"Find the boy's uncle," Silas said. "And find me everything on Preston Vane."
Chapter 6: Frank
The first thing Tommy saw was the truck. A rust-eaten pickup with the muffler dragging, and his stomach dropped, because he knew that sound the way a stray dog knows a boot. It rolled to a stop at the curb outside St. Jude's, and Frank got out.
Frank Reyes was bigger than the truck. Broad shoulders gone soft, a sagging bulldog tattoo, eyes that never landed on anything. He scanned the soup line like a man checking inventory, and when he found Tommy, he smiled.
Tommy's fingers closed around the ring on its shoestring, out of habit.
"Tommy," Frank called. "Get over here, kid."
Tommy didn't move. He could feel people looking. Mrs. Alvarez paused with a roll in her hand. Thelma Wright glanced toward the back where Si was refilling the coffee urns.
Frank came closer, smelling of motor oil and cheap beer.
"Well, well. Look who learned to eat for free. Come on. Truck's running."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"The hell you say. I been looking all over for you. I got a spot back for you, the I-95 exit by the airport. Hold the sign, look sad. Forty a day, easy."
"I said no."
The people in line tried not to stare, which was its own kind of staring. Tommy's face burned. Nobody at St. Jude's had ever made him feel like a piece of furniture before.
"You don't say no to me," Frank said. "I raised you three years, boy. You owe me."
"You kicked me out. You said get out and don't come back."
"And I'm saying come back. I'm your blood."
Tommy opened his mouth and nothing came out, because that was the trap. Blood was blood. Frank was awful, but Frank was the only name on any list Tommy had. The underpass. The truck bed on cold nights. The sign that said ANYTHING HELPS, GOD BLESS.
"Problem here, folks?" Thelma called from the door, arms crossed.
"No problem, lady. Family business. He's my nephew and he's coming with me."
"He doesn't look like he wants to go," Thelma said.
"Nobody asked what he wants. He's a minor. I'm his guardian."
A hand came down on Tommy's shoulder, steady and light. Si was there, moved up beside them without a sound, dish towel over his arm. He didn't look at Frank. He looked at Tommy.
"You okay, son?" Si said.
Tommy nodded before he could stop himself. Frank's eyes narrowed.
"Who's this?" Frank said.
"Si. I volunteer here."
"Si. Right." Frank looked him up and down, and Tommy watched the calculation happen: the good boots, the watch, the careful haircut, the way the man stood like money. "Well, Si. You're looking at the boy's legal guardian, his uncle. And I'm telling you the boy's coming home with me."
"He says he's not going," Si said, even and quiet. "So maybe ask him why."
"I don't need to ask a twelve-year-old why." Frank turned to Tommy, and his voice went soft, which was scarier. "Kid. You remember what happens when you smart off?"
Tommy remembered. His jaw still clicked when he chewed.
"I'm not smarting off. I got a bed roll under the overpass, I'm eating regular. You don't need me anymore."
"Then why did you throw me out?"
Frank's face darkened, and for a second Tommy thought he was really going to get hit right there in front of everybody. He flinched before Frank even moved, and he saw Si see it, and that was the worst of all.
Then Frank noticed Si again, and the gears turned, and he smiled the wide one, the one he used on marks.
"Tell you what, old-timer. You seem attached to the boy. I take the boy, no trouble, and you make a contribution. Say a thousand dollars."
Si didn't blink. "You're trying to sell me your nephew?"
"I'm talking about family support. You look like a man who never missed a meal."
"You've got that right," Si said. "But you don't look like a guardian. Guardians don't threaten kids on the sidewalk."
"Watch yourself, old man. I did time. I know people."
"So do I," Si said, flat and final, and Frank took a half step back. "One of them is the director of this kitchen, and she's calling the police right now. So here's how this ends. You leave. You don't come back. Touch the boy and you'll answer for it."
Thelma was, in fact, on the phone. Frank looked at her, at Si, at the line of people watching him now, and the smell of witnesses got to him. He laughed, but it was a broken thing.
"Fine. But this ain't over, kid. You run from family, family comes back around. I'm the only one you got." He pointed at Tommy. "The exit's still there. I'll be waiting."
He climbed into the truck and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the kitchen windows. The muffler screamed down the street.
Then Thelma hung up and said, "Anybody hungry?" and the line started shuffling again.
"You don't have to explain anything," Si said quietly.
But the words were stacked up behind Tommy's teeth, and now they were spilling.
"He's all I got. He's my uncle. He took me in when Dad died. I know he's bad, I know what he is, but he's the only one who ever came back for me. Everybody else just left."
Si looked at him for a long moment. "Did he come back for you, Tommy? Or did he come back for the forty dollars a day?"
Tommy opened his mouth. Closed it. The question sat there like a stone in his gut.
"Come on," Si said gently. "Let me get you some food. There's a cot in the back room if the overpass gets cold tonight."
Tommy followed him inside, his hand wrapped tight around his mother's ring, and he didn't know whether he felt rescued or ashamed, and he was afraid it was both.