Bike Thief

by Rita Feutl

  I almost laugh. She doesn’t want anything to wreck it? Everything is wrecked, since the day of the car wreck a year ago. My body is wrecked. Our family is wrecked. Our whole lives are wrecked.

  So many bad things happened on that awful day. Trust me, I’ve had lots of time to add them up.

  First thing? Arguing with my dad about mowing the stupid lawn that day. I’d forgotten—again—and he was furious. That’s why he wasn’t paying attention to the road.

  Second thing? A drunk driver.

  Third thing? The drunk driver roaring through a red light.

  Fourth thing? Him slamming into the driver’s side of our car.

  Fifth thing? Mom was in the back, behind Dad, because I was riding shotgun.

  Sixth thing? The drunk driver never put his foot on the brake, so our car was pushed into a lamppost on my side.

  Seventh thing? My parents died before the ambulances got there.

  Eighth thing? I couldn’t do anything to help them because my right side was smashed up from my shoulder to my shinbone.

  Ninth thing? The drunk driver walked away.

  The only good thing about that day? Katie wasn’t in the car. She was at the library, looking for picture books about bears. Katie has a thing about bears. Well, bears and soccer. And on that day, Katie was working on a cartoon about bears that played soccer. So she spent that afternoon far away from all the wreckage.

  “Nick! Are you there? Hello?”

  I force myself to focus. I have to do this a lot since the accident. I shake my head.

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” she snaps. “I’ve gotta go. Mrs. Lamont’s going to kill me if I’m late.” She climbs back onto her bike and pedals away. I trail behind. Once she wheels her bike into the Lamonts’ backyard, I turn around. I have a runt to train.

  Chapter Five

  Alex is waiting just about where we left him, on the curb in front of the school. Another boy sits next to him. Two runts for the price of one? This is going to be easy. I pull up beside them.

  “Who’s this?” I ask.

  “This is Stevie. He’s in grade five,” Alex says. He turns to the boy. “See, I told you he has a sweet ride.” Stevie just nods. Alex jumps up. “You’re gonna show us how to build one just like it, right?”

  “Pretty much,” I say. “It depends on what we have to work with.” I wonder how to get them to the Den. It’s the best place to explain about getting product, I think.

  “So where’s this garage?” Alex asks. It’s as if he can read my mind.

  “You guys fast?” I ask. They nod. “Well, stick close.”

  I ride slowly so they can keep up. They’re pretty good runners. In fifteen minutes, we’re turning the corner of the abandoned building. A bulkier, bigger kid is kicking stones against the door of the Den.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  The boy looks me over, then Alex and Stevie. “I’m Danny. Dwayne said for me to talk to you.”

  I pull the keys from my jacket pocket and unlock the door. This is turning into a real operation—that TV will be paid off in no time. I push my bike in and turn on the light.

  “Cool!” Alex and Stevie inspect everything. They talk eagerly about the bikes they want to build. Danny slouches against the door, his hands in his pockets.

  “So where do we start? Can I use this?” Alex drags over an aluminum frame. Danny snorts.

  “What’s so funny?” Alex drops the frame and goes up to the bigger kid. I have to hand it to Alex. He seems to have no fear.

  Danny doesn’t move from the door. “Aluminum’s crap. If you’re going to build yourself a bike, you want titanium. Or carbon fiber.”

  I sneer. “Yeah, as if you’ll find titanium bikes lying around.” Those ones are really high-end, for serious athletes or rich old guys who only go out on weekends and lock their rides up the rest of the time.

  Alex swings around to me. “You got any of that here?”

  I shake my head. Here goes, I think. “Nope, we’ve got to find ourselves some.” I’m hoping they get the idea. About the bike parts. Or what Dwayne calls “the product.”

  “How?” Stevie speaks for the first time.

  “It’s all over the place,” says Danny. “You just gotta grab some.”

  “Are we gonna steal bikes?” Alex frowns and looks at me. Suddenly, I feel…what? Dirty? Sleazy? Here’s this kid with a crush on my sister, and I’m using him. And his friend. But I need the money. And it’s not like I’m pushing drugs.

  Danny snorts. “You mean none of you has ever lifted anything before?” He glares at us, as if we’re guilty of some crime. “A chocolate bar from a checkout counter? Five bucks from your old lady’s purse?”

  Danny’s beginning to bug me.

  “I took a pack of gum once,” says Alex. “But—”

  “Crap. You mean I have to show you losers everything?” Danny takes a breath. “Look. Stealing bikes is easy. Half the time, the bikes aren’t even locked up. It’s like they’re begging for someone to take them.”

  “But lots are locked up,” says Stevie.

  Danny snorts again. “Yeah, but the locks are mostly useless. All you need are these and it’s game over.” He pulls some bolt cutters from his pocket. The boys crowd around him.

  “You also need to know what kind of bikes to look for,” I say. I feel like I have to step in here. Danny’s starting to run the show. The boys turn back. “Who knows what a Yeti is?”

  Alex’s eyes light up. “It’s a big hairy monster who lives way up north with the polar bears,” he says.

  “Yup, but it’s also a bike. A high-end bike. You guys need to look for expensive bikes, like Yetis or Giants or Rocky Mountains or Treks.”

  “And look for any components made of titanium or carbon fiber,” Danny adds.

  Stevie makes a face. “Titanium? Carbon fiber? How can I tell?”

  “You gotta read it, dork,” Danny says. “They make it easy for us. They write it right on the frame or the rim.”

  “Stevie’s not so good at reading,” Alex says.

  I jump in. “Carbon fiber looks like there’s a net wrapped around it.”

  “And if it’s titanium, you just gotta think of girls,” Danny says.

  Stevie looks puzzled.

  “The word starts T-I-T, you dorkhead. Just think of tits.”

  The boys snicker. I’m getting tired of Danny. I shut them up with my next question.

  “Who wants to try picking up some product with me tomorrow morning?” I turn to Danny. “Just so we’re not complete losers when you show us the ropes.”

  Because really, how hard can it be?

  Chapter Six

  A girl with a ponytail jumps off her bike, takes the lock from her backpack and runs it through the school bike rack. I can tell she’s late and she’s rushing.

  “That’s the one,” I say. My leg hurts a little. Alex and I walked to Wilfrid Laurier High School this morning. It’s the Catholic high school in the neighborhood. I go to Diefenbaker High, the public school ten blocks away. I don’t want our first stab at picking up “product” to take place on my home turf.

  The girl forgets to snap the lock into place.

  “I won’t even need the cutters,” Alex says.

  The final bell rings, and the girl swings her backpack over her shoulder. The strap breaks just as she reaches the door. Her books tumble out. I’m beginning to feel sorry for her.

  “Shit!” We can hear her from here. She stoops to pick up her stuff. The door swings open as two guys saunter out, and her books go flying again.

  “This is like watching a TV show, but funnier,” says Alex, snickering.

  I cuff him on the back of the head. “Just keep your nose down and do what I told you,” I say. “I’ll meet yo
u at the Den.” I watch him tug off the girl’s lock, climb on and pedal away. No one notices. I pull my hoodie up and start scoping out the other bikes. At the very least, I need a ride back.

  “How’s it going, Ni-i-ck-eeee?” It’s Dwayne. I refuse to turn around. “I’m having a bit of trouble with this damn thing,” Dwayne says. “The pedals keep turning, and there’re no brakes.” Dwayne rolls by me, and my guts start to churn. He’s riding my fixie.

  He grins. “Just checking up on you. You left this at the Den to bring that kid over here, so I thought I’d see what was so special about this bike. Maybe I could get part of the payoff by selling it. Most of this is steel, but the fork’s carbon fiber. Thirty bucks might cover it. I mean, it’s just a bunch of parts from old bikes. And you don’t even have brakes. Maybe twenty dollars?”

  I swallow. I built this bike by myself. But Dad was there for me the whole time, helping me with the design and working beside me in the garage, always ready to lend a hand. There isn’t much else left from our time together. I was in rehab for five months after the accident. By the time I came out, almost everything was sold or gone. I have his dress shoes, his watch and this bike.

  “Give it back, Dwayne.”

  “Nah. I’ll let you limp along and think about your repayment schedule. I’ll meet you at the Den. We’ll see what you and your runt picked up.” He lurches away on my bike, struggling with the pedals, looking like a dork who’s never ridden a fixie.

  I want to punch something. I want to run after him and pound him. I want to beat the crap out of him. He’s an asshole, and he’s riding my bike. I stumble along the street, not watching where I’m going. When I bash my sore leg into a bike leaning against a fence, I want to scream.

  Instead, I look at the make. A Giant. Not bad. And it’s unlocked. I pull it away from the fence and jump on.

  My career as a bike thief has begun.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex and Dwayne are already in the Den when I ride up. I push the bike inside. Dwayne begins to clap. Slowly and loudly. The clapping echoes in the space.

  “What are we celebrating?” Two men have come up behind me and are standing in the doorway.

  “Hey, Trevor, we’ve got some product for you,” says Dwayne. “I was applauding my friend here. He just brought in his first bike.”

  The men make their way into the Den. The big guy is bald, with a diamond stud in his ear. He has shoulders the size of a minivan. The other guy is smaller, with long, greasy hair. He has a scar on his cheek, and he keeps his sunglasses on even in the gloom of the Den.

  “Three bikes. Nice.” The big guy looks around.

  I do the math. “No, the fixie’s mine,” I mutter. My voice sounds small to me, but the big guy hears.

  “That true, Dwayne?”

  Dwayne grins. “We’ve discussed selling it, Trevor, but we haven’t settled on a price yet.”

  Trevor grunts. “Everything has a price.” He walks around the Den, kicking at the bike parts. “My friend here is looking for a Yeti suspension platform. A late-model one. You got any of those?”

  I shake my head. I already know exactly what’s in the Den, and I haven’t seen an expensive component like that. Trevor sighs. Then he walks over to the bike Alex just brought in. It’s sitting against a counter.

  “Well, this is a piece of crap. But I’ll take the tires.” He turns to me. “Five bucks. Pull ’em off.”

  I know the tires are good. I noticed them right away when that girl rode past. The tires are new. Worth about forty dollars each. And I thought I’d be getting ten bucks a bike. Ten bikes to make a hundred dollars.

  “Do it,” Dwayne mutters.

  “Ten bucks,” I say. “They’re worth way more.”

  Trevor looks at me. “A runt with attitude,” he says. He comes up close to me. I realize, suddenly, that I have no way out. From the corner of my eye, I see Alex slip out the door. I can’t move. The other guy in the shades? He doesn’t say anything. He just watches.

  “Fine. Seven fifty,” Trevor says finally. He digs into his pocket and throws the money on the counter. A quarter rolls onto the floor and into the darkness. “But I want you to get me that Yeti platform. Soon. Now strip those tires off.”

  I find a tire lever and go to work. It bothers me that I’m pulling these tires off for so little money. It bothers me that I owe so much money. But what bothers me the most? The fact that Trevor just called me a runt.

  Chapter Eight

  I’d planned to give Dwayne the seven fifty, but he leaves with Trevor. Instead, the money stays in my pocket and I rebuild the Giant. I trade out parts so that when I’m done, it’s a different bike. Even if the owner reports the serial number, it’ll look so different that he’ll never recognize it. I set it by the back door for Dwayne to pick up.

  The other bike—the one I stripped the tires from—looks all pitiful and pathetic. What’s left of it is probably useless. But I stuff it behind some other bike frames, lock the door and leave. It’s late afternoon, and I’m starving. Katie goes to a friend’s house on Tuesdays, so I’m on my own.

  The smell of something delicious floats past as I ride along the avenue. My stomach growls. Ida’s Diner is up ahead, and Ida makes the best chili I’ve ever tasted. Except for my mother’s. Mom used to say her secret ingredient was chocolate, but that’s crazy. Who puts chocolate in their chili?

  I give my head a shake. I have to stop with the memories. I focus on Ida’s chili. It’s just what I need. I lock my bike in front of the diner, pop the seat off and carry it inside with my helmet.

  Ida’s Diner is great. It has red-checked plastic on the tables and this cool mask on the wall over the door. Today, the front seems really crowded and busy, with people milling around. One person’s even under a table, wiping up what looks like spilled chili. I pick a spot at the back of the diner.

  “You just missed the show,” an old guy at the table next to me says. “The new girl dropped a plate all over a customer’s lap. He kept shouting. She kept apologizing. Ida had to come out from the back and settle everybody down.”

  “Stop being such a gossip, Earl,” says Ida, coming over. “That’s my niece Mandy you’re talking about.” She sets a basket of warm bread in front of me. “You in for my chili, Nick?”

  I nod. I don’t come in often, but Ida knows how much I like her chili. A minute later, a bowl of heaven slids in front of me. Earl applauds. I look around, surprised.

  “Hey, you didn’t get a lapful,” Earl says, nodding at my meal and then at my server, who hasn’t moved.

  I look up. Standing in front of me, looking like she’s trying not to cry, is the girl from this morning. The one with the ponytail. The one whose bike I have in the Den a block and a half away. Minus two tires.

  “Please, just let me stand here for a minute,” the girl says quietly. “I’ve just had such a shitty day, and I need a minute. Can we pretend we know each other?”

  A huge tear rolls off her chin and plops onto the table. “So, sit,” I say before I know what I’m doing.

  She wipes her face and looks at me. You could swim in those eyes, I think. And not because of the tears. Her eyes are the same golden brown as the freckles across her nose. The freckles are cute. She’s cute. “I’m Nick,” I say. What am I doing?

  She smiles. “I’m Mandy,” she says. “Have we met somewhere before?”

  Oh, shit. Did she see me this morning? “Don’t think so,” I say. I grab a spoon and start to shovel in chili. But it’s so hot, I have to spit it back into my bowl. Mandy hurries away and comes back with a glass of ice cubes.

  “Take one of these and hold it where it hurts,” she says.

  “You don’t have an ice cube big enough,” I say. Where did that come from?

  Mandy looks at me, puzzled.

  “Miss? Can we get our
bill?”

  She’s gone. I eat the chili. It’s good, now that it’s cooler. Mandy comes back with a water jug. She sloshes some into my glass, and an ice cube skitters across the table. It lands in my lap. She lunges for it at the same time I do. We bump heads. At the next table, Earl is laughing so hard he’s wheezing. Mandy scuttles into the kitchen. I swipe the ice cube onto the floor.

  “Hey, Ida! Your niece has a thing for dumping stuff into customers’ laps,” Earl calls out.

  Mandy’s wail drifts out through the swinging kitchen door. Earl tries to catch my eye. Instead, I wipe up the last bit of chili with a piece of bread. Delicious.

  The kitchen door swings open. Mandy comes out, slaps my bill on the table and turns. She steps on the melting ice cube. As she crashes toward Earl’s table, the grin on his face fades to fear. I rise, grab one of Mandy’s flailing arms and pull her back toward me. The restaurant cheers.

  I just have time to feel the beating of her heart through the soft skin of her wrist before Ida steps between us. “There’s a kid outside who says he knows you. But I’d stay away from him. He’s trouble.”

  I look out the diner window. Danny’s standing there, waving at me to come out.

  Chapter Nine

  “Classes start in an hour,” says Danny. “We gotta round up the others and get down there.”

  I’m confused. School’s out. Why’s this kid talking about classes?

  “The bikes. We need to get more bikes,” he says, as if I’m slow on the uptake. “The best time to get them at the university is after classes start. It’s still light enough to look for the right stuff but dark enough that we can hide.”

  I turn away to undo my locks. Danny’s being bossy, and it’s really beginning to grate on me, but I don’t say anything until I’ve slid my seat back on. “I’m taking my bike to the Den. Round up the other two and meet me at the subway station.”