Blossom Read Online Free Page B

Spofford, and turned left, heading for the network of juke joints, topless bars, and salvage yards that make up half the economy of the neighborhood. The other half was transacted in abandoned buildings. They stared with windowless eyes above crack houses doing a booming business on the ground floors.
    We drove deeper, past even the bombed–out ruins. Past the meat market that supplies all the city's butcher shops and restaurants, past the battered hulks of railway cars rotting on rusty tracks that run to nowhere. Tawny flashes in the night. Wild dogs, hunting.
    Finally we came to the deadfall. A narrow slip of land jutting into the East River, bracketed by mounds of gritty sand from the concrete yards and the entrance road to the garbage facility. I wheeled the Plymouth so it was parallel to the river. Max and I climbed out. Rikers Island was just across the filthy water, but you couldn't see it from where we stood. We opened the trunk. Hauled the freak out, ripping the duct tape from his mouth. He was shaking so hard he had to lean against the car.
    "Take a look around," I told him.
    A giant German shepherd lay on her side a few feet from us. Dead. Her massive snout buried in a large paper McDonald's bag. Her underbelly was a double row of enlarged, blunted nipples. She'd sent many litters to the wild dog packs before her number came up. A seagull the size of an albatross flapped its wings as it cruised to a gentle stop near the dog. Its razor beak ripped at her flesh, tiny eyes glaring us to keep our distance. Some kind of animal screamed. Sounds like a string of tiny firecrackers closer still.
    The freak's chest heaved. He snorted a deep breath through his nose. It told him the truth his eyes wanted to deny.
    "This is a graveyard," I said, my voice calm and quiet. "They'd never hear the shots. Never find the body. Got it?"
    He nodded.
    "You bring something with you? Something to prove you know where the kid is?"
    He nodded again.
    Max reached inside the freak's jacket. A wallet. Inside, a Polaroid snapshot of a kid. Long straight hair fell down either side of a narrow face. The kid in the picture was wearing blue bathing trunks, standing on a dock, smiling at the camera.
    "Tell me something…something so I know it's the right kid."
    The freak dry–washed his hands. "Monroe found him. A few years ago. In Westchester. He ran away from home."
    "I won't ask you again."
    "Lucas…that's what we call him…he told us everything. Just ask me…anything…I can…"
    "Tell me what his room looked like—his room at home."
    "He had bunk beds. His parents always thought they'd have another kid. Lucas, he said that bed was for his brother, when he came. And he had a whole G.I. Joe collection. All the dolls. And the Transformers. He loved the Transformers."
    "He have a TV set in his room?"
    "No. He was only allowed to watch television on the weekends. In the morning."
    "He have a dog, this kid?"
    "Rusty. That was the name of his dog. He cried all the time about Rusty until Monroe got him a dog."
    Yes.
    I lit a cigarette, feeling Max close, waiting. I handed the freak back the money envelope, feeling every muscle in his body soften as he took it.
    "Tell me something," I asked him. "How old were you when Monroe found you?"
    He didn't waste time playing. "How did you know?"
    "How old?"
    "Ten."
    "And now you re…"
    "Seventeen."
    "So when you got too old, the only way to stay with Monroe was to bring him someone new, yes?"
    His face broke, trembled for control, lost it. I listened to him cry.
    "Lucas, he's old enough now, isn't he? And you're out."
    He slumped down on the filthy ground near the car, head in his hands. "I could've helped him…find someone else."
    "Yeah. But Monroe, he's gonna let Lucas do that. And you, you wanted the money for a new start?"
    "He never loved me at all!" the freak sobbed.
    I squatted down next to him. "Where is he?"
    "I'll tell you everything." He started talking, his voice a hiss that he couldn't stop,