Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,15

I turn and see two transit cops on the other side of the terminal, a heavyset, dark-haired woman, and a burly guy who takes off his police cap to scratch his head, revealing a military-style blond buzz cut. They stop a kid about our age with dark hair like mine and ask him a lot of questions.

“I gotta go,” Jack says, not taking his eyes off the cops. “Be safe, Hank.”

“Take care of yourself, Jack. And Nessa.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “I always do.” He turns and latches on to a family with two little girls who are walking by. “Excuse me,” I hear him say. “But do you know when the train to Washington DC leaves?”

Certainly the cops will assume this is his family and not be suspicious, the way he’s talking so easy with them, laughing and joking. Damn, he’s good. But aside from Frankie, who doesn’t count, I’m a kid all alone. And if the word is out about the assault in the alley this morning they’ll be on the lookout for three kids. One of them who looks exactly like me.

The cops have stopped questioning the kid and are heading in my direction. Luckily they haven’t spotted me yet, which is good, since I’m gawking at them in full-out panic mode. After all, I now have Simon’s wallet on me, evidence to connect me very solidly with a crime. It has his initials for chrissakes. And his ID. I am so screwed. Quickly, I take out all the cash and stuff it into my front pocket, ready to ditch the wallet. Frankie watches every move with his beady eyes, but I’m too terrified to deal with him.

As I watch them, the woman cop looks in my direction, then gives me a double-take. She looks tough, like she’d really enjoy being the one to nail my ass to the wall. I glance away quickly, but she and her buzz-cut partner are heading straight for me. I won’t have a chance to dump the wallet in the trash without them being suspicious.

“You…gonna…”

I stare blankly at Frankie and pull the wallet out of my back pocket. He licks his lips and looks expectant. As casually as possible, with my back to the cops, I hand Frankie the social security card. He grins, takes it from me with a pinky extended, and pops the whole thing in his mouth. In one chew and swallow, it is gone. I hand him the library card, and it, too, vanishes. Digesting the evidence. So far, so good. Bless you, Frankie, bless you.

Turning back toward the transit cops, I see they’re almost on me. But then this lady in a purple knit hat darts in front of them, eyes up on the destination screen, and she smacks right into the burly cop. In the confusion, I grip the wallet, hoping for the impossible. Paper is one thing, but can Frankie actually eat a wallet? “You gonna…” I drop it on the floor, and kick it to the tips of his dusty black boots.

“Take it!”

And so he does. He reaches down, licking his chops like the wallet is a juicy porterhouse steak, and takes a huge bite out of it. Fortunately, the wallet is old, and this dude has strong teeth. He literally rips a piece of leather right out of the wallet, chews once, and swallows. Then he’s back for another. Bite, chew, swallow. The cops are almost on us now, and I can still see Simon’s initials on the side, SJG. Faster, I think. You can do it, Frankie. Bite, chew, swallow.

Before they can speak, I turn to the cops like I’ve just noticed them and manage an expression of total outrage. “Officers, do you see what this man is doing?” I sputter.

“I dropped my wallet on the ground—he picked it up, and now”—I gesture helplessly, and the three of us look at Frankie—“he’s eating it.”

Frankie glances at each of us and grins, still chewing on leather and drooling into his beard. The front of the wallet, the part with the initials, is almost gone, except for the first letter, S.

“Frankie, did you take this boy’s wallet?” The woman asks in an annoyed tone. Frankie shakes his massive head and swallows. “Mine.”

“What’s your name, son?” Buzz Cut asks me. I almost say Henry. Henry David. But we are all looking down at the wallet and the remaining initial.

“Steven,” I say quickly. “Steven David. Son. Davidson.”

Awkward, but I think I pulled it off.

“Give