Badass and the Beast: 10

by Shrum, Kory M.

  My head was so full of swirling questions that it hurt.

  Why wouldn’t Lois listen to me? How could she have thought I’d ever steal from her? But how did that money get into my pocket? And how was Lois going to get two grand by Friday?

  I know I didn’t take the money, but I also didn’t stop the girl who did. I wanted to help, but what could I do? Even if there were five of me busking dawn to dusk, I still couldn’t make that much by Friday. And I knew Lois—if Henry Ford himself cut me a check for two grand, I couldn’t get close enough to hand it to her. Why wouldn’t she just listen? Why in the world would she think I was a—

  I froze in my tracks.

  “A Scrapper.”

  That was it. It was so obvious. Lois thought I took the money from the register—to be fair, it had fallen out of my pocket. But the only person who could’ve gotten in and out of a locked register, rigged with a bell, without a key, and without so much as a friction squeak, was a Scrapper.

  I’ll show you a magic trick.

  The girl with the fox. The Scrapper.

  Lois was right about one thing. The cops would pay good money for one of those.

  I felt foolish for not putting it together sooner. Maybe Landry was right when she said I didn’t know how the world worked. In my defense, I was just a kid and Scrappers hadn’t been around much longer than I had. I’d never met one, at least not that I knew of. Nobody went around announcing they were a Scrapper. You’d have better luck telling people you were Capone’s bookie—and probably live twice as long.

  Having a plan dried my tears up real quick. The sun even peeked through the clouds. Pleasant flakes fell from the sky only to vanish on my cheeks.

  There was no shortage of police officers in Chicago. All I had to do was find one.

  As luck would have it, I found two—an older gentleman with a gut that hung over his belt, and his much younger partner. I set down my guitar and tugged on the officer’s sleeve. A little sugar and spice, know what I mean?

  “What’s this now?” he said, turning in my direction. He frowned beneath his handlebar mustache. “Can I help you, young lady?”

  “I hope so. My friend’s diner was robbed this morning. By a Scrapper,” I explained. The partner’s ears pricked like a dog’s, but he just kept on watching the street.

  “A Scrapper, you say.” The older officer’s eye twitched. “That’s a pretty serious claim.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “Well, what happened then?” he prompted. “Out with it.”

  “Well, this girl—the Scrapper—came into my friend’s diner and cleaned out the register,” I explained.

  “And which diner are we talking about here?”

  “Mama Louisa’s. On Fifth Street?” The partner’s ears pricked again. “And then right after that, some guys in suits came and—”

  The partner turned his hawk-like face on me. He quickly stepped forward and took me by the arm. His fingertips even felt like talons.

  “Lou, why don’t I handle this one?” the partner said. “Maybe you should go give O’ Sullivan’s that surprise inspection we was talkin’ about.”

  The older cop—Lou—nodded. “If it turns out to be anything, come find me.”

  As he wandered off, his partner went for his holster, drawing a revolver. Even though they didn’t scare Scrappers anymore, they still put a pit in my stomach. I could see deep into the muzzle.

  To my surprise, the officer popped the cylinder open and removed the shells.

  “You’re a very clever little girl,” he said. Then he removed the cylinder itself.

  I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

  “You and I both know a Scrapper didn’t knock over that diner,” he continued. “Those ‘guys in suits’ you mentioned, I think you know who they were. I think I do too.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. They’re friends of mine.”

  I gulped. “Friends?”

  “More like business partners.”

  A couple twists and some sort of rod broke free from the body of the gun. “Like I said, I think you’re a very clever little girl. Half the cops in this city wouldn’t bother investigating a mafia job. Even less would interfere with one. But a Scrapper? Hoover’s got us running all over town looking for ‘em. Pays cash money for leads on ‘em too. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Let me see if I can do the math here, honey,” he said, twisting loose yet another piece. “Those ‘guys in suits’ came by for a payment, and your friend couldn’t make with the dough. So you thought you’d wrangle up some cash by making up a story about a Scrapper and feeding it to a couple flatfoots, right?”

  “I’m not making it up,” I replied. “The Scrapper is real.”

  “Oh, I know she’s real. She’s right in front of me, and look.” He held out the gun fragments, all six of them. “She even took apart my piece with that Scrapper noodle of hers.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t do that.”

  “Nah, you did. I saw it with my own two peepers. You used your screwy Scrapper noggin and my gun went to pieces. Nobody’s prints on it but mine—ain’t that just like a Scrapper?” he said. “My partner over there hates Scrappers. Calls ‘em an ‘abominable’ something or other. All I gotta do is show him this and you’re toast, see? Poof. You’ll be lucky if you make it to the Feds.”

  “You—you’re—”

  “I’m what, doll?”

  “You’re supposed to be a cop!” I hissed.

  He leaned in real close and sucked on his tooth. “Yeah. I was. But I gotta mortgage. Mommy and Daddy ever tell you about those? Now listen up. If I hear any reports about a little blond girl running around town spouting off about mobsters or crooked cops, I’m gonna remember this little encounter, understand?”

  The gun pieces clinked in his hand.

  “I’m not a Scrapper,” I managed to whisper.

  “Prove it,” he hissed. “Now if I were you, I’d tell your pal at the diner to ante up, all right? These guys don’t screw around—now scram!”

  He walked away, turning back once to tip his cap. I wasn’t sure if I was still standing, my legs felt like seaweed.

  They had the cops and they were coming back Friday. There was nothing I could do.

  Landry’s voice echoed in my head. Your friend and her diner are going to be better off because of this.

  Yeah, I screamed back, what do you know?

  That got me thinking.

  Landry robbed the diner only to give almost all of it back. Why? Why not just take what she needed from the register and walk away? Why the reverse-pickpocket routine?

  What did she know?

  I picked up my guitar and headed east towards the harbor. If the cops weren’t going to find my Scrapper, I’d have to find her myself.

  I’d been bossed around all day. Told to scram by two different adults that were supposed to give a damn. I was a kid, sure, but I wasn’t fresh off the playground. I was a street kid. No matter how clean I tried to keep my nose in this city, it still got grimy. I knew where to find certain types. How to read the signs and nods the thieves gave each other in the alleys. You didn’t have to be a bloodhound to find a crook in Chicago.

  The kid I was looking for was behind a cobbler’s shop on Riverdale. Martin. He was a few years older than me. I hadn’t seen him in a while, not since St. Mary’s.

  I knew he’d know where to find the girl with the fox—I just couldn’t afford to jog his memory.

  The innocent tugging-on-the-sleeve bit didn’t work on the cops, so when I got close enough, I did more than tug on Martin’s sleeve. I pinned it behind his back and pressed his face into the brownstones.

  “What the hell?” he cried out.

  “Don’t you know you’re supposed to keep your back to the wall, Martin?” I whispered in his ear. “I need some information.”

  He forced a laugh. “I never hold out for a pretty face.”
r />   I dug my knee into his kidney. “The face ain’t got nothin’ to do with it—it’s the pretty wallet you’re after.”

  “Can’t I like both?”

  “Yeah, well, today you’re gonna tell me what I want to know on the cheap,” I told him. “Real cheap.”

  “Piss off.”

  My knee dug deeper. “Is that any way to talk to a lady? Maybe I should tell your buddies in the Deep Pockets that you got hoodwinked by a little girl.”

  “Let me up,” he grunted.

  “You gonna talk?” I asked. “Or should I just hold you like this ‘til they get here?”

  “I’ll talk, I’ll talk,” he sighed. “Just let me up already.”

  I did, and Martin lurched away from the wall like it was made of lava. He tried to act cool as he picked up his hat and dusted it off. He squinted in my direction. “Hey, you’re—”

  “Alice.”

  He snorted. “So it’s Alice now?”

  “It is today,” I told him. “I need to find somebody.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know their name.”

  “Ain’t Santy Claus, is it?” he remarked. “Cuz I don’t think he’s in town.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s a girl. Your age, maybe a little older. Dark hair, dark eyes. Big coat with a lot of pockets. Runs around with a fox.”

  Is a Scrapper, I didn’t say.

  Martin nodded, rubbing his chin. Thinking. “You’re talking about Landry.”

  Landry.

  I had a name. For a moment, it felt like enough. I looked around as if I could see the whole city through the buildings. As if just knowing her name somehow tethered our pinkies with string.

  “Where do I find her?”

  “See…now that’s gonna cost ya.”

  “Martin.”

  He produced a pair of spectacles from his vest and held them up to the fading daylight. “I think you broke my glasses. Not very polite.”

  I sighed. I couldn’t tell if I’d really broken them, but I was suddenly feeling a little guilty for roughing up an old friend. I reached into my coat and revealed a silver coin. Yesterday’s haul. I tossed him the loot.

  Martin bit down on the coin, and grinned. “Feeling better already.”

  “The girl. Landry,” I reminded him. “Where can I find her?”

  He looked up at the sky. “Nowhere this time a day, but she beds down near the East Lagoon Bridge.”

  I gulped. “Jackson park?”

  “Yep.”

  That was quite a hike. Even if I left five minutes earlier, I still couldn’t hoof it by sunset. And Jackson Park after dark was nothing to write home about. “Wonderful.”

  Martin nodded past me. “Course, you could always ask her.”

  I spun around, expecting to a see the silhouette of a mothy girl with a fox.

  Instead I found nobody.

  “I don’t—”

  When I turned back around, Martin was gone and my loot pocket had been picked clean. My groan echoed in the alley. I’d had my fill of thieves for the day.

  I made my way through Jackson Park encountering nothing more threatening than a couple ill-timed owl hoots. It was the only sign of life I’d come across until I made it to the East Lagoon Bridge. Then they started to come out of the woodwork. Pairs of eyes in the shadows, faces covered in grime. They weren’t all criminals and thieves, to be fair. Some of them were clearly factory workers by day that just had a tough time finding living arrangements.

  Beneath the arch of the bridge, just out of reach of prying eyes, were several oil drums and retired wheelbarrows, each with a meager blaze. Folks burned whatever they could to keep the fires going. For the most part, that meant anything but wood. All shapes and sizes clambered for space, but there was no shoving or fighting. There was room for everybody under the East Lagoon. Except for me, it seemed. Kid or not, I was still a newcomer.

  I realized I didn’t have a plan. What did I think was going to happen? That I’d just walk under the bridge and see Landry straight away? That she’d be holding up a sign with my name on it? I had to toss a line out if I wanted a bite.

  I nuzzled up to the first fire like I was just warming my mitts. Fortunately, I had plenty of motivation for that role. A couple folks shoved off when I appeared, leaving only a stocky man with two pairs of glasses on his head, and a much larger man with skin the color of coffee and a scar blinding his left eye.

  “I’m looking for Landry,” I said.

  The scarred man grunted.

  “Girl with a fox?” I pushed.

  “Fox,” he repeated. “Fox, fox, fox.”

  “Yeah, a fox. Have you seen her?”

  “Cateye ain’t much of a talker,” the man with the glasses said. “If you’re looking for the fox girl, we can shows you where she is.”

  “Please!” I said, eagerly

  The man smiled. “Follow me.”

  I picked up my guitar case and we peeled off from the fire. Cateye followed us like a pet.

  “He a friend of yours?” I asked.

  “More like a bodyguard,” the man with the glasses said. “Not safe for an old duff like me down here. We watch out for each other, Cateye and me.”

  He led me past the fires, nearly to the other end of the tunnel. We stopped at the edge. The inky water pooled and swirled beneath my feet.

  “Take off your coat,” the man said. Cateye loomed behind him.

  “What?” I asked. My stomach fluttered, and not in the good way.

  “Gives us the coat,” he said. “Then we’ll see what else we wants.”

  I felt numb. “Wha—what about the fox girl?”

  He sniffed. “Never met her.”

  “Fox, fox, fox,” Cateye said.

  I could scream, but I wondered if that would bring help or something else. The old man took a step closer.

  A sharp finger snap broke the moment, followed immediately by a second. Our heads all turned in time to see the silhouette of an animal appear obediently at the feet of a girl in a big coat.

  Landry!

  “Alice,” she said. “Follow the fox.”

  She gave a shrill whistle, two notes, and the Greyhair took off like a silver flash in the night, out the other end of the tunnel, into the moonlight.

  I ran after the fox.

  Even as I pushed past the old man, I heard Landry’s elbow—or something—connecting with Cateye’s stubbly jaw. I pictured fractured teeth littering the ground like popcorn kernels in a theater. Then the man with the glasses screamed.

  Screamed.

  Follow the fox.

  I could barely keep up. If not for the fox’s occasional loop-arounds, he’d have been long gone. He wasn’t waiting for me though. He was looking for Landry.

  I chased his feathery tail to the other side of Jackson Park, dodging when he dodged, darting when he darted. Sudden turns into bramble that seemed to make no sense. My lungs felt like a pressure cooker.

  Finally, the Greyhair led me to a small cave, fixing me with a gaze that was anything but trusting.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I panted. “I was just following orders.”

  The fox lowered its head and flattened its ears. Then it turned tail and headed deep into the cave.

  Inside, the cavern was quiet, save for the dripping. Everywhere I put my hand seemed to be slimy stone. For a few steps, I could make out the fox by its fur catching the moonlight. Then nothing.

  “Now what?”

  A rumbling growl was the answer.

  “Yeah, I bet you can still see, can’t you?”

  I waited like that, in the dark, for what could have been forever. Soon, though, there was a bustling outside and a scuffle of boots trailing in.

  “Could’ve at least warmed the place up for me,” Landry said.

  With a burping, mechanical groan, an array of lights ignited around the cave, flickering like candles. Everything from theater marquee-sized bulbs to tiny vanity lights were wired up to an automobil
e engine.

  A running engine.

  “So it’s true,” I whispered.

  “That you’re more of an idiot than I thought?” Landry said. “Absolutely.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She brushed past me, the fox leaping ecstatically about her feet. “I don’t know what makes you crazier, the fact that you were down at the bridge after dark…or that you actually came after me.”

  “I had to.”

  “I gave back the dough,” she said. “Or haven’t you checked your pockets lately?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Lois thought I stole it.”

  Landry snorted. “As if you could pull that off.”

  “I tried to tell her that,” I said, nodding. “But now she thinks I’m a Scrapper. Because obviously no Regular could’ve got into that register.”

  Her mouth fell open just a hair’s breadth before snapping shut like a clam. After a moment, she exhaled heavily through her nostrils. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “I don’t need to prove anything,” I said. “I already know you’re a Scrapper, Landry.”

  “How—” she began, then readjusted her tongue. “Why are you here, little girl? Think you’re going to wrangle yourself a Scrapper and get some of that reward money?”

  I looked at my feet.

  “Because if I was a Scrapper,” Landry continued. “Then you’re already at a disadvantage, don’t you think?”

  I traced every thread of wire and metal with my eyes.

  Landry crossed her arms. “I mean, you got a lot of nerve. I’ve saved you twice now and—”

  “Saved me?” I shot back. “Saved me how? You got me out of a tight spot back there, I’ll give you that, but you got me kicked out of the closest thing I had to a place to stay! And Lois? She’s a goner when those guys come back!”

  “They’re not coming back,” Landry answered. “Wake up, little Alice! If I hadn’t taken that money, you and—”

  I shook my head. “No! They’re coming back Friday! They said so! And they want more than Lois could make in a month, let alone a few days! And it’s because of you!”