Real Dragons

by Rebecca Shelley

  "That lucky marble saved my life in Vietnam more than once. It's the best thing to have around when bullets start flying. Boy, the stories I could tell you." He looked at Jonas and shrugged. "It'll be dark soon, and I'm not really allowed here for the safety of you kids and all. Rules and regulations. I'll have to tell you about 'Nam some other time." Baxter shuffled out of the kitchen to the front door.

  "Thank you," Jonas called. "You did the right thing coming here to let me know."

  Don set his chair upright and sank into it. He fingered the black marble.

  Jonas lifted a piece of drawing paper off the counter and turned the picture for Don to see. It was the one of the dragoness trying to lift Baxter's watch. "How in the world?" Jonas said.

  Don swallowed the taste of cold silver in his mouth. "He believes his drawings make things happen. Maybe Baxter never even had the watch until Weldon drew it into being."

  Jonas chuckled. "Baxter said he's had it for two weeks."

  Don sighed and put the pearl dragoness in his pocket.

  Jonas flipped through the phonebook. "You didn't answer about me calling your father."

  "You better do it," Don said, his words edged with bitterness. "If he finds out I was here and you didn't tell him, he's sure to make trouble. Believe me, he's good at that. Could probably get this whole place shut down."

  "I was kind of thinking the same thing. You wouldn't happen to remember his phone number, would you?" Jonas ran his finger down the phone book page.

  "No, and I don't want to. I'm trying very hard not to remember anything at all since my mother died, and I had to go live with him." Don rubbed his aching head.

  Sonia and Taneshia came into the kitchen. "Hey, you started without us." They dished up their plates.

  "Can you take that in the living room?" Jonas said. "I need to make a phone call. Take a plate for Victor too, please."

  The girls fell silent, took their food and left.

  Jonas dialed the phone. He had to argue with three successive secretaries before he got Wallace Stevens on the line. Mr. Stevens, not dad. Don refused to think of him as dad.

  "I think this is him," Jonas said. "I'm putting it on speaker phone." He got it onto speaker just as a deep voice said hello.

  "Mr. Stevens," Jonas said. "I'm George Jonas. I run a local youth shelter—"

  "No. I'm not promising any kind of donation," Stevens interrupted.

  Don rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

  "This isn't about a donation, sir," Jonas said. "Like I told your secretaries, your son is here."

  "My son," Stevens's voice turned even frostier than it had been before, "is at the George Washington School for Boys in Michigan."

  Don shuddered. Endless arguments with Stevens rang in his ears. Don hadn't wanted to go.

  "I assure you, Mr. Stevens, that Don is right here with me. I've got the phone on speaker if you want to talk to him."

  "Hold on. I'm going to conference call this," Stevens said. A few moments later he had a school secretary on the line. How he managed it on a Saturday evening, Don could only guess. "This is Wallace Stevens," he thundered into the phone. "I'm just calling to see how my son, Donald, is adjusting to school."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Stevens," the secretary said in a timid voice. "What do you mean?"

  "My son, Donald, how is he?"

  "M-Mr. Stevens," the secretary stuttered. "He's not here. One of your people called and said you'd changed your mind, and Donald wouldn't be coming."

  "One of MY people? Which one?" Stevens hollered into the phone.

  "I-I-I don't know sir. This note just says, 'Secretary called. Donald not coming.'"

  Don felt sorry for the poor school secretary.

  "Donald!" Stevens bellowed.

  "It wasn't me," Don yelled back.

  "Where are you? Tell me this instant." The phone clicked as Stevens hung up on the secretary.

  Don looked to Jonas for help.

  "He's at the Safe Home Youth Shelter." Jonas rattled off the address.

  "Stay right there, Donald. I'm coming to get you." He made Don's name sound like a swear word. Don winced.

  The line went dead.

  Jonas let out a deep breath and turned off the phone. He leaned against the counter and looked at Don with worried eyes. "You sure he's not the one that beat you? If he was, I can keep you out of his hands."

  "It wasn't him," Don said. His head pounded, and the kitchen walls seemed to sway. He wanted to crawl into the bunk bed Jonas had given him and sleep forever. "It was the muggers. They wanted the Bourbon Jewels. They took the two brooches but couldn't get the diamond wristband off my arm."

  Don unwrapped the bandages from his wrist and showed Jonas the crusty cuts in his flesh where the muggers had tried to pull it off him.

  Jonas whistled. "You took the Bourbon Jewels from your father's safe?"

  "Yep," Don rewound the bandages over his wrist. "He cares far more about money than he does about me. I figured if I took them to school with me, then at least he might notice I was gone. He'd probably even have to come see me to get them."

  "But you didn't go to school?"

  Don's headache intensified, like a thunderstorm with flashes of silver and a gun pointed at his face. "I-I can't remember what happened. It hurts . . . my head hurts too much."

  Jonas's eyes went suddenly bright. "Weldon? Does he have the diamond wristband?"

  "Yes."

  Jonas swore. "Worth millions of dollars. Weldon on the street with it."

  "He was just going to take it to the tower and come back." Don's stomach squirmed. Weldon had not come back. He was in big trouble.

  Jonas swore again. "I'm calling the police."

  "No." Don jumped up and grabbed the phone before Jonas could get his hands on it. "They'll think he stole it. I don't want him to go to jail because of me."

  Jonas held his hand out, demanding the phone. "He won't go to jail for trying to return it. Believe me, the police are a lot more reasonable than you think they are. But whatever criminals are after the wristband, the ones that beat you, they are not reasonable at all. This could be a matter of life and death. If it makes you feel better, I won't tell the police about the wristband for now. I'll just let them know that Weldon is in danger and ask them to keep a look out for him."

  Don knew for sure it was a matter of life and death. He relinquished the phone to Jonas.

  Weldon waited as long as he could stand. He hadn't heard any sign of the muggers for quite a while when he peeked out of his hiding place. He saw nothing but a few random customers. Grateful to be away from the suffocating smell of starched suit pants, he slipped out of hiding and headed for the front door.

  His tennis shoes squealed against the polished linoleum. He kept his right hand over the pocket that hid the wristband.

  Through the glass of the front door, he saw Mr. Eaglehead waiting on the sidewalk. Weldon dodged behind a display of women's shoes. He didn't think the mugger had seen him, but he couldn't go out the front door. If there was a back door, Mr. Earring would probably be guarding it as well.

  Sweat chilled Weldon's palms, and he shivered in the cold from the store's air conditioning. The whirring of an escalator caught his attention. He backed away from the shoes and made a run for it. If he went up a few floors, he might be able to find a fire escape.

  He raced up the escalator, letting his own momentum add to that of the rising steps to double his speed. He came out in the housewares department and headed to the side of the store in search of an emergency exit. He found one just beyond a shelf, loaded with toasters.

  A sign on the wooden door warned that an alarm would sound if the door opened. So much for sneaking out. Maybe a window, he thought.

  He found a big bay window at the front of the store that looked out onto the street. It wasn't the kind that could open, and had no fire escape beneath it. Weldon kept out of view and stared down at the man who waited for him below. Mr. Eaglehead had a hunting
knife strapped to his belt and a suspicious-looking bulge beneath his shirt, which had to be a gun. He kept his attention divided between the street and the front door.

  After a time, Mr. Eaglehead kind of jerked in surprise and pulled out a cell phone. Answered it. Listened for a moment. Then shoved it back in his pocket and hurried away down the street.

  Weldon tensed, wondering what that was about.

  A moment later a silver limousine glided down the street in the direction the mugger had taken. Both were headed along the route that led to the shelter. Weldon bit his lip.

  Mr. Earring came from the side of the building and joined his partner.

  Weldon's heart hammered. Somehow they'd found out where Tom was and were going for him. Weldon went back downstairs. He had to head off the muggers. If he showed them the wristband, they'd stop going after Tom and come after Weldon instead. Weldon figured he'd make a run for the subway then, lead the brutes on a chase around the whole city. That might give Tom a chance to escape.

  Weldon pushed out the front doors of the apartment store and started down the street after the muggers. He got the wristband out of his pocket and held it ready in his hand.

  The muggers stopped in front of a bar. They talked for a moment while Weldon came toward them. Then they went inside without looking back up the street, as if the chauffeur had called them off the search for Weldon.

  A trick, Weldon thought, to lure me closer.

  He kept going anyway. Every muscle strained, ready to run. He reached the bar and saw no sign of the muggers. The door was closed. A beer sign flashed red and blue from a dirty window.

  Weldon hurried past. They might have gone out the back door and planned an ambush for him somewhere further up the street. He jumped when a woman brushed past him. A city bus rumbled by, spewing a cloud of brown smog into the air. Weldon licked his lips and shoved the wristband back in his pocket. His palm had become too slippery from sweat, and he feared he might drop it.

  He scanned the crowd as he walked, looking for any sign of the men who planned to kill him. Nothing. Nothing. Every footstep. Every heartbeat. He moved closer to the youth shelter. Still nothing.

  Don waited in the living room with Jonas. An evening breeze blew in through the open window. Sonia and Taneshia, learning of the imminent arrival of Don's father, retreated to the kitchen with a couple of bottles of fingernail polish and some silver glitter.

  The scent of the fingernail polish filled the house, reminding Don of the smell of Alice's paints. He hadn't spent very long with her, but he knew he would miss her. And Weldon. He hoped the police would find Weldon and save him from the muggers, and that Weldon's mother would change her mind and let him draw whenever he wanted.

  That horrible boarding school waited for Don. Or someplace worse now that he'd run off. His father had no time to be bothered with having a kid around. That's why Don and his mother had moved to a condo in Des Moines, Iowa just after Don was born. Don wished he could go back there, but knew it wouldn't be the same without his mother. His whole life had died with her and fallen into that silent silver grave.

  He heard the rumble of the limousine as it pulled up to the curb in front of the house.

  Jonas went to the door and opened it for Mr. Stevens who brushed inside with a haughty glare. Stevens took one look at Don, and his eyes widened in shock. "What the . . . what in the world happened to you?"

  Don rubbed his battered face. "Not that you care."

  "Of course I care," his father said in a near-shout.

  Don looked down at the floor and bit his lip. It was no use trying to talk to Stevens.

  "Get outside right now," Stevens jabbed his finger toward the door. "I'm taking you straight to the hospital."

  Don got up. "I've already been to the hospital."

  "Don't talk back to me." Stevens took his arm and dragged him to the door.

  Don looked to Jonas for help, even knowing there wasn't anything Jonas could do. No one who stood in Stevens way lasted for long. Despite that, Jonas stepped in front of the door, blocking their exit. "Mr. Stevens. I think you and Don should get some counseling to work out your differences. He's welcome to stay here while we talk things over."

  "There's nothing to talk about. If he's having some anxiety about his mother's death, he can see the councilor at school."

  Jonas went rigid and his eyes flashed ready for a fight.

  "It's all right, Jonas," Don said. "I'll talk to the school councilor. Just . . . tell Weldon I'm sorry." Don hoped Weldon was okay. He hated the fact that he'd gotten Weldon into so much trouble.

  "All right," Jonas said, opening the door. "Just remember, you're always welcome here."

  Stevens glared at Jonas and ushered Don outside.

  Weldon turned the final block and saw the shelter up ahead on the far side of the street. A silver limousine idled at the curb. Tom and Wallace Stevens stepped out of the shelter and went over to it. The chauffeur opened the door for them, waited while they climbed in, then sealed them inside.

  "No!" Weldon shouted, breaking into a run. He dashed into the street waving the diamond wristband. "No. You've got the wrong person!"

  The limousine pulled away from the curb and slid off down the street. Tom looked out at Weldon through the back window. He waved at Weldon, but the limo kept going down to the end of the street and disappeared around the corner.

  A car honked, and Weldon moved to the side of the road. Jonas stood at the Safe Home door, waiting for him. Weldon shoved the wristband back into his pocket and hurried over. "You got to stop them. They gonna kill him. Call the police. They gonna kill Tom!"

  "Come inside with that," Jonas said. "I'm sure Mr. Stevens will send someone to get it if he ever stops talking long enough to let Don tell him about it."

  "No. You don't understand. Mr. Stevens sent people to kill Tom. I heard his chauffeur order them to do it. They nearly caught me again just now. But he called them off. He must think Tom still has the wristband." Weldon gasped to catch his breath.

  Jonas gave Weldon his penetrating look. "It's obvious that you heard something that must have sounded suspicious. I don't doubt someone has been after you to get that wristband. No one can dispute that Don was beat up by them."

  "Don? He remembered his name? You did it? You got his memories back?" Surprise subdued Weldon's panic at seeing Tom in the hands of murderers.

  "Baxter did, actually." Jonas motioned to the door, and Weldon slunk inside.

  Jonas closed the door. "Tom's name is Donald Stevens. Don. Don't call him Donald. Wallace Stevens is his father. He doesn't need to kill Don to get his jewels back. All he has to do is claim them."

  Weldon shook his head. That made no sense. He'd seen the chauffeur tell the muggers to go back and kill Tom . . . Don.

  "I need to call the police and tell them you've come back and are safe." Jonas hurried to the kitchen.

  Weldon followed. Victor as always sat in his chair with the MP3 player. The smell of fingernail polish hit Weldon as he stepped into the kitchen. He found Sonia and Taneshia with their feet up on the table, applying silver glitter to wet fingernail polish on their toes.

  Jonas got on the phone to the police.

  Weldon bit his lip and shoved his hands in his pockets. The wristband scrapped against his fingers. A curl of fish line on the table caught his eye. He lifted it into the air, letting the hook swing back and forth.

  "Baxter was here? He brought the watch?"

  Taneshia looked up at him. "That crazy friend of yours gave Baxter a twenty-five thousand dollar Rolex."

  Weldon put the fish line and hook into his pocket and leaned against the counter, a sick feeling twisting his gut.

  Sonia gave him a pitying look. "Your friend's gone home with daddy."

  "I saw."

  Taneshia snorted. "That man is a complete b—"

  Jonas flashed her a hard look.

  "Jerk," Taneshia finished. "If I had his papa, I'd run away too."

  "Well, you a
in't got no papa at all," Sonia said.

  "And I don't need one." Taneshia finished putting a layer of clear polish over the glitter and pulled out her cell phone. "I got me a boyfriend." She started texting.

  Jonas hung up from talking to the police. "We already had dinner," he said to Weldon. "There's some leftovers for you in the fridge."

  "I ain't hungry," Weldon said.

  "Come on and I'll show you your bed." Jonas led him into a bedroom that had three sets of bunk beds down one side. Chests of drawers stood against the walls between them. "Victor sleeps here." Jonas pointed to the top of the first bunks. "A couple of other boys will be in later when they get off work. This is their bunk." He pointed to the second set of beds. "Don't let them scare you, they're kind of tough-looking, but they're really nice guys."

  Jonas moved to the last bunk. "Don was sleeping on this bottom one. You get the top. The two rooms on the other side of the kitchen belong to the girls. Rules of the house, no boys on the girls' side, no girls on the boys' side. You understand?"

  Weldon nodded. His friend had driven off with killers, he couldn't care less where the girls slept.

  "Dinner's all cleaned up, so I'm going upstairs to my own apartment. The stairs are at the end of the hall. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come knock on my door. Doesn't matter what time it is." Jonas rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "Oh yeah, you were supposed to call home. Better do it now."

  "Yes sir." Weldon stomped off before Jonas could complain about being called sir. None of the adults would ever believe him about the killers. In his heart he feared he would never see Don again.

  He dialed home and his father answered. "Hi Papa," he said. He wanted to scream for his father to come save him, but knew it was still too dangerous.

  "Weldon, you all right?" His father's voice sounded strained.

  "Listen, I know you told me not to go out, and I did, and I got chased by them muggers, but I found Tom and we got safe to this shelter, and you gonna be glad to know that Tom has remembered who he really is and has done gone home with his papa, and I'm all right. Really I am." At least until the killers figure out I've got the wristband instead of Don, he thought.