“I have a boyfriend.”
“I was just searching out your ideas, really.”
“Barry Lancaster.”
“Barry Lancaster is your boyfriend?”
She flipped her hair over her right shoulder and nodded, and the gum went click-click-click in her mouth.
“Some guys have all the luck,” I said, meaning Barry Lancaster and in a funny way, me too.
Uncle Farrell had to pick me up that afternoon, since I missed the bus. We drove straight to the driver’s license place and I took my test for the third time. This time I passed, missing four questions, one less than the maximum allowable. To celebrate, I drove us to IHOP for dinner. I ordered the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity. Uncle Farrell had the patty melt. He was wearing his black uniform and wetting his lips more than usual.
“So, what have you decided, Alfred?”
“About what?”
“About this operation for Mr. Myers.”
“I think it’s incredibly unfair of you to threaten me with a foster home to make me do it.”
“Forget unfair. Is it fair that you won’t help your only flesh and blood?”
“You just told me to forget fair and then you ask me if something’s fair.”
“So?”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Sometimes I think you’re toying with me, Alfred, which is incredibly cheeky for a kid in your position. Final time, last chance, do-or-die: Are you going to help me tonight?”
“Tonight? You’re doing it tonight?”
He nodded. He was on about his third cup of coffee and his nod was quick and sharp, like a bobble-head’s. “I have to. Samson is out of town and Myers wants his sword back ASAP. It’s now-or-never time. Fourth quarter, ten seconds left.”
“So you’re going to do it whether I help you or not?”
“I gave my word, Alfred. I made a promise,” he said pointedly, as if reminding me I should keep mine, although I couldn’t remember actually making any promises. “So the only question left is . . . are you going to help me?”
When I didn’t answer right away, he leaned in close and whispered, “You think I won’t do it? You think I won’t send you back to foster care?”
I wiped my cheek with my napkin, which was sticky with syrup, and I felt the stickiness on my cheek.
“Maybe if you try, I’ll tell the police you stole the sword.”
“Keep your voice down, will ya? I’m not stealing anything. I’m recovering it for the victim. I’m doing a good deed, Al. Now, last time I’m going to ask. Are you going to help me?”
I dabbed my cheeks again with my sticky napkin, and for some reason I thought about Amy Pouchard and the fact that Barry Lancaster was probably going to kill me when he found out she was tutoring me in math, and then I thought about my mom who died and the dad I never knew. The only person I had left was sitting across the table from me, slugging down coffee, nervously wetting his lips and drumming his fingers on the table.
“Okay,” I said. “But I’m a minor, so whatever happens up there they’ll blame you for it.”
“Whatever happens up there,” he said, “it’s gonna change both our lives forever.”
I would remember those words when Uncle Farrell turned to me and whispered my name, Alfred, right before he died.
5
In the car on the way to the Towers, I asked him, “Uncle Farrell, have you thought about how you’re gonna do this?”
“Do what?”
“Get the sword. What about all the security cameras?”
“We’re going to cut the power.”
“To the whole building?”
“No, just the power to the security system. Power goes out every now and then.”
“There’s no backup?”
“You can override it. If it stays down over ten minutes, though, a call automatically goes to police headquarters.”
I thought about it. “Okay, so we have ten minutes from the time you cut the power till the cops know.”
“Yeah. But it’s maybe another five, ten minutes before a cop gets there.”
“How do you know?”
“We’ve run drills before, Alfred.” He sighed, and his head went shake-shake-shake again.
“Okay. Let’s say a terminal window of no more than fifteen minutes.”
“ ‘Terminal window’? You’ve been watching too many movies, Alfred.”
“What if someone shows up downstairs while we’re in Mr. Samson’s office?”
“While you’re in Samson’s office.”
“Me?”
“Well, I can’t do it, Alfred. Why do you think you’re here? I’ve got to provide cover downstairs. I’ll get you in, you get the sword, and then we get out. Then I call Myers and we swap the sword for another cool half-mil.”
We drove in silence for a while. Samson Towers loomed ahead, silhouetted against the night sky.
Uncle Farrell said, “Now, stay right here in the car, Alfred.” He pulled into the underground parking lot. “I’ll come back and get you once the shift’s changed.”
So he left me there, hunkered in the front seat. My watch read 10:45. I have to admit, even though this deal seemed awfully fishy to me, I was excited. It was kind of like a spy movie, only we weren’t spies and this wasn’t a movie. So maybe it wasn’t like a spy movie but more like a fifteen-year-old kid and his uncle trying to steal a sword that may or may not belong to a guy who was paying them a truckload of money to steal it.
Uncle Farrell came back downstairs and I got out of the car.
“All clear,” he whispered. “I’ve already cut the power to the system. Hurry, Alfred!”
He popped the trunk and pulled out a beat-up old duffel bag.
“What’s that for?” I whispered. The garage was empty and I wasn’t sure why we were whispering.
“You want to be seen lugging a big sword into our apartment building, do you? Here.” He handed the bag to me.
We took the elevator from the garage to the main floor, where the fountain spattered and gurgled and our footfalls echoed eerily in the great empty space.
I followed him to the guard station with the bank of surveillance monitors. They were all dark. I noticed tiny dots of sweat beaded on his forehead.