by Rita Feutl
Bike Thief
Rita Feutl
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright ©2014 Rita Feutl
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Feutl, Rita, 1959-, author
Bike thief / Rita Feutl.
(Orca soundings)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
isbn 978-1-4598-0570-5 (bound).--isbn 978-1-4598-0569-9 (pbk.).--
isbn 978-1-4598-0571-2 (pdf).--isbn 978-1-4598-0572-9 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings
ps8611.e98b55 2014 jc813’.6 c2013-906724-8
c2013-906725-6
First published in the United States, 2014
Library of Congress Control Number:2013952668
Summary: Injured in a car accident that killed their parents, Nick and his sister are in foster care. Forced into stealing bikes to repay a debt, Nick gets involved with a violent criminal gang.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover photography by Getty Images
In Canada:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Station B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
In the United States:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
17 16 15 14 • 4 3 2 1
To Gordon, who happily joins me on all our cycling adventures, come rain, mud or sunshine.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One
“I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“Yeah, right. Just waiting for that trust fund to kick in now that you turned sixteen? Gimme a break.” Dwayne sneers. He turns and heads into the back of the pawnshop.
My arm aches. I set the shattered flat-screen TV gently on the counter. Right next to a perfect, unbroken, forty-two-inch model with a two-hundred-dollar price tag. They’re identical. Except for the broken screen.
“Can’t you use this one for parts?” I ask. Dwayne snorts.
I’m desperate. “This isn’t for me, Dwayne, this is for Katie. She’s freaking out. She thinks we’ll get kicked out of this foster home.”
Dwayne turns around. “How old is she these days?”
I don’t like where this is going. “She’s about to turn twelve,” I say warily. “She’s still in elementary school.”
“Popular, your sister?”
“I dunno. I guess.” Truth is, Katie is pretty cute, in that little sister sort of way. Even after all the stuff that’s happened to us in the last year, she always has a smile for everyone. Even me. Especially me. And that’s why I’m trying to replace this shattered TV with a new one before the Radlers come home. Katie didn’t mean to knock the fireplace tongs into it. She was just showing me her new soccer move. But things went flying, and now Katie is going nuts. She really doesn’t want to upset this set of foster parents. They’re the only ones to agree to take both of us in. Together.
“Good,” Dwayne says. “We can use her. Here’s the deal.”
I freeze. I’m creeped out. This smells of sex—or drugs. It’s time for me to rock and roll right out of here. I don’t know what Dwayne is offering. But if it involves Katie, I want no part. I pick up the TV. My shoulder throbs, but I ignore it.
“Hang on a minute, Nicky.”
I cringe. Nobody calls me Nicky. I’m Nick. Nicholas to my teachers, but Nick to everyone else. I turn to the door.
“All I want is for you to get to know some of the kids she hangs out with. I need some product. And some little runts to supply it.”
What? Kids to supply the product? Usually, it’s the other way around—kids to buy product. “Are we talking drugs here?” I’m curious in spite of myself.
Dwayne shrugs, and I watch the tattooed snakes ripple up his arms. “Nah, nothing like that. You’re good with your hands, right?”
I set the TV back down again and nod. I can put anything together if you give me the time. I built my own fixie—fixed-gear bike—with some parts I bought from Dwayne’s shop. That’s how we know each other.
“Tell you what, Nicky. Just for you, I’ll let you have the TV for a hundred bucks. And all you gotta do is find some kids who are willing to pick up some product for me. Product that their owners don’t seem to want. Your job is to mix it up, and I’ll sell it once you’re done. TV’s paid off in no time.”
“What kind of product?”
“Bikes, Nicky. I want bikes. And the more expensive, the better.”
Chapter Two
Katie’s face lights up when I walk in the back door.
“You did it!” she says. She dances around me. “I’m so glad. I was really worried they’d come home while you were gone. I don’t want to get into trouble, Nick. I really want us to stay together.”
I put the flat-screen down on the stand and nod. The Radlers are strict. And Katie already has two strikes against her. Last week she tried to heat a burger wrapped in foil. It made their microwave explode. Yesterday, she let the kettle boil dry. She isn’t allowed to go into the kitchen by herself anymore. No wonder she’s nervous.
“Look, I cleaned up all the broken glass. But there’s a chunk of wood missing from the coffee table.”
I check out the nick in the wood. This one’s easy. “You still have your crayons?”
While she goes to find them, I attach the TV cables and press the remote. The screen shimmers on, good as new. I wait for Katie.
The crayon trick is my dad’s. An image of him in our old garage flashes into my mind, and suddenly I’m almost drowning under a huge wave of…what? Homesickness? Sadness? I close my eyes and wait out the wave.
“Here.” Katie thrusts something into my hands. I open my eyes. Her crayon case is jammed with junk. I dig through the tiny erasers, pencil crayons, grizzly-bear buttons, broken earrings and bits of paper. Why do girls carry all this stuff around? Finally, I find a brown wax crayon the same shade as the coffee table. I rub it against the raw wood until the surface looks smooth.
“Hey, that’s great, Nick. I can’t even tell.” Katie eyes the table critically. She hugs me, but gently. She knows how much everything still hurts. “This is going to work. We’ll make it w
ork, won’t we?”
I nod. “Let’s get rid of the rest of the evidence,” I say. I drop the crayon back into the pencil case. A slip of paper peeks out from one side. Do u like me? it says. I pull it out. At the bottom it says, Yes, no, maybe?
“So who’s this for?” I wave the note at Katie.
“Hey, gimme that.” She reaches for it, but I hold it high over her head.
“Not till you tell me,” I say.
“It’s mine!” Katie jumps for the note, then stumbles back. I grab her just before she goes flying into the TV. Again.
“Take it outside, you two. You shouldn’t be horsing around in the living room.” Katie and I freeze. How long has Mrs. Radler been standing in the doorway?
I look around the room. Just me, my sister and a pencil case. Nothing out of the ordinary. But a little distraction won’t hurt. “I could bolt that flat-screen to the wall, Mrs. Radler. I’m good with my hands.”
She looks at me in surprise. Normally, I don’t say much around here. “Then use those hands to help me carry in the groceries. I swear I’m feeding an army.”
I give Katie back the note. But not before I see the Love, Alex on the back. I grin. This is a note to my sister, not from her.
And then I realize I know him. Three times a week, I ride over to Katie’s school to take her to her babysitting job. One kid is always there with her. Short kid. Showing off in front of her. Full of questions about my bike.
Bingo! I’ve found my first runt. This is going to be easier than I thought.
Chapter Three
The next day I skip social studies and ride my fixie to the meeting with Dwayne. I zip around to the back of an abandoned strip mall, tires humming. He’s standing in the shadows, swinging a set of keys. I skid to a stop right next to him. Pebbles go flying.
“Smart-ass,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s mad or not, so I don’t say anything. Dwayne unbolts the door and steps into what looks like a long, dark cave. He switches on a light. I follow, pushing my bike inside.
The place is big, gloomy and smells of mold. One bare bulb dangles from the ceiling, casting more shadows than light. We’re in a boarded-up store. I can barely see a row of dingy counters at the front, but there’s way more interesting stuff at the back…stuff that has my heart racing. The place is littered with bikes and bike parts. A tangle of handlebars lies next to a pile of wheel rims. Bike chains spill from an old box like a mess of snakes trying to escape. A titanium seat post leans against one wall. My mouth is watering. This is cycle heaven.
“Welcome to the Den, Nicky. Your job here is to put a few bikes together that I can either sell at the shop or Trevor can put online.”
“Who’s Trevor?” I kneel down to examine some bike pedals. Some of them are sitting in a puddle of water. Looking closer, I can see where a water stain runs down the concrete wall.
“He’s the boss. He runs the place.”
“Doesn’t look like he really cares about it,” I say, tracing my finger up the water stain.
The punch comes out of nowhere. My head slams into the wall. Before I can react, Dwayne yanks me up and swings me around and against the wall. “You disrespect Trevor, you disrespect me,” he says. “Don’t do it, if you know what’s good for you. Do we understand each other?”
He’s so close, I can smell his breath. It’s rank. Dwayne’s about my height, but he has at least fifteen years and thirty pounds on me. I’m not scrawny, but my rehab didn’t involve beat downs. I nod.
“Good.” His snakebite piercings glint as he steps back. “Now that we’re on the same page about Trevor, let’s see how we are on bike products.”
The punch rattles me, but I take a deep breath. I can’t back out now, I think. I look around. How hard can this be?
For the next hour, Dwayne quizzes me. I know bikes—cheap ones, pricey ones, road bikes, mountain bikes. I love them all—their feel, their speed, their control, their silence. A little rubber and metal is all you need to be flying down a trail in a hidden ravine or along a major roadway. It’s the sweetest kind of freedom. Especially for me. On a bike, I can move. No limping. No half steps. It’s as if things are almost back to normal.
“Don’t waste your time on department-store crap,” Dwayne says. “I need flash bikes I can sell at the shop, and Trevor wants expensive components to put online. You and your runts will pick up bikes around town and bring them back here. You’ll pull them apart and rebuild them, so the serial number won’t match up with the original bike. Leftover components go online.”
I nod. I’m trying to ignore a voice in the back of my head. We didn’t go to church much when Mom and Dad were…around. But we did talk about right and wrong, and Thou shalt not steal was right up there. We’re talking about theft here. Taking something that isn’t yours—
“Hey, Nick-eee.” Dwayne drawls out the final syllable. I snap back to reality. “I’m serious about that hundred bucks. I’ll need it by the end of next week.”
“What?”
“Well, whaddya think? The guy that brought in the TV wants his money. Until you pay me, I can’t pay him.”
I swallow. I have eleven dollars in the toe of Dad’s dress shoes. I didn’t realize I’d have to pay Dwayne so soon. The look he gives me is almost one of pity.
“Look, Nicky. Zone in here. I’m gonna do you a favor. I’m sending you Danny. Tomorrow night. He’ll take you to the university. He’s thirteen. One of my older runts.”
“The university?”
“Best place for bikes. Those students claim to be poor, but their mommies and daddies give ’em great bikes. Which they’re too drunk to lock up half the time. If you get me ten good bikes by the end of next week, we’ll be square.”
I nod. Okay. How hard can that be?
“But remember, these bikes better be good. And you’re gonna need more than Danny. The more runts you find, the faster you’ll fill the quota.”
“Why do you call them runts?”
“Trevor calls ’em that. They’re between eleven and thirteen, and they don’t usually have criminal records, so they mostly float under the radar of the cops.”
“So why does Trevor call them that?”
Dwayne seems to ignore me. He holds up a set of keys. “These are for the Den,” he says. “You can work here whenever you want.”
He tosses them to me and turns to walk out, then circles back. “I think he calls them runts because they’re the weakest link in this business. Like those tiny pigs in a litter. And because they’re so weak, they’re easy to get rid of.”
I swallow and nod slightly. But he’s not done. “And by the way, you want to keep this whole bike-supply process here”—he glances around the Den—“under wraps. We don’t want word getting out. Otherwise, people can get hurt.”
He stares hard at me. “Now go find some runts of your own.”
Chapter Four
Some kid is working on wheelies on Katie’s mountain bike when I get to her school. I’m pretty sure it’s Alex.
“Keep the handlebars straight when you come down,” she shouts as he goes by.
That’s my girl, I think proudly. I taught her that years ago. Back when—
“Hi, Nick.” The kid props Katie’s bike carefully against the curb, takes Katie’s helmet off and comes over. “Your ride’s just, just…” He searches for words.
“Awesome? Sweet? Sick? Cool?” Katie joins us. “Yeah, my brother knows how to build ’em. This is Alex, by the way.”
I nod. Here’s my chance to pull in my first runt. “I could show you how to build your own,” I say carefully.
Katie looks at me and frowns. “How are you going to show him anything? You don’t have the garage anymore.”
“I’ve found another place,” I say.
“How about today?” Alex is eager to
start.
“Let me ride with Katie to her babysitting job,” I say. “Where will you be in half an hour?”
“Right here. I won’t go anywhere till you come back.” He sits down on the curb in front of the school. Then he jumps up again. “But I don’t have any parts. I’ve got nothing to…to start with.”
“No problem, Alex,” I say, grinning at him. “I think we can lay our hands on something.”
Katie takes her helmet from Alex, snaps it on and climbs onto her bike. “Let’s go, Nick. Mrs. Lamont gets all snotty if I’m late.”
I nod at Alex. “I’ll be back soon. And if you know anyone else who wants to learn about bikes, they can come too.” I push off. We’re halfway up the block before Katie says anything.
“Since when do you want to teach twelve-year-olds how to build bikes?” she asks. “You barely let me into the garage on Grange Street.”
Just the mention of Grange Street hits me like a sucker punch. My feet nearly tangle with my pedals. I try to breathe, to think. “That wasn’t just a place on Grange Street,” I finally say. “That was our home.”
“Exactly.” Katie seems to pick up speed. I find my pedals and pump to keep up. “It was our home. But it’s not anymore. Now it’s with the Radlers. Where you don’t have a garage to work in. What are you up to?”
How can Katie think of the Radlers’ house as our home? I try to focus on riding, on not thinking about what happened to our home, to our family. But it’s like pushing away the wind. “Don’t you miss them?” I ask.
Katie slams on her brakes. I have to circle back to her. She’s dropped her bike onto the curb and is standing beside it, her fists curled into balls. Her brown eyes are blazing, and her hair glows almost red in the September sunshine.
“Do I miss them? Are you kidding? I miss them every single day. I miss them in the morning when no one musses my hair at breakfast. And when I open my lunch bag and there’s no cartoon in it. And in the evening…” She swallows hard. “Of course I miss them, you idiot. And it was even worse when you were stuck in that hospital, all banged up and completely out of it. But now you’re here. And I’m not alone. And neither are you. Okay? And I don’t want anything to wreck it.”