fence and down the alley?”
“ Can’t make it with the gun. Gotta hide. We gotta get in,” he said.
“ No.”
“ Now!” He grabbed a wooden crate from a stack against the back wall, dropped it in front of the dumpster. He used it as a step and climbed into the giant garbage pail.
“ Quick, put the crate back. I’ll pull you in.” Numb with disbelief, Carolina put the crate back on the pile, handed Arty her backpack and with a groan, she grabbed on the sides of the dumpster and pulled herself up. Arty grabbed her by the skirt and pulled her in. Then he pulled the top closed, shutting them up in the dark.
“ They went that way,” someone said. Footsteps came running. Arty prayed they wouldn’t look in the dumpster.
“ They must have gone over the fence.” They recognized the checker’s voice.
“ They won’t get away from me,” Officer Harpine said. “I’ll cut them off with the car.” Then they heard the footsteps retreating.
“ How long are we going to stay here?” Carolina asked.
“ Till it’s dark.”
“ I don’t want to stay here till dark. I want to go home.”
“ Me, too, but I bet that cop’s on his way to your house right now.”
“ Shit,” she swore, “what are we going to do?”
“ I don’t know.” He sat back against the cold metal and sank a little into the garbage.
“ It smells in here,” she said.
He mentally agreed as the scent of rotten vegetables, mingled with the freshly cut grass from the supermarket’s sideyard, and stale coffee grounds from the deli assaulted him. He was used to the dark and he tried to imagine that he was in his room, with lights out and eyes closed, but he couldn’t make himself believe it, and he couldn’t calm himself. The stench was overwhelming, making him want to hold his breath, and the fear was climbing out from someplace dark within, causing his lungs to tighten and shrink, forcing him to gasp for the putrid air.
Outside they heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. Arty quivered with both delight and fear when Carolina’s hand grasped his and squeezed. He squeezed back.
“ How about those kids?” Arty recognized the checker’s voice.
“ What kind of animal was that?” And he recognized the voice of Tommy Margolis, the high school kid that worked the deli. He was a short, skinny kid with pimples.
“ Looked like a hairy rat. Big one,” the checker said. Arty pictured him punching the keys to the cash register, darting his pea-sized, beady eyes over each item, like they were his personal belongings and you were stealing them. It wasn’t his store.
“ I never liked that guy,” Carolina whispered in his ear. He squeezed her hand in agreement.
“ Think you can make it in from here?” the checker said.
“ Easy,” the kid that worked in the deli answered.
“ Got a buck says you can’t.”
“ You’re on.”
The object of the bet flashed through Arty’s mind. He clamped a hand over Carolina’s mouth to keep her from screaming when the lid of the dumpster flew open. She was surprised and bit into the fleshy part of his palm, but he grit his teeth against the unexpected pain and didn’t cry out.
And her little body bucked against him as something smashed into the side of the dumpster, sending shock and sound ringing in their ears. It was like being trapped inside of a giant bell.
“ Missed,” the checker said.
Arty released his hand from her mouth, because now she also understood what the bet was about. The kids were playing basketball. The trash bags, the ball. The dumpster, the net.
“ Double or nothing,” Tommy Margolis from the deli section said.
“ You’re on.”
Arty could see short Tommy Margolis, probably bending low with the bag in both hands. He was probably chewing on the insides of his cheeks, the way he always did when you ordered a sandwich.
“ Here goes,” Tommy said.
Arty covered Carolina with his body as he pictured Tommy whipping his knobby arms forward, letting the bag go in a great arc. He would have to make it this time. Nobody could miss a target the size of the dumpster twice in a row.
Arty and Carolina held their breaths, as Arty saw the skinny kid in his mind, putting all his effort into the underhanded throw. He pictured a basketball thrown from mid court, a split second before the buzzer. He saw the ball as it reached the top of the arc, and could tell, like he could read the future, that it was going to make the basket.
He hugged Carolina in close as the bag smashed down on his back. He gasped and pulled in small, quick, silent breaths of foul air. From a distance, he heard the skinny kid from the deli laughing and saying they would leave the mess for the trash man to clean up.
“ Oh shit,” Arty whispered, “we gotta get out of here, right now.”
“ Something’s on my leg,” Carolina’s whisper was as close to a scream as a whisper could get. She started kicking, then Arty felt it scurry across his back.
“ Rat,” he said, wrapping his hands around her mouth to keep her from screaming.
“ I almost lost,” Tommy’s voice was fading and Arty took his hand away from her mouth.
“ I wasn’t going to scream,” she whispered.
“ We gotta get out of here,” he said again. He heard the rat burrowing away from them on the opposite of the trash bin.
“ I’m sorry I got scared,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the rat.” He could tell she was doing her best to be brave, but he could feel her shaking.
“ This is Friday,” he said.
“ So?”
“ Trash day.”
“ So?”
“ They pick up the dumpsters at night.”
“ Oh, no.”
“ Mr. Williams is gonna be by any minute,” and, like on cue, they heard the rumble of the trash truck maneuvering into the parking lot. He thrust his hand into the garbage, rummaging around for the shotgun as the truck lumbered and rumbled closer.
“ We go now!” She stood in the garbage. He was still looking for the gun when she had a leg over the side, by the time he found it she was on the ground.
“ I got it,” he said.
“ Hurry, Arty!”
He handed the gun over to her and jumped up, catching his stomach on the rim of the dumpster. Carolina jumped up and grabbed his belt, helping to pull him over and out of the dumpster.
He spun on his stomach as he went over the side, landing on his feet, caught in the headlights of the tank- like trash truck. He leaned against Carolina as she led him away from the giant metal trash can.
“ Hey, Arty,” Mr. Williams said, waving from the cab of the slow moving truck.
“ Hey, Willie.” Only Arty called him that. Mr. Williams was another of his early morning friends.
“ See you on the south side.”
“ Yeah,” Arty said, mustering enough energy to wave back.
“ South side?” Carolina asked.
“ I see him sometimes during my route. He does the south side of town on Monday.”
“ Oh,” she said, wiping food parts and coffee grinds from her clothes. “I think this sweater is ruined.”
“ I think so.” He watched her as he tried to wipe some slimy stuff off his sleeve.
“ It’s a good thing you remembered,” she said as the two extensions sticking out from the front of the giant truck thudded into place under the dumpster. They watched, holding their ears against the sound of banging metal,
