”You can’t just walk in here and search my house,“ he said.
”Why not?“
We looked at each other some more. I was pretty sure the kid was there. If he wasn’t, why not call the cops? All I had to do was stay there. They’d bend. They wouldn’t be able to think of anything else to do.
Giacomin stopped looking at me long enough to look at his girl friend. She didn’t have anything to offer. He looked back at me.
”All right,“ he said. ”I’ve had enough. Either you walk out of here now or I kick your ass out.“
”Don’t do that,“ I said. ”You’re out of shape. I’ll hurt you.“
Giacomin looked at me and looked away. I knew he wasn’t going to.
”The hell with it,“ he said with a small push-away hand gesture. ”It’s not worth a fight. Take him. He’s down the hall.“ Giacomin gestured with his head. He didn’t look at me or Elaine Brooks.
But the boy wasn’t down the hall. He was right around the corner in the dining room. He stepped into sight around the archway.
”Swell fight you put up for me, Daddy dear,“ he said.
He was a short thin kid and his voice had a soft whine to it He was wearing a short-sleeved vertically striped dress shirt that gapped open near his navel, and maroon corduroy pants and Top-Siders with the rawhide lacing gone from one.
Giacomin said, ”You remember who you’re talking to, kid.“
The kid smiled without humor. ”I know,“ he said. ”I know who I’m talking to, Dads.“
Giacomin turned away from him and was silent
I said, ”My name is Spenser. Your mother sent me to bring you back to her.“
The kid shrugged elaborately. I noticed that the pants were too big for him. The crotch sagged.
”You want to go?“ I said.
He shrugged again.
”Would you rather stay here?“
”With him?“ The kid’s soft whine was full of distaste.
”With him,“ I said. ”Or would you prefer to live with your mother?“
”I don’t care.“
”How about you?“ I said to Giacomin. ”You care?“
”The bitch got everything else,“ he said. ”She can have him too. For now.“
I said, ”Okay, Paul You got any stuff to pack?“
He shrugged. The all-purpose gesture. Maybe I should work on mine.
”He’s got nothing to pack,“ Giacomin said. ”Everything here is mine. She isn’t getting any of it“
”Smart,“ I said. ”Smart. I like a man gets out of a marriage gracefully.“
”What the hell’s that supposed to mean?“ Giacomin said.
”You wouldn’t know,“ I said. ”The kid got a coat? It’s about nineteen degrees out. I’ll see that she sends it back if you want.“
Giacomin said to his son, ”Get your coat.“
The boy went to the front hall closet and took out a navy pea coat. It was wrinkled, as if it had been crumpled on the floor rather than hanging. He put it on and left it unbuttoned. I opened the door to the stairs and he walked through it and started down the stairs. I looked at Giacomin.
”You’ve gotten yourself in a lot of trouble over this, Jack, and don’t you forget it,“ he said.
I said, ”Name’s Spenser with an S, like the poet. I’m in the Boston book.“ I stepped through the door and closed it. Then I opened it again and stuck my head back into the hall. ”Under Tough,“ I said. And closed the door, and walked out.
CHAPTER 4
The kid sat in the front seat beside me and stared out the window. His hands fidgeted on his lap. His fingernails were chewed short. He had hangnails. I turned left at the foot of Chestnut Street and drove south past the Academy.
I said, ”Who would you rather live with, your mother or your father?“
The kid shrugged.
”Does that mean you don’t know or you don’t care?“ I said.
”I don’t know.“
”Does that mean you don’t know the answer to my question or you don’t know who you’d rather live with?“ I said.
The kid shrugged again. ”Can I turn on the radio?“ he said.
I said, ”No. We’re talking.“
He shrugged.
”Would you rather be adopted?“
This time he didn’t shrug.
”A ward of the state?“
Nothing.
”Join a gang of pickpockets and live in the slums of London?“
He looked at me as if I were crazy.
”Run off and join the circus? Make a raft and float down the Mississippi? Stow away on a pirate ship?“
”You’re not funny,“ he said.
”Lot of people tell me that,“ I said. ”Who would you rather live with, your mother or your father?“
”What’ll you do if I won’t say?“ he said.
”Ride around and be funny at you till you plead for mercy.“
He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t shrug. And he did look at me. Briefly.
”Want me to turn around and take you back to your father?“
”What difference does it make?“ the kid said. ”What do you care? It’s not your business. Whyn’t you leave me alone?“
”Because right now you’re in my keeping and I’m trying to decide what’s best to do with you.“
”I thought my mother hired you. Whyn’t you do what she tells you?“
”I might not approve of what she wants me to do.“
”But she hired you,“ he said.
”She gave me a hundred bucks, one day’s pay. If you don’t want me to take you to her, I’ll take you back to your old man, give her back her hundred.“
”I bet you wouldn’t,“ he said. He was staring out the window when he said it.
”Convince me you should be with him and I will.“
”Okay, I’d rather be with him,“ the kid said. His face was still turned to the window.
”Why?“ I said.
”See. I knew you wouldn’t,“ he said. He turned his face toward me and he looked as if he’d won something.
”I didn’t say I wouldn’t,“ I said. ”I asked for reasons. This is important stuff, choosing a parent. I’m not going to have you do it to win a bet.“
He stared out the window again. We were in North Reading, still going south.
”See, Paul, what I’m trying to do is get you to decide what you’d like best to do. Are the questions too hard for you? You want to try watching my lips move?“
With his face still turned to the window the kid said, ”I don’t care who I live with. They both suck. It doesn’t make any difference. They’re both awful. I hate them.“
The soft whine was a little shaky. As if he might cry.
”Son of a bitch,“ I said. ”I hadn’t thought of that,“
Again he looked at me in an odd sort of triumph. ”So now what are you going to do?“
I wanted to shrug and look out the window. I said, ‘I’ll probably take you back to your mother and keep the hundred dollars.”
“That’s what I thought,” the kid said.
“Would you rather I did something else?” I said.
He shrugged. We were through Reading Square almost to 128. “Can I turn on the radio now?” he said.
“No,” I said. I knew I was being churlish, but the kid annoyed me. In his whiny, stubborn desperation he irritated the hell out of me. Mr. Warm. There’s no such thing as a bad boy.
The kid almost smirked.
“You want to know why I’m taking you to your mother?” I said.
“To get the hundred bucks.”
“Yeah. But it’s more than a hundred bucks. It’s a way of thinking about things.”
The kid shrugged. If he did it enough, I would stop the car and bang his head on the pavement “When all your options are lousy,” I said, “you try to choose the least lousy. Apparently you’re equally bad off with your mother or your father. Apparently you don’t care which place you’re unhappy. If I take you back to your father you’re unhappy and I get nothing. If I take you back to your mother you’re unhappy and I get a hundred bucks. So I’m taking you back to your mother. You understand?”
“Sure, you want the hundred.”
“It would be the same if it were a dime. It’s a way to think about things. It’s a way not to get shoved around by circumstances.”