"He'll come back," Hank said. "And I'll be here."
Chapter 5: The Brass Key
Snow had been falling since school let out, and by the time Danny turned into the alley behind the Blue Plate, the drifts were past his ankles and the back steps had vanished under white.
His fingers were already stinging inside his thin gloves. A hot cocoa was fifty cents. A shoveled alley had to be worth that.
He knocked on the back door, hard, so they'd hear him over the kitchen noise.
Marge opened it, and her eyebrows went up. "Well, sugar. Look at you. You're half snowman."
"Hi, Marge. Is Hank around?"
"He's always around, hon. What's on your mind?"
"I want to shovel the alley. For money." Danny glanced into the warm kitchen. "I need cocoa money."
Marge laughed, a warm sound that filled the doorway. "You need cocoa money. Lord, listen to you." She turned and hollered over her shoulder. "Hank! Business call for you!"
Hank came to the door wiping his hands on a towel, looked at Danny, and looked at the alley. "Shovel's by the dumpster," he said. "Steps, door, and all the way to the street. I don't pay for half a job."
"I'll do the whole job," Danny said.
"You get hot cocoa," Hank said. "Not money. Cocoa."
Danny considered this. "With the little marshmallows?"
"With the little marshmallows," Hank said. "Get to it, kid. Dark's coming."
The shovel was twice as heavy as it looked, but he found a rhythm: step, push, lift, toss. The snow was dry and light and flew off the blade in white sheets. By the time he cleared the back steps his hands were red and raw, his knuckles cracked and stinging.
He carved a path all the way to the sidewalk, and when he finished the alley looked like a clean dark ribbon between two white walls. He leaned on the shovel, panting, and admired it.
Marge opened the door. "Lord have mercy, look at that. Pete, come look at this boy's work."
Pete came to the door, looked at the alley, and nodded once.
"Come on in, sugar," Marge said. "Let's fix those hands."
Inside, the grill hissed and the warmth hit Danny's frozen face like a held hand. Hank was flipping burgers, and he glanced over.
"Let me see," Hank said.
"See what?"
"Your hands, kid."
Danny held them out. The knuckles were cracked and bleeding a little, and his fingers were a raw, angry red. Hank frowned, a deep canyon frown, and turned toward the pass.
"Marge. Cocoa. The big mug."
"Already on it, boss."
Hank set the steaming mug down and wrapped Danny's hands around it himself. "Hold that. It'll warm you up."
The little marshmallows melted on top. Danny blew on it and drank, and it was the best thing he had ever tasted.
"Best cocoa in Millbrook," Marge said, polishing a glass. "Everybody says so."
"Nobody says so," Hank said.
"I say so," Marge said. "That's everybody enough."
Danny laughed into his mug. He drank it down to the warm dregs, and Marge took the mug and winked, and then Hank said, "Come here, kid," and Danny went to him by the grill.
He stood there a second, wiping his hands on his apron, then reached into his pocket, pressed something into Danny's palm, and closed Danny's fingers over it.
Danny opened his hand. It was a key. Brass, heavy, worn smooth at the edges, catching the kitchen light and throwing it back warm.
"What's this?" Danny whispered.
"Back door key," Hank said. "Mine. Well, a copy." He looked at the grill instead of at Danny. "You come whenever you need to. Morning, night, doesn't matter. You let yourself in."
Danny stared at the key. "You trust me with a key?"
"I trust you with my grill," Hank said. "Key's easier." He cleared his throat. "So you'll never go hungry."
The words landed somewhere behind Danny's ribs. The kitchen sounds went far away, and his eyes filled up hot and sudden, and he bit his lip hard to keep it in.
"Hank," he said, and his voice came out small. "I don't have anything to give you."
"You gave me a clean alley," Hank said. "We're square."
"That's not the same."
Hank finally looked at him. "Kid. Listen to me. You don't owe me anything. You hear me?"
Danny nodded, because he couldn't get words past the lump in his throat, and then the words came anyway, all at once, and he said them fast like they might run away.
"I'll come back for you."
Hank went still. For a second his gruff face did something Danny had never seen it do, something soft and broken at the edges, and then Hank reached out and ruffled Danny's hair hard, the way he had done a hundred times, and said, "Countin' on it, kid."
Marge turned fast and started wiping a counter that was already clean. "Somebody's cutting onions back here," she announced to nobody. "Pete, are you cutting onions?"
Pete said, "No."
"Then it's a mystery," Marge said, sniffing.
Danny laughed, and it came out half a sob, and he closed his fist tight around the brass key, feeling the teeth bite into his raw palm. As long as this key was his, he was never locked out again.
He stayed until closing. He did his homework at the counter while Marge graded it with a red pen stolen from Hank's office, and Pete slid him a plate of fries "on the house." Then Hank walked him to the back door and unlocked it for him, though Danny had the key now, and the January night was sharp and glittering with stars.
"Button your coat," Hank said.
"It's buttoned."
"Then get home before you freeze, kid."