Sport

by Louise Fitzhugh

“Help! Murder!” yelled Sport. He pushed with all his might against Carrie and managed to kick Egbert in the stomach.

  “Let go that kid,” yelled Harry, pounding up to the car and pulling the door back away from Egbert.

  Seymour came up and grabbed Egbert’s coat.

  “Madam!” shrieked Egbert in a high voice. It was the first word Sport had ever heard him say and it sounded rather pitiful. Harry grabbed Egbert by the hair and pulled him back. Sport kept kicking as hard as he could. Seymour was pulling the door out of Egbert’s hand and Chi-chi was trying to pull Sport away from Carrie.

  There was a siren whine. Sport felt himself released by Carrie, so suddenly that Chi-chi had pulled him out onto the sidewalk before he knew what had happened. Two policemen jumped out of a squad car, leaving the doors open. Egbert gave Harry a swat, but Harry ducked.

  Sport looked up out of the gutter and saw a cop standing over him. “Break it up! Break it up!” Both cops were yelling and pulling everybody around.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” yelled Harry as a cop pulled him away from the car and held him in one hand while he grabbed Seymour with the other. The other cop picked up Sport and Chi-chi, holding them both by their shirts.

  “Hey, you’re ripping my shirt,” yelled Seymour.

  Egbert was brushing off his uniform.

  “What happened here?” said the first cop.

  Egbert looked into the interior of the car.

  “We were attacked,” said Carrie in a quavering voice. “We were brutally attacked by this gang as we stopped for the red light.”

  “That’s a lie!” yelled Sport.

  “Keep your mouth shut, sonny,” said the cop loudly.

  “They tried to get him in the car,” yelled Seymour.

  “I said shut up!” yelled the cop. “Let the lady talk.”

  “They swarmed around us …” said Carrie in a helpless voice. “… My chauffeur was trying to fight them off.”

  “Why, you blanking …” yelled Seymour. “I’ll punch you right in the nose.”

  “You’ll punch nobody,” boomed the cop. “Come along.” He started to shove Seymour and Sport toward the patrol car.

  Harry and Chi-chi weren’t saying anything. They were shoved ahead, still silent, into the waiting car. The cop got in the front seat and turned around and glared at them. “What’s a matter with you rotten trash?” he growled, his mouth half closed.

  “She’s lying!” yelled Sport.

  “Keep quiet,” said Harry under his breath.

  “That’s right,” said the cop, “listen to your buddy there. He’s been in trouble before, he knows.”

  “I have not,” said Harry.

  “Watch yourself, nigger baby,” said the cop.

  The other cop, who had been talking to Carrie, came back to the squad car and got in. The long black limousine rolled away, free.

  “All right, let’s take ‘em in,” said the first cop.

  The squad car started off. They went slowly. The second cop turned around and faced the boys. He seemed to have a better face than the other one.

  “We’re taking you in because you cannot hold up cars at red lights,” he said sweetly.

  “That’s not what happened,” said Sport.

  “Shut up,” said the first cop, who was driving.

  “What are you saying, sonny?” said the second cop.

  “That’s his aunt!” yelled Seymour, beside himself.

  “Cool it,” said Chi-chi.

  “You,” said the second cop, pointing to Sport, “what are you saying?”

  “That was my aunt,” said Sport, “she was trying …”

  “Your aunt, my foot,” said the first cop. ‘That lady never saw scum like you.”

  The second cop pointed silently to Sport again.

  “She was trying to kidnap me,” said Sport.

  “Oh?” said the second cop delicately, arching his eyebrows.

  “I’ve heard ‘em all,” said the first cop.

  “It’s true!” yelled Seymour.

  “And who might you be that anyone might want to kidnap you?” asked the second cop, mincing his speech.

  Sport thought quickly “My name is Simon Rocque. I’m Simon Vane’s grandson.”

  “Oh, boy, that takes the cake,” said the first cop.

  “He is!” yelled Seymour.

  The second cop turned his back on the boys and said in an undertone to the first cop, “That was Vane’s car and chauffeur.”

  “What’s that?” muttered the first cop.

  “My mother’s trying to get my custody,” said Sport loudly. “She already kidnapped me once, and that was my aunt doing the same thing.”

  “He’s dead as a mackerel, Simon Vane,” muttered the first cop.

  “We better not risk it,” said the second cop. He turned back to Sport. “How’s your grandfather doing? I heard he was sick.”

  “He’s dead,” said Sport.

  “What’s your mother’s name?”

  “Charlotte Vane, and that’s her sister Carrie.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Eighty-second Street between York and East End.”

  “The Vanes don’t live there.”

  “I know it,” said Sport. “I live with my father.”

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  “Matthew Rocque.”

  “Your mother at home now?”

  “How do I know?” said Sport.

  “Drive by the Vanes’,” said the second cop.

  The squad car turned downtown. Harry nudged Sport and winked at him. Seymour looked very mad. Chi-chi looked bland, as though he were taking a carriage ride through Central Park.

  The car pulled up in front of the Vane house. The long limousine was sitting in front, empty.

  The second cop unlocked the back door, pulled Sport out, slammed the door, and locked it again. The first cop cut the motor and turned in his seat to snarl at the three boys. “I suppose you’re all Rockefellers.”

  The second cop pushed Sport gently up the steps. He rang the bell.

  After a few minutes, Howard opened the door.

  “Why, Mister Simon, hello,” he said, looking at Sport.

  “Is this boy related to the Vanes?” asked the second cop.

  “Why, yes, sir,” said Howard, looking at the cop in a shocked way. “He’s Miss Charlotte’s boy.”

  “Is Miss Charlotte Vane at home?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Howard, opening the door and letting Sport and the cop into the dim cool hallway.

  “I will tell her you’re here,” said Howard, and bowed toward the door to the library. He went inside and closed it behind him.

  The cop relaxed his hold on Sport. Sport put his shirt back in place.

  After a minute Charlotte opened the door and swept out.

  “Officer,” she said grandly, holding out her hand as though the cop would kiss it. “I’m so glad to see you. There’s been this terrible incident. I’m so glad that Simon is safe. You see, my sister has not been well. There are days when … well, when she doesn’t even recognize me.” Charlotte looked terribly sad.

  “This boy says he’s your son,” said the cop doggedly.

  “Why, of course he is,” said Charlotte airily. “And I’m terribly sorry to have put you to this trouble.”

  “He says that he was being kidnapped,” said the cop.

  “Why, how perfectly ridiculous,” said Charlotte.

  “He wasn’t being kidnapped?” said the cop.

  “Of course not,” said Charlotte. “Run along inside, Simon, have cook give you a sandwich.”

  Sport didn’t budge. “She’s lying!” he yelled suddenly.

  “Si-mon,” whined Charlotte in a haunting way, “you know how we feel about these little white lies …”

  “Oh-ho,” said the cop.

  “I want to see my father,” said Sport.

  “Your father is coming over shortly to discuss some things, dear,” said Charl
otte. “You can see him then.” She managed somehow to twine her arm around Sport and pull him gently to her side.

  “I want to go home,” said Sport loudly.

  “There’s no one there, darling, you know that,” cooed Charlotte, the very picture of a loving mother.

  “There is so!” yelled Sport, pulling away from Charlotte and standing near the cop.

  “Have you got your bus card on you?” asked the cop.

  “Sure,” said Sport and pulled out the card that let him, as a schoolchild, get on buses free.

  The cop looked it over and handed it back.

  “I think, Miss Vane, that I had better return the boy to his house.” He started to put his cap back on, then stopped, waving it around uncertainly.

  “This is equally his house,” Charlotte said harshly.

  “I am supposed to return a lost child to the address which is listed as his home address …”

  “I am his mother,” said Charlotte, shrill now.

  “… and to no other address,” the cop said and turned toward the door, propelling Sport before him.

  “This is absurd,” said Charlotte strongly. “Who is your superior officer? I will report you.”

  “Captain Jensen, ma’am, Nineteenth Precinct,” said the cop in a bored way as he opened the front door.

  “I will call him immediately,” said Charlotte, slamming the door.

  “Call away,” muttered the cop as he led Sport back to the squad car.

  He put Sport in the back and got into the front seat.

  “Something fishy,” he said to the first cop.

  “See, I told ya …” said the first cop.

  “No. He is her son, but something doesn’t smell right.”

  “It’s the backseat.”

  “Cut it out, Charlie. Let’s take the kid home and talk to the father.”

  “What’ll we do with the rest of Ellis Island back there?”

  “We’ll figure it out when we get there. No one has pressed any charges anyway.”

  Sport felt Harry’s body relax.

  “Whyncha let us out?” said Seymour loudly. “We ain’t done nothing.”

  The cop started the car. “Shut your mouth,” he said shortly.

  It was hot in the backseat. Nobody spoke until they got near Eighty-second Street.

  “Where does he live?” asked the first cop. The second cop told him.

  “Figures,” said the first cop.

  “Listen, you …” said Seymour. Harry gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.

  “I’m listening,” said the first cop.

  “Let’s everybody take it easy,” said the second cop. “Here’s the house.”

  The second cop got out, unlocked the back door again, and Sport got out.

  “What’s gonna happen to them?” he asked, pointing to his friends.

  “Take it easy,” said the second cop. “We’ll get this straightened out.”

  He took Sport up the steps to his apartment.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-two

  In front of the door they passed Mr. Collins. “Hah!” he said loudly. “I knew it would happen. Happens every time. Cop gets ‘em every time.”

  The policeman ignored him and knocked on the door of the apartment.

  Sport held his breath, hoping his father was home. The door swung open finally, revealing Mr. Rocque with his mouth full, chewing madly. “Aaagh,” he said when he saw the cop. He saw Sport then, swallowed everything in a gulp and said, “What’s this?” too loudly.

  “Dad!” said Sport rather wildly.

  “Wait a minute,” said the cop. “This your son?” he asked Mr. Rocque.

  “Of course. What happened?”

  “Well …” began the cop.

  “Oh, come in,” said Mr. Rocque.

  The cop pushed Sport ahead of him through the door. Mr. Rocque closed the door. Sport could see Kate at the kitchen door, her eyes wide.

  “You been having some trouble with your wife?” asked the cop, glancing toward Kate. He took off his cap and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  “What is this? What are you talking about?” said Mr. Rocque, exasperated.

  “Carrie tried to kidnap me!” yelled Sport.

  “What?” said Mr. Rocque loudly.

  “Again?” said Kate from the doorway. She came into the room.

  “What the hell happened?” said Mr. Rocque, getting very agitated. “I’m calling my lawyer right now.” He was at the phone in two steps. “This has gone far enough. This’ll do it. She’s had it.” He was dialing rapidly. Kate came and put her arm around Sport.

  “What happened, Officer?” she said coolly.

  “Well. There was a commotion on the street and we come along and find this boy and three others in a fight with a chauffeur. The lady in the car says they were attacked. This boy says they tried to kidnap him.”

  “They got Seymour and Harry and Chi-chi in the squad car!” said Sport frantically.

  “Downstairs?” asked Kate, looking at Sport.

  “Yeah! Can’t they get out, Kate?”

  “I just want to clear up …” began the cop.

  “Have those boys been charged with anything?” asked Kate.

  “No,” said the cop.

  “Sam,” screamed Mr. Rocque into the phone. “She’s done it again. She’s tried to take my boy, and I’ve had it.”

  “Then I think they should be released,” said Kate calmly.

  “Well…” said the cop.

  “The officer is right here in the room. She’s got to be stopped, Sam. I can’t have my boy scared to go out in the street,” yelled Mr. Rocque. “She’s ruthless. She’ll do any damn thing.”

  “Can’t you let them go? They didn’t do nothing,” pleaded Sport. “They were trying to help me is all.”

  The officer ignored him, looked over his head at Mr. Rocque, listening. Mr. Rocque was silent, the phone pushed into his ear, his other arm making gestures as though he were pleading a case in court.

  “Sam. That’s all well and good,” he said finally, trying to be patient, “but I want something now, this minute, an injunction or something, something that’ll stop her.”

  There was another silence and everyone waited, looking at Mr. Rocque.

  “Oh … yeah, the papers,” he said slowly. He nodded his head over and over again until he looked like a doll on a stick. “That’s all I want, just an assurance, just that she hasn’t got a chance,” he said finally. “Okay, Sam, yeah, I’ll talk to the officer. Yeah, I’ll call you back. Good-bye.”

  He faced them but seemed to see only the officer. “Now,” he said in a determined voice. “I’d like to know exactly what happened.”

  The officer related what he had seen and what he had done so far.

  “The kids are still in the squad car, Dad!” said Sport.

  “Let’s get them out of there,” said Mr. Rocque to the cop. “They haven’t done anything.”

  “They tried to help me is all,” said Sport.

  “There aren’t any charges …” began the cop reluctantly.

  “Then let’s get them out,” said Mr. Rocque.

  “… but I think a few strong words about attacking …” The cop seemed confused.

  “Look,” said Mr. Rocque patiently, “they didn’t attack anyone. They were attacked.”

  “Still …” The cop was looking at the floor. “There was a pretty big brawl going on there when we got there.”

  “I am perfectly capable of teaching my son not to get in fights, Officer,” said Mr. Rocque stiffly. “If there are any strong words, I’ll say them. These boys you mention are good boys. They don’t get into trouble. Not one of them has ever been in trouble, right, Sport?”

  “No,” said Sport loudly. “And they didn’t do anything this time either.”

  “I’ll let them go when I get down to the car,” said the officer, taking a little black leather notebook and a pencil out of his back pocket. “I want to get my report str
aight.” He started all over again with Mr. Rocque, who started all over again, patiently explaining.

  Kate took Sport into the kitchen. “Sit down,” she whispered, “and be patient. They’re all slow. The guys’ll get out. Just wait a minute. You hungry?”

  Sport sat down. “No,” he said sadly.

  “That’s news,” said Kate. “Did they hurt you?”

  “That ol’ lady twisted my arm,” said Sport.

  “Really? Does it hurt? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I didn’t have time to say anything,” said Sport loudly.

  “Let me see,” said Kate, lifting Sport’s arm up and down and asking, “Does it hurt this way?”

  Sport said yes to almost every position she put it in. It did hurt badly.

  Kate went into the living room. “I think you should know …” she said to Mr. Rocque and the officer. “The boy’s arm is hurt. He says Carrie did it.”

  “What? What?” yelled Mr. Rocque.

  “Easy, Matthew,” said Kate. “It’s probably just a sprain. I think he should be checked, but what I mean is, I think this should be in the report.”

  The cop wrote it down.

  “I can’t believe them,” said Mr. Rocque. His face was white with rage.

  “You want to press charges?” asked the cop.

  “Yes, I want to press charges,” said Mr. Rocque loudly. “Kidnapping and assault and battery and anything you can think of…” Mr. Rocque was shaking and stuttering with rage.

  “Do you think you should call your lawyer back?” said Kate.

  “Listen …” said Mr. Rocque. “They’re gonna come smelling around …” He pointed his finger at the cop. “They’re gonna come around trying to keep this out of the papers …”

  “Not a chance,” said the cop, and laughed. Sport poked his head out of the kitchen. Suddenly he was so angry he couldn’t contain himself. He stood up and yelled as loud as he could. “Get those guys outa that squad car. They haven’t done NOTHING.”

  He looked in wonder at the adults, who stared at him. He started to shake. He continued to stand there shaking.

  “I’ll go downstairs with you,” said Mr. Rocque. He opened the door.

  “Your name is Miss …” said the cop to Kate.

  “Mrs. Rocque,” said Mr. Rocque in a very loud, angry voice.

  “Mrs. Rocque,” said the cop and wrote it down. “I think that’s all,” he said calmly and put the little book back in his pocket.