Thursday's Child by Teri White

kill Marnie; it would probably be a kindness. But he would avoid that if he could. No sense complicating things, right? If she didn’t want to cooperate, he’d decide what to do then.
    Beau picked up a kosher dill that had seen better days and took a bite. “You a cop?” he asked between chews.
    Robert shook his head.
    â€œI only thought … because of the gun.” He whispered the last word.
    No, I’m not a cop.
    â€œWell, that’s fine with me, you know? I don’t think much of cops, actually. Back home, they’re just nothing but a bunch of government assassins.”
    Robert finished his hamburger. “You must be from Chicago,” he said with a smirk.
    â€œNo.” Beau was frowning. “I don’t like guns much either. They scare me, you know?”
    â€œThey’re supposed to scare you. Everybody should be scared of them.”
    â€œAre you?”
    Robert shrugged. “In the wrong hands, yeah.” Meaning, of course, anybody’s hands but his. He leaned across the table and spoke quietly. “Make me happy, buddy, and forget you ever saw the damned gun, okay?”
    â€œSure, Robert.”
    â€œYou have enough to eat?” Robert asked as he checked the waitress’s addition.
    â€œPlenty. Thanks again.”
    â€œSure, sure. No problem. I was hungry anyway.” That made it seem less like a nice thing to do. Robert took an extra twenty from his wallet and put it on Beau’s side of the table. “Here. I have to go.”
    Beau picked up the bill and rolled it in his palm.
    â€œSo long.” Robert got up and walked to the cashier. As he stood waiting for his change, he looked back toward the booth. Beau was still sitting there. “Fuck it,” Robert muttered.
    â€œWhat?” the startled cashier said.
    He ignored her and walked out. On the sidewalk, he paused and stared back into the diner. Beau was looking at him. Robert didn’t know why he cared what happened to this boy, but he realized that if he just walked away now, he’d feel guilty later. It might be easier in the long run just to help the kid out a little. He stepped back inside and raised a hand to gesture toward the booth.
    Beau jumped up immediately, starting to smile as he approached. “Yeah, Robert?”
    â€œCome with me.”
    They left the coffee shop. The paper-reading cop was standing on the corner, talking to another patrolman. Robert barely glanced at them.
    â€œHey, where we going?” Beau asked, hurrying to keep up.
    â€œJust for tonight, you can crash at my place. Just for tonight, understand?”
    â€œSure. Thanks.”
    Robert glanced sidewise at him, shaking his head. This boy was a real dope. Sleeping in alleys. Talking to strangers. Now going home with somebody he didn’t know. Beau was just lucky that it was him he’d run into and not some pervert.
    They reached the car and got in. Robert knew that he was going to regret this, probably by the time they got to the house. He wasn’t Mother Fucking Teresa, after all, so why the hell should he get involved in the problems of some idiot street kid?
    But he couldn’t help remembering, with a sharp pang of hurt, that not so long ago, he and Andy had been a couple of homeless brats, bouncing around the system. More than once, it had been the two of them getting beaten up by the punks of the world. So maybe it was for Andy he was doing this. Instead of giving a freaking donation to the Cancer Society or something, he’d give this kid a little help.
    It was no big deal. He’d let Beau crash for the night. No big deal.

9
    1
    The black woman led him through a long hall back to the kitchen. She was in the middle of baking the weekly supply of pastry which, she said, Mr. Epstein favored for his breakfast. The room smelled strongly of cinnamon and other good things.
    The cook was a plump, cheerful-looking woman wrapped in a frilly pink apron. She insisted