The Boy from Left Field

by Tom Henighan

  “I wish I’d had this the night the Rippers stole my glove,” he said.

  His father shook his head and looked serious. “Not a good thought,” he warned. “Grandfather Eagleson wouldn’t have liked to hear that — although I know you’re just speculating. He was peaceful man, though when he worked in the rodeos they sometimes got him into shooting contests on the side. He was a good shot and very proud of his gun, which he won in a contest, proud of it because it’s a thing of beauty and worth keeping. A Colt Peacemaker — Buntline Special — a well-made weapon. Your grandfather knew that, but he also remembered much about how guns just like it had been used against innocent people, and against our people. When he gave it to me he made me swear I’d never load any bullets in it, except for very special demonstrations. I’ve only done it once in my life, and that was to impress your mother. Otherwise, I treat it as something to look at and touch, not to use.”

  “If somebody broke into this house, would you kill them with it?” Hawk asked suddenly.

  “No way. I’d try to discourage them by other means, but I’d never shoot them.”

  “Suppose they were going to kill Mum or me? Would you use it then?”

  Jim grunted, and looked a bit askance. He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “You do ask questions, don’t you? No … the answer is no. I’d find another way.”

  “Will you leave this to me when you die, Dad?”

  “Sure, but on the same terms your grandfather set.… Hey, now, enough of that stuff! Let’s put the gun back and try some baseball. I want to see what you’ve learned from that Rizzuto fellow.”

  Hawk frowned, nodded, then shoved the gun awkwardly into his belt, only to draw it out again very quickly, as if challenged by some invisible enemy.

  “Got him!” he said, pretending to fire the thing again — one last shot with the magic weapon.

  “Time for baseball,” his father insisted, gently slipping the gun from Hawk’s grasp. He looked at it, rubbed it on his jeans as if he were polishing it, then carefully put it back in the display case.

  Hawk looked on, frowning, feeling sorry that his moment of power was over. Then he shrugged, gathered up bat, ball, and glove, and followed his father through the kitchen and into the backyard.

  Hawk and his father set up a net and whacked at the tennis ball for an hour or so. A couple of times when the batted ball went astray, the ancient and very grumpy lady who lived in the house behind the back fence appeared. She had glowered a few times at Hawk during his past visits, and again today she came out and gave them a look, but Jim just waved at her and smiled.

  “She doesn’t like our fun,” his father growled, “but she won’t dare say anything. Probably thinks I’ll put on war paint and shoot burning arrows at her porch if she does!”

  When it was time for Hawk to go, his father disappeared for a moment, returning with a small brown envelope, which he shoved into Hawk’s jacket pocket.

  “Give this to your mother,” he said. “Too bad it’s not enough to get her off the Danforth…. But don’t talk to her about that Ottawa deal of hers — just leave it to me. You won’t be going up there if I can help it. And I can help it!”

  Chapter 8

  On the Danforth

  Hawk waved goodbye to his dad and headed for the Danforth. His visits with his dad were great, but somehow he always felt sad when he left. It wasn’t just because he was leaving either. He’d finally figured out that it was because he knew he’d never have a regular home with his mum and dad again. He was always going to be a visitor with one or the other.

  Hawk sighed, frowned, and squeezed his father’s envelope tightly in his pocket. Jim hadn’t said so, but he knew he shouldn’t look at it. Luckily, his mother wasn’t far away, so he wouldn’t be tempted.

  Storm Cloud had moved east on the Danforth, past Jones Avenue. She’d explained to Hawk that she and a couple of friends had chosen a corner located close to a Buddhist temple, and not far from a liquor store. “If they follow their religion, we ought to do okay,” she told him. “Otherwise we can profit from those folk who like to drink but feel awful guilty about it.”

  Although Hawk’s mother had gone begging a few times, she had sworn never to do it again. As she had explained to Hawk, it was a terrible life: stony-faced business types just ignoring you, or bigots who would glare at you then tell you to “go back to the reservation.” Hawk shuddered when he thought of it. Now his mother and her friends were into selling, not begging. They had worked out a deal with a “nearly new” shop owner to set up on the sidewalk outside her store. That made it look like a sidewalk sale and kept the other store-owners happy — and the police out of the picture.

  Storm Cloud had amassed several boxes of crafts — tiny dolls, drums, animal figures, and leather footwear and bags — all of which Selim allowed her to keep in a spare room and which she drew on when she set up her table. Today it was animal figures and drums, sandals and change purses, while her East Indian friends displayed small bottles, placemats with pictures of tigers on them, and carrying bags stamped with the Taj Mahal. Unfortunately, they had all gotten off to a late start and missed most of the lunch crowd.

  Hawk waved to his mother and sheepishly greeted the other ladies — a small brown-skinned woman with dark eyes and rough, pockmarked skin, and a tall woman dressed in jeans and a yellow blouse. They were setting up their tables and furtively casting glances at the people streaming past — potential customers, most of them indifferent.

  “Where’ve you been?” Storm Cloud asked, pouncing on Hawk before he could catch his breath. “Don’t tell me you spent all this time with your dad?”

  Hawk started to tell her about his visit, but his mother interrupted. “What did he say about us moving to Ottawa?”

  “He didn’t say much,” Hawk fibbed. “He said he’d talk to you about it. He doesn’t like us to live in the taxi anymore. And by the way, he gave me this.”

  Hawk thrust the brown envelope at Storm Cloud, who grabbed it and glanced around at her friends, looking embarrassed. She shoved it into her pocket without a word.

  “What are we going to do about the taxi, Mum?” Hawk asked. “We can’t go back to that wreck. And somebody must be after us.”

  Hawk was still wondering if the Rippers had tracked him home. If they knew that he and his friends were spying on them, had they smashed the window of the car to scare him off? He couldn’t tell his mother a thing, but needed to talk to Panny or Martin about it. What would happen if it was the gang? Would they come back that night?

  “We’ll figure out something,” his mother said, trying to reassure him, even though she only knew half the story. “I’m betting it was just some stupid kid throwing stones. Don’t worry about it right now — you should be thinking of school.”

  “Yeah, I am thinking about it,” Hawk said. He was trying his best to sound enthusiastic, although he felt a little anxious about what was coming. Would the kids make fun of him? Would they decide that he was ignorant or stupid? He swallowed his fears, and to placate his mother, he added, “Dad says you did a good job dealing with the School Board.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? Well, he’s right about that. I got you in there. Not many people in my position could have managed it. The rest is up to you.”

  “Don’t worry, Mum, I won’t disappoint you.”

  “I know you won’t. Now just sit in that chair over there while we finish setting up these tables.”

  Hawk spent the next forty-five minutes watching his mother and her friends trying to sell their wares to the passersby. A steady stream of people marched past, hardly any of them taking notice of the three women who stood by the tables attempting to catch their attention, discreetly announcing “nice bags,” “bottles,” “Native crafts,” and other things that drew hardly a look, but caused quite a few pedestrians to step ahead all the faster when they heard them.

  Among them were young, well-dressed women hurrying back from late lunches, housewives pushing strollers
, delivery men in grey uniforms, a few old codgers stealing a smoke, teens texting and joking with one another as they marched past, and one policeman, who gave the sellers a quick glance before moving on. No one stopped except a couple of very old ladies wrapped in shabby shawls, who for a few minutes poked among the dolls and the placemats, the bottles and the toy drums, then shook their heads disapprovingly and trudged away.

  It was depressing, Hawk thought, like a garage sale on a dead-end street — why did his mother have to do this? This was the Danforth, where everyone seemed busy buying and selling, a street with coffee shops, restaurants, small stores, and endless traffic, a place where no one wanted what these ladies had to sell. After an hour they hadn’t got rid of a single item and Hawk was desperate to escape.

  He sat squirming in his seat, thinking about what it would be like to be rich — to live in a nice house, to own a store, to drive a car, to walk right past people selling stupid things. Not to feel scared or guilty about anything.

  Then, in the middle of his sad, confused thoughts, a bell tinkled cheerily, a familiar figure zoomed up the sidewalk on her bike, braked to a stop a few feet from where he sat, and greeted him. “Hey, Hawk-boy, what’s this street stuff? I’ve a got a few things to tell you.”

  “Panny! How did you know I was here?”

  The girl smiled, slipped from her bike, and, with a glance at the three women, quietly told him, “One of my friends spotted you and texted me. I’ve got news from Martin. He followed Elroy to a place that might be important — a warehouse south of Lakeshore. We need to know more about that, and I think we’ve got a plan.”

  “Great!” Hawk jumped up and down with excitement. Storm Cloud eyed them and started over. He whispered quickly to Panny, “Here’s my mum. Don’t mention this. We’re talking about school, understand? She got me in. I start tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry about the teachers,” Panny told him, speaking in a loud, clear voice. “You’ll like the class, too. Everything will be fine.”

  She turned to greet Hawk’s mother. “Hello, I’m Panny. You must be Hawk’s mother. I’m in his new class. He’s transferring tomorrow, right?”

  “That’s right,” Storm Cloud told her, sizing up the confident Panny. “I hope you can help Hawk fit in. I hope your class is friendly. He’s a smart boy, you know, which his teachers don’t seem to understand.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Panny reassured her. “We have two great teachers. And the class is fine. I was just going to fill in your Hawk on that. Give him a few tips. Maybe we could go for a Coke while you’re busy here.”

  Storm Cloud looked a little doubtful, but then with a glance at her selling table, still ignored by every passerby, she nodded. “Well, I guess so, but only for fifteen or twenty minutes. I’m just about to wrap up here. It hasn’t been a very good day.”

  Hawk knew she had the envelope with his dad’s money in her pocket, and that the day hadn’t been a total waste. “We’ll be back really soon, Mum,” he promised.

  The kids moved off quickly. Panny wheeled her bike along the sidewalk. “There’s a bench down the street,” she said. “We can talk for a few minutes.”

  “Somebody threw a rock at our taxi,” Hawk told her. “Do you think one of the gang followed Martin? Did he go looking for me? I can’t figure it out.”

  Panny looked grim. “That’s scary,” she said. “The sooner we get the police into this, the better. But Martin wasn’t followed — he told me he was very careful. I bet what happened was that Elroy told the gang that you were suspicious of him, and they decided to scare you. Since they’d stolen your glove in your neighbourhood, it would be no trick to figure out where you hung out. How many old taxis have a kid and his mum living in them?”

  “Gee, that’s right. I think that must be what happened.”

  “Sure it is! But listen, Hawk, Martin and I have a new idea. See what you think. Next baseball practice you and Martin have to go after Elroy and get him real scared. We think he might head off to check things out with the gang. Remember, we don’t think he’s one of them — they’re probably just testing him out. Probation, right? Martin can track him and learn some more about where the gang hangs out and who’s in it. Then maybe we can tell the police.”

  “Great! Sounds okay to me,” Hawk told her. He wasn’t so sure that things would run so smoothly, but what else could they do?

  “Good,” Panny said. “But I’ve got to go now. I cut out of a few important duties to come here. I’ll see you tomorrow, anyway.”

  “Yeah, I’d better go back,” Hawk said. “My mum looked a little suspicious. You know things are tricky between her and my dad. Now she wants to take me to Ottawa.”

  “Ottawa! Oh my God!”

  “Don’t worry. My dad won’t let it happen. He promised me, although she doesn’t know it.”

  “Wow, Hawk-boy. You have a complicated life. But don’t worry — I think things will get better for you.”

  “Yeah, I hope so. See you tomorrow, Panny.”

  Panny swung her bike around, waved, and zoomed back along the Danforth. Hawk went and bought a Coke, sat on the bench for a while, then walked slowly back to his mother. Pedestrians, still not buying anything, tramped past the table, but their numbers had thinned out. The afternoon was waning. The other two women had already departed and Storm Cloud was packing up.

  “I guess we’d better go home now,” his mother said. “Nobody’s buying anything today. I just saw that Panny shoot past. She flies around on her bike like some kind of elf-girl, doesn’t she? I sure hope she gave you some good advice about tomorrow.”

  Chapter 9

  School Bells and Surprises

  Hawk trudged home with his mother, helping her carry some of the unsold items from her table. They said very little to each other on the way, but after a while Storm Cloud asked him, “Where does this Panny live?”

  “In Chinatown, near Mr. Rizzuto’s store. She has a dog named Chew-Boy. I saw her once in the schoolyard.”

  “She seems smart enough…. A nice friend…. Maybe we should get a watchdog for our hangout?”

  “I don’t think it would do much good,” Hawk said. “It would be some old stray that would just run away.”

  They walked on in silence until they finally reached their street. Right away, both noticed that something had changed.

  “Somebody moved one of the Dumpsters!” Hawk shouted as he started to run forward.

  “Be careful!” his mother warned. She scrambled along, trying to keep up.

  When they reached their familiar maze of lots and back alleys, they both stopped in their tracks.

  “Somebody’s taken our taxi!” Storm Cloud cried out.

  Hawk stared around at the nearly empty yard: a few beat-up barrels and oil cans, a pile of tires, a litter of broken window frames, and a stack of rotting lumber — but no taxi — and no place to sleep for the night.

  Hawk sprang forward, studying the muddy patch and the big ruts where the taxi had been, and then examining the cast-off wrappers and half-crushed plastic cups that lay strewn about the yard.

  “Mum! Some big machinery’s been in here. Some kind of tow truck. And the guys were eating snacks and drinking coffee. They must have moved the Dumpster and then hauled the car away. Who did this? What are we going to do? Where are we going to stay?”

  His mother looked around, but didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, she shook her head sadly and said, “I don’t know, Hawk. I hated that taxi, but I could kill them for this! Someone must have complained to the city.”

  Hawk stood shivering. Was it the gang? Did they have friends at City Hall? He knew from his comic books, and what he’d heard, that gangsters sometimes had such connections. Even the Rippers might be able to hurt them in that way. Everything seemed to be against them. He wished his father was there; he would know what to do.

  They were still standing there, undecided and feeling quite helpless, when the back door of the restaurant opened
and Selim emerged. Thin, neatly dressed in white, and smiling, he moved with his quick catlike poise in their direction.

  “So you’re back!” he said. He nodded to Storm Cloud and patted Hawk gently on the shoulder. “You look puzzled — the famous taxi has vanished! I’m glad you missed our little show. That was my plan. I didn’t want you to be upset or to feel altogether displaced. Home is home, after all. But I really had to do something about that taxi.”

  “You got rid of it, Mr. Selim?” Hawk asked, relieved now, and excited.

  But, though the little man nodded and looked pleased, Storm Cloud glared at him. “Just great! I had some stuff stashed in that car. And where are we going to sleep tonight?”

  “Have no fear, Mrs. Ruby,” (which was what Selim always chose to call her) “I will give you a room at the back of the restaurant. I put your stuff in there already. It’s only temporary, but much better than the wrecked automobile. I can give you one month there, free, plenty of time to find something else.”

  When Storm Cloud’s stormy look failed to lift, he added, “It’s dangerous, you know. What with people throwing stones at the car. If I didn’t do something, I would certainly get in trouble with the police and the inspectors. And your boy here, brave as he is, might get hurt. Don’t worry, you’ll be better off in the little room I have for you. But just remember, it is for one month only. Please make other arrangements as soon as you can. It’s for your own good.”

  Hawk listened to all this, then, seeing that his mother wasn’t convinced, piped up. “Hey, Mum, it’s much better to be inside with me starting school and all. I can get some sleep and I have a place to study. It’s a great idea, don’t you think?”

  His mother sighed and nodded as she looked around helplessly. “Okay, Mr. Selim. Can we see the room?”

  Selim led the way. Inside the long rear entrance corridor of the restaurant, between the washroom and the back door, he pointed to another room. Hawk had passed the door often, but it was always locked, and he’d assumed it was a storeroom. One look inside told him it was, or had been, just that: grey walls, peeling paint, a dim ceiling light, a narrow slot of a window, barred and cobwebbed, and boxes piled high in one corner. But also two cots, a card table holding a hotplate and an ornamental lamp, and even a small fridge, plugged into the wall and humming away.