat on your face was surprisingly difficult. And eating wasn’t all that easy either. But he went on eating, for lack of anything better to do, until it occurred to him that it might not be the best place in the world to put on a lot of weight. So he pushed what was left, actually nothing but a big chunk of French bread, back into the pack and went on lying there, waiting and listening and, after a long while, even getting a little sleepy. Not that he was going to go to sleep. No chance. Not a chance in the world that a poor fugitive trapped in a sewer pipe could actually fall asleep.…

Some time later he woke up feeling as though quite a bit of time had passed. Actually, it seemed like forever. He was cold and stiff and … And just beyond his feet there was this weird snuffling and clawing noise as if some kind
of wild animal were trying to crawl into the pipe with him. He was desperately trying to pull his feet up out of reach when the whimpering started. It was a very familiar whimper.

“Bear, you klutz,” he whispered. “How’d you get out?” But actually he had a pretty good idea. Leaving in such a hurry, he probably hadn’t replaced the plank carefully enough, and the big mutt had pushed it open and escaped.

Just as he’d feared, wiggling his way backward out of the pipe wasn’t a piece of cake, particularly not with Bear bouncing around on the parts of him that were already out. But then a surprising thing happened. When Toby’s head finally emerged from the pipe, Bear only waited long enough to give him a big sloppy greeting all over both cheeks before he pulled away and started off up the alley at a steady trot.

“Come back here,” Toby called softly, but Bear didn’t come. He’d heard all right, that was for sure, because he stopped and looked back. But then he only whined coaxingly and set off again, moving away into the deepening shadows of evening. Toby hurriedly finished fishing his backpack out of the pipe, shrugged himself into it, and after glancing up and down the dimly lit, deserted alley, ran after the rapidly disappearing dog.

What happened in the next half hour was entirely Bear’s fault. Trotting along just a few yards ahead and coming partway back whenever he got too far away, Old Shaggy Butt kept just out of reach. At first Toby followed because Bear was basically Marshall’s dog, and he, Toby, didn’t want to be responsible for letting him run away. His plan, if he had any, was just to catch up with the mutt and take him
back home, before he even started deciding where to go or what to do himself. Running along after the sneaky animal, who somehow managed to keep a few feet ahead, he went up the alley, crossed over a parking lot, and came out on Norwich Avenue.

On Norwich, Toby’s tactics had to change a little. For one thing, there were other people to deal with here. Hurrying people for the most part, on their way home for dinner probably, and not particularly interested in a boy and a dog. Not unless the boy was making himself conspicuous by sneaking up every time the dog stopped at a tree or fire hydrant and pouncing triumphantly, only to be faked out at the last moment. After trying it once or twice, and noticing that other pedestrians were stopping to enjoy the show, he decided to cool it. Bear, the old four-legged showboat, seemed to be getting a kick out of all the snickers and giggles, and Toby had to admit that he probably would have too, under normal circumstances. But at the moment, what with being a fugitive and all, attracting a lot of extra attention didn’t seem like a totally great idea.

So then Toby just gave up trying to catch the dog. Slowing down to a nonchalant stroll, he tried to convince himself that if Bear ran off and left him, so much the better. He was tired of chasing the dumb flea trap. Let him run off and get lost, or get run over by a truck, or whatever. He, Toby Alvillar, couldn’t care less.

But then, as soon as Toby began to slow down, Bear did, too. Acting as though he’d forgotten that Toby was anywhere around, he strolled down the sidewalk stopping to sniff and piddle at every tree trunk and lamppost. But always just out of grabbing range. At about that point, just
thinking about how world-class stubborn Bear was being, Toby began to get angry. The frustrating mutt went along with you just fine as long as you were doing what he wanted you to, but if you started trying to call the shots, that was it. Forget it!
Finito!
Too bad for you, pal.

Muttering under his breath, stuff like, “Wait till I get my hands on you, you stupid hairball,” Toby was still forcing himself to go on strolling when, about six blocks down Norwich, Bear suddenly crossed the avenue and turned up Arbor Street. Toby turned too, and it was right about then that he started to develop another reason to keep on following the stubborn dog. The thing was, stubborn or not, Bear did seem to know exactly where he was going. And under the circumstances, it was beginning to feel as if it was a good thing somebody did.

The first few blocks on Arbor went through a small business section, and because most of the shops had closed for the evening, there wasn’t much pedestrian traffic. But Bear kept right on going toward the east where Arbor ran into the old industrial area on the edge of town. An unfamiliar area of mostly vacant lots and boarded-up warehouses with here and there a scattering of abandoned houses and small, crummy-looking stores.

By that time it was getting late. A clock in a liquor store window said almost eight. Eight o’clock on a very dark night. A thick bank of tule fog was oozing down from the north, and on Arbor, where the streetlamps were farther apart, it was definitely spooky. But, in a way, the fog was a good thing. If Toby couldn’t see other people until he was practically on top of them, the good news was they couldn’t see him either. A good thing, in case they happened
to be the police out looking for a missing kid, or maybe somebody even more dangerous.

He wasn’t exactly terrified the whole time, but now and then he wasn’t far from it. Like when a patrol car cruised by and he had to duck behind a big debris box. Or another time when he was passing a crummy-type bar called the After Hours Club and a bunch of tough-looking guys stopped talking and stared at him as he walked by.

He probably would have gone back long before, but he knew Bear wouldn’t come with him. Toby was just about to make up his mind to go back, even if he had to go alone, when Bear trotted eagerly off the sidewalk and onto a narrow path that led toward the rear of a small wooden building all by itself on an overgrown lot.

It wasn’t a large building, hardly bigger than an ordinary house in fact, but it seemed to have a kind of tower over the front doors, and the windows were pointed at the top like the windows of churches. And there was a sign, too. By the faint glow of a distant streetlamp it was just possible to make out some faded lettering: Arbor Street Baptist. So it was, or had been, a church, but it wasn’t likely that any services had been held there for a very long time. The paint was peeling from the walls, and heavy planks had been nailed across the doors and the bottom panes of the windows. Bear was closer now, only a few steps ahead, and recklessly Toby plunged after him. He almost had him once, but Bear pulled away and scooted on down the path that now was bordered by overgrown bushes, which shut out even the faint light of the distant streetlamps. A path that led into total darkness.

Toby was turning to go back, to get back to the light and
away from the threatening, enclosing underbrush, when suddenly something warm and furry pressed against his leg. Bear! He’d caught him at last. Grabbing the dog’s collar with both hands, he was whispering, “Come on, Bear. Let’s get out of here,” when the big mutt lunged ahead so suddenly that Toby was pulled off-balance. He stumbled forward and found himself plunging down a short flight of stairs. Stumbling, lurching, and skidding, he lost his hold on Bear and crashed to a stop against a wall. And then, as he struggled to regain his balance, the wall turned out be a rough wooden door that jiggled and creaked and swung open onto black nothingness. Nothing except blinding darkness, a sense of deep, echoing space, and the smell of stale, damp air. He was backing away, feeling desperately for the first stair, when from somewhere in the dark, musty distance there came the sound of a match being struck, and then a strange, grating voice.

“Bruno,” the voice creaked, “is that you? Where have you been, you ugly monster?”

IT WAS QUITE late that same night, at about the time that Toby was following Bear along Arbor Street, when the phone began ringing in the Halls’ apartment on the third floor of the Casa Rosada apartment house. April’s grandmother answered the ring and a moment later called, “April. Where are you? It’s for you.”

April had been out on the balcony at the time looking down on the shadow-haunted alley and thinking about Toby’s being out there somewhere all alone in the dark, foggy night. Wondering where he was and if he was cold and lonely—and maybe even terribly frightened. She didn’t like to think about people being terribly frightened. Particularly not since last November when she’d found out what it was like. She was shivering when she came in, and not just with the cold. As she picked up the phone, Caroline smiled and said, “The usual,” which of course meant that it was Melanie.

“April? Hi.” Melanie’s voice was excited. “I found out.”

“Found out? How? When?”

“Just now. In the dictionary. You know. About ‘ethical dilemmas.’ ”

For a moment April couldn’t imagine what she was talking about, but then she remembered. “Oh. I thought you
meant”—she glanced toward her grandmother, who was reading the paper only a few feet away—“something else.”

Melanie understood. “Oh, like where Toby is? No, ’fraid not. Wish I had.” She sighed. “But I did find out what his father meant when he said he didn’t want to cause an ‘ethical dilemma.’ I looked it up. ‘Ethical’ means it has to do with what’s
right
and what’s
wrong
, and a ‘dilemma’ is—”

April thought she knew. “A mess,” she interrupted. “Doesn’t it mean some kind of big messy problem?”

“Right. A big messy problem that there’s no good way out of. So an ‘ethical dilemma’ is the kind of problem that whatever answer you choose, it’s not a good choice. Like when you have to choose”—Melanie lowered her voice—“between lying or breaking a promise. Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it.” April didn’t dare discuss it under the circumstances, but she knew exactly what Melanie was referring to at that particular moment. Like when Toby’s dad asked you if you’d seen Toby since he’d left home.

“Well, I guess you can’t talk much at the moment?” Melanie, as usual, guessed correctly.

“Right. That’s right. I can’t.”

“Okay. Guess it will wait till—” Melanie was beginning to say when April interrupted.

“No. No it won’t,” she said. She couldn’t explain. Not with Caroline sitting right there in the room. She couldn’t say that she absolutely had to talk to someone about the things she’d been thinking out there on the balcony or else she’d have nightmares again for sure. Talking to Caroline had helped a lot lately with the dark-alley nightmares, but right now talking to any adult about Toby was impossible. So the only other possibility was to talk to Melanie.

“Uh, look,” April went on, “do you still have …” She thought quickly. “Do you still have that book?”

“Which book?”

“The one about Gypsies. You know. The long one Mrs. George found for us.”

“Yeah,” Melanie said. “It’s still here. Why?”

“Why do you think, silly? I want to read it. Could I come down and get it?”

“Right now? It’s pretty late.”

“I know. I won’t stay very long. I just want to get the book.”

Melanie said she thought that would be okay and so did Caroline, as long as April didn’t stay more than five minutes. April started down to the second floor, thinking about what she wanted to say to Melanie and the kinds of helpful ideas she hoped Melanie would have.

But when she knocked on the Rosses’ door, Melanie met her in the entry hall with the thick book about Gypsies already in her hand. “Here it is,” she said. “My mom said we can’t talk very long. I haven’t finished my homework.”

“Look. Could I come in for just a minute?” April asked. “I’ve got to talk to you. It’s about … Well, it’s about Toby.”

“What about Toby?”

April came in and closed the door behind her. “Well, the thing is, we’ve just got to
do
something. I mean, right away. I mean, I keep thinking about where he is and what might be happening, and I keep getting these pictures in my head and I can’t get them out. Pictures about something happening to him like what almost happened to me. I just feel like—well, we just have to do something
right away
.”

Melanie looked at April thoughtfully for a moment before she said, “I guess the only thing we could do right now—I mean, right this minute—is to tell.”

“Tell?” April was shocked. “Tell who?”

“Our folks. And the police too, I guess. Because if we tell our folks, they’ll tell the police, for sure.”

“But we can’t,” April said. “We promised.”

Melanie nodded knowingly. “Like I said, it’s an ethical dilemma.”

April sighed impatiently. Just being told that you were in an ethical dilemma didn’t help all that much. Not with nightmares anyway. So she was already feeling frustrated when Melanie kind of shoved the book into her hands. “There it is. I have to go. Did you really want to read it?”

That did it. “Sure,” April said in a tight, carefully controlled voice. “I said I did, didn’t I? You think I was lying?”

“No. I thought … Oh, I don’t know. It seemed to me that …” Melanie took a deep breath. “It just seems like the whole Gypsy thing isn’t working very well.”

There it was again. There Melanie was, doing a downer about being Gypsies. April’s nervous tension suddenly exploded into anger. “Oh, I get it,” she said. “You never have liked changing to Gypsies, and I know why. I mean, just because it was my idea in the first place you never have—you keep on—you just …” Staring at Melanie, watching the way her big dark eyes widened and then narrowed as if she was in pain, April stammered to a stop.