don’t want to make you walk around in chains. I mean, just take it easy. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. We’re your friends.”
The other cop said, “Come on, now. Come on out.”
“Man, this is the original wild child we have here.”
“You got that right.”
“Go in and push him out. Go in the other side.”
Beresford understood that they wanted him out of the car and standing on the ground like they were. So he did as they said.
“Hey, he’s gettin’ with the program. Yes! Come on, kid, this here is Westview. You’re gonna spend the night here.”
“Not if he ain’t charged. Violent offenders only.”
“Well, that super is going to make sure he gets charged. He’s gonna want him to stay in the system and not get back in their damn sewer pipes.”
They took him across a parking lot with big lights everywhere. He was trying to understand where he was and where the Beresford was so he could go home as soon as he got the chance. But it was all very confusing. There was a noisy, flashing mass of lights and swinging glass doors, and then he was in a room where there were other kids, a girl sitting hunched on a bench, a boy with orange hair who kept saying, “This is crazy, man, this is crazy,” and other kids who eyed him like they wanted to maybe cut him up and eat him.
For a long time, he waited on a bench. The light was bright, the fluorescent bulbs the brightest he’d ever known.
As he waited, he examined his surroundings, thinking of only one thing: how do I get out of here and go back to where I belong?
There was a drop ceiling, but he knew that the crawl space would be no good. The ceiling was suspended from a metal frame like in the security room. If you tried to get up in there, the whole thing would come down.
The building was low, so there were no long chases to get through. He looked at the air-conditioning ducts for a while, wondering if they offered a way out. They were just about big enough, so the only thing to do would be to try.
“Okay, son, we don’t have any identification on you, do we? Could you state your name, please?”
He had figured out what he would say: “I’m Mr. Beresford.”
The lady, who wore a blue uniform and had complicated braids, wrote on a clipboard. Then she looked up at him. “Your name is the same as the building? Whaddayou, own it?”
He did not know what she was asking, so he remained silent.
Finally she said, “C’mere, come with me.”
She unlocked him. They went to a desk where a man sat writing. “This isn’t a violent offender. I think it’s a mental case, so he goes to Social Services. No ID. Told me his name was the building he’s been squatting in. What you got here is a homeless teenager. Looks like he’s been in the wind for a while.”
“He’s not hurtin’—look at ’im. Healthy kid.”
“Yeah, he’s got a good crash somewheres.”
Beresford decided that the ductwork was his best chance.
“Son, how old are you?”
The questions were beginning to buzz in his mind like a plague of flies. He couldn’t take them much longer.
“Where were you born?”
“Just a moment.” The lady stepped across the room, then came back with a stack of cards. She held one up. “Read this.”
It was words. He did not know what it said. He did not know how it worked, not with big words like that, big long ones.
“That is the word train. Do you know what a train is?”
He’d seen the trains down in the railyard. South side of the building, look down and out, they were there. “They are in the railyard.”
“Henry, this boy is nearly illiterate, and he doesn’t know his own name or age, and he has no identification. What have we got here?”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing we got is a charge sheet.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “This boy is getting charged. Breaking and entering and theft of services. The complainant is the Beresford 123 Apartment Corporation. Next, attempted robbery and attempted assault. Complainant is
The other cop said, “Come on, now. Come on out.”
“Man, this is the original wild child we have here.”
“You got that right.”
“Go in and push him out. Go in the other side.”
Beresford understood that they wanted him out of the car and standing on the ground like they were. So he did as they said.
“Hey, he’s gettin’ with the program. Yes! Come on, kid, this here is Westview. You’re gonna spend the night here.”
“Not if he ain’t charged. Violent offenders only.”
“Well, that super is going to make sure he gets charged. He’s gonna want him to stay in the system and not get back in their damn sewer pipes.”
They took him across a parking lot with big lights everywhere. He was trying to understand where he was and where the Beresford was so he could go home as soon as he got the chance. But it was all very confusing. There was a noisy, flashing mass of lights and swinging glass doors, and then he was in a room where there were other kids, a girl sitting hunched on a bench, a boy with orange hair who kept saying, “This is crazy, man, this is crazy,” and other kids who eyed him like they wanted to maybe cut him up and eat him.
For a long time, he waited on a bench. The light was bright, the fluorescent bulbs the brightest he’d ever known.
As he waited, he examined his surroundings, thinking of only one thing: how do I get out of here and go back to where I belong?
There was a drop ceiling, but he knew that the crawl space would be no good. The ceiling was suspended from a metal frame like in the security room. If you tried to get up in there, the whole thing would come down.
The building was low, so there were no long chases to get through. He looked at the air-conditioning ducts for a while, wondering if they offered a way out. They were just about big enough, so the only thing to do would be to try.
“Okay, son, we don’t have any identification on you, do we? Could you state your name, please?”
He had figured out what he would say: “I’m Mr. Beresford.”
The lady, who wore a blue uniform and had complicated braids, wrote on a clipboard. Then she looked up at him. “Your name is the same as the building? Whaddayou, own it?”
He did not know what she was asking, so he remained silent.
Finally she said, “C’mere, come with me.”
She unlocked him. They went to a desk where a man sat writing. “This isn’t a violent offender. I think it’s a mental case, so he goes to Social Services. No ID. Told me his name was the building he’s been squatting in. What you got here is a homeless teenager. Looks like he’s been in the wind for a while.”
“He’s not hurtin’—look at ’im. Healthy kid.”
“Yeah, he’s got a good crash somewheres.”
Beresford decided that the ductwork was his best chance.
“Son, how old are you?”
The questions were beginning to buzz in his mind like a plague of flies. He couldn’t take them much longer.
“Where were you born?”
“Just a moment.” The lady stepped across the room, then came back with a stack of cards. She held one up. “Read this.”
It was words. He did not know what it said. He did not know how it worked, not with big words like that, big long ones.
“That is the word train. Do you know what a train is?”
He’d seen the trains down in the railyard. South side of the building, look down and out, they were there. “They are in the railyard.”
“Henry, this boy is nearly illiterate, and he doesn’t know his own name or age, and he has no identification. What have we got here?”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing we got is a charge sheet.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “This boy is getting charged. Breaking and entering and theft of services. The complainant is the Beresford 123 Apartment Corporation. Next, attempted robbery and attempted assault. Complainant is
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