by Molly Greene
“You got any place to sleep, kid?”
“Not exactly.”
Mack turned the key and idled at the curb. “Well then, I guess you’re coming home with us.”
Gen and Luca’s heads both jerked left at the same time.
Mack avoided her eyes, instead staring the boy down. “I’ll give you a choice here. I’m betting you’re underage. I can call Child Protective Services and drop you there, or you can stay at my place until we figure out what needs to be figured out.”
“What are you, a cop?” His voice was tinged with frustration.
“That’s my day job.”
The boy huffed a few breaths. He was angry, but he didn’t voice it. When his breathing regulated again, he spoke. “My stuff is in a bag. Back where that was stashed.” He hooked a thumb at the seat where the guitar was stowed.
Mack fed the truck some gas and returned to the mouth of the alley. “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll get it.”
Once Mack left, Luca seemed to draw in on himself even more, so Gen kept her mouth shut. She was definitely out of her element. Should she offer comfort? Should she let him be? She waited for the right words, but she was still waiting when Mack emerged, clutching a brown paper grocery sack.
Something about the bag pierced Gen’s heart. It wasn’t full enough to be much of a load, which meant the kid’s possessions amounted to a change of clothes and probably not much more.
They were on the surface streets and headed for the bridge when Luca spoke again. “Why aren’t you handing me over to someone?”
“Did you do something that would warrant that?”
“No. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Would you tell us if you had?”
Luca dropped his face into his upturned hands and inhaled, then scrubbed his eyes with a closed fist. When he was done, he leaned back and dug two fingers into a pocket of his Levi jeans. He came up with a small velvet bag, the kind that closed at the top with a double looped string. He held onto it for a minute, rubbing the material in his fingers, then handed it over to Gen.
“I didn’t steal it,” he said.
Gen released the ties and upended the bag into her palm. Something heavy slid out. She tilted her hand right and left to get a better look, and the street lights strobing overhead revealed a gold coin. It looked ancient. The writing was foreign.
“An old coin, Mack. It’s hard to make out the words. Latin, maybe.”
“You rob somebody, Luca?” Mack asked. Gen recognized his cop voice. “Maybe the wiseguys who were looking for you earlier. We saw them outside the restaurant. You sure you’re telling the truth?”
“I swear I didn’t.” Luca’s voice had gone anxious and reed thin, as if it was important that Mack and Gen believed him. “It was the old man. He dropped that. I just took my time giving it back.”
“You pocketed something valuable that belongs to an old man?” Mack shook his head. “Boy, your mama would tan your hide if she knew.”
That did it. Luca dropped his head in his hands again, but this time he was crying.
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