Theo was in the midst of an unlucky run with his bike tires. In the previous three months, he had collected two nails, a piece of glass from a soft drink bottle, a jagged piece of metal, and he had punctured two front tires on account of reckless riding. His father was not happy with this and when the subject of the cost of bike tires came up over dinner, things were tense.
This latest puncture, though, was no accident. Someone had deliberately stuck a sharp object into his tire.
He waited until his friends rode away, then began the humiliating journey downtown, pushing his bike along streets that now seemed much longer, wondering who would do such a thing to him, and trying to put this latest act of vandalism in the context of a day that had not gone well. The excitement of the trial had vanished; Omar Cheepe and Paco had followed him as he rode to school; Buck Baloney had almost hit him with a rock and then caught him the second time he dashed through his backyard; someone had vandalized his locker; and now this-a slashed bike tire that would cut deeply into his savings account.
Theo couldn’t help but take an occasional glance over his shoulder, certain that eyes were watching.
Gil’s bike shop was downtown, three blocks from the courthouse, on a narrow street lined with small mom- and-pop stores. There was a cleaners, a shoe shop, photo lab, bakery, a knife sharpener that owed Ike money for tax services, and a couple of delis. Theo took pride in knowing every owner. Gil was one of his favorites-a short, round man with an awesome belly that was always partially hidden by a thick work apron covered in dirt and grime. Gil sold bikes and he loved to repair them. His shop was jam-packed with models of every size and color, with the smaller ones hanging from large hooks in the ceiling and the fancier mountain bikes lined up in the front windows.
Theo rolled his through the front door, thoroughly defeated by the day. Gil was sitting on a stool by the back counter, drinking coffee. “Well, well,” he said. “Look who’s back.”
“Hey, Gil,” Theo said. “Another flat tire.”
“What happened?” Gil asked as he rolled himself off the stool and waddled over.
“Looks like sabotage.”
Gil lifted the handlebars, spun the front tire until he found the hole in it, and exhaled a soft whistle. “You make somebody mad?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Small penknife, I’d say. Certainly no accident. Can’t do anything with it. Theo, you gotta have a new one.”
“I was afraid of that. How much?”
“You should know the price better than me. Eighteen bucks. You want me to send the bill to your dad?”
“No, he’s fed up with me and my bike tires. I’ll pay for this one, but I can’t swing eighteen dollars today.”
“How much can you pay now?”
“I can give you ten tomorrow, and the rest in a couple of weeks. You have my word, Gil. I’ll even sign a promissory note.”
“I thought you were a lawyer, Theo.”
“Sort of.”
“Well, then, you need to do some more research. A person has to be eighteen years old before he can enter into a valid contract, including a promissory note.”
“Sure, sure, I know that.”
“Let’s just do an old-fashioned handshake deal. Ten bucks tomorrow, and the other eight bucks in two weeks.” Gil extended his dirty and chubby right hand, and Theo shook it.
Fifteen minutes later he was flying down Park Street, happy to be so mobile again, but still wondering if the day could get any worse. He was also debating about how much of his bad luck should be reported to his parents. The farther he got away from his vandalized locker, the less important it seemed. Theo could live with those losses, irritating as they were. The slashed tire was another story because it involved a weapon.
As he approached the law offices of Boone amp; Boone, Theo suddenly had a frightening thought. What if the same person had robbed his locker, then slashed his tire as well?
Chapter 4
Boone amp; Boone was a small law firm on a street full of other lawyers, accountants, and architects. All of the buildings along that section of Park Street had once been homes, long before Theo was born.
He carried his bike up the front steps and leaned it against the wall, near the door, its customary parking place. He glanced around, just to make sure no one was watching him, or his bike. Inside the front door, the reception area was the turf of Elsa Miller, the firm’s head secretary and sometimes its boss. She was a spry, hyperactive woman who was old enough to be Theo’s grandmother, and she often acted as though she was.
As always, she bounced from her chair behind her desk and assaulted Theo the moment she saw him. There was a fierce hug, a painful yank of the earlobe, a tussling of his hair, but, thankfully, no kissing. Elsa understood that thirteen-year-old boys did not want to be kissed by anyone. During this attack, and Theo considered it nothing less, she was talking nonstop. “Theo! How was your day? Are you hungry? Does that shirt match those pants? Have you finished your homework? Have you heard the news about Pete Duffy jumping off a bridge?”
“Jumping off a bridge?” Theo repeated, taking a step back and freeing himself from her embrace.
“Well, that’s just one theory, but, good gosh, there is so much gossip racing around this town right now.”
“I was in court this morning when he didn’t show,” Theo said proudly.
“You were?!”
“Yes.”
Elsa retreated as quickly as she had attacked, allowing Judge to come forth and say hello. Judge spent his days easing around the office, checking on everyone, sleeping in various places, and always looking for something to eat. He usually waited for Theo in one of two places-either Theo’s chair back in his office, or on a small bed at Elsa’s feet, supposedly providing protection for the firm but doing nothing of the sort.
“There are pecan brownies in the kitchen,” Elsa said.
“Who made them?” Theo asked. It was a fair question. Elsa’s pecan brownies were somewhat edible, if one were starving, but the wedges occasionally brought in by Dorothy, the real estate secretary, were not. They looked like brick mortar and tasted like mud, and not even Judge would give them a sniff.
“I made them, Theo, and they’re delicious.”
“Yours are perfect,” Theo said as he headed down the hall.
“Your mother is in court and your father is across town wrapping up a real estate deal,” Elsa said. An important part of her job was to keep track of everybody, especially Mr. and Mrs. Boone, and this was easy because she was in charge of their schedules. But Elsa, at any given moment, could give you the precise whereabouts of Dorothy, and of Vince, the paralegal who worked under Mrs. Boone. Add Judge and Theo to the list, and Elsa knew everyone’s appointments, lunch dates, coffee dates, doctors’ visits, depositions, loan closings, birthdays, vacations, anniversaries, even funerals. She once gave Dorothy a sympathy card after her father’s funeral-three years to the day after the old guy was buried.
According to the Boone master plan for daily living, Theo was expected to (1) arrive at the office each day after school, where he (2) checked in with Elsa and suffered through her rituals, then (3) stopped by his mother’s office for a quick hello, then (4) walked upstairs, with Judge close at his heels, where he gave his father a rundown of the day’s activities, then, (5) after a quick word with Dorothy, and (6) another one with Vince, he (7) went to his small office in the back of the building and cranked out his homework, which was to be done before dinner. Of course, if he had something else to do, like work on a merit badge or watch his classmates play soccer or basketball, he was excused from the office ritual. He was a kid, an only child, and his parents, strict as they were, understood the realities of raising a well-rounded thirteen-year-old.
Theo closed the door to his tiny office and pulled his laptop from his backpack. He checked the local news for an update on the search for Pete Duffy. There was not a single word about the man jumping off a bridge, and this
