you," he reassured the boy in as calm a voice as he could manage. "You have no reason to be frightened of me. No reason at all. Who do you think I am? I'm as confused as you are about this."
"I'm not confused. I know who you are," the boy spit back angrily. He took a step backwards and looked behind him. He was checking out the fire escape, T.S. realized.
"It won't do you any good," T.S. lied. "I have a friend on the fire escape." Sure, some friend. Herbert was probably at home in bed asleep, leaving T.S. to deal with this pint-sized homicidal maniac.
"Don't come near me," the boy warned T.S., moving back and forth in a semicircle with the blade extended in front of him.
"Son, please." T.S. held a hand up. "You've seen West Side Story one too many times. Put the knife away and tell me who you think I am."
The boy did not put the knife away, but he did lower it. He eyed T.S. suspiciously. "You're the man who had dead pictures of Timmy's grandmother," he said bitterly. "I saw you pick them up from the photo store. You were practically drooling over them. You're the man who killed her."
"Me?" T.S. stared at him incredulously, remembering the frightened child who had darted toward him before veering off into the shadows. He certainly looked a hell of a lot more grown up standing four feet away with a knife in his hand. "No, no, no, no," T.S. told him. "A thousand times no. I am definitely not the person who killed Emily. I took those pictures of her at the morgue, after she was dead. I'm trying to find out who killed her. Don't you remember the background of those photos? White? Like a hospital?"
The boy's eyes narrowed. He was, at least, considering believing T.S. "How do I know you're not lying?" he finally allowed.
T.S. remembered that the boy had talked to Auntie Lil. "Look, I'll prove it to you. Your name is Little Pete, right?"
The boy stared at him. "Maybe. So what?"
"I know all about you. You're Timmy's friend. You called Emily 'Grandmother,' too. She bought you presents on your birthday. You have nice table manners. You eat your green beans last. How am I doing?"
"How do you know those things?" Little Pete asked sullenly.
"You had dinner with my aunt. Auntie Lil. The old lady who bought you dinner at the Delicious Deli a couple nights ago."
"You're lying," Little Pete said. "That was Emily's sister."
"No, no. She was just a friend of Emily's. And she is my aunt. Here, look." He thrust his face into the light and Little Pete stared at it blankly. "See," T.S. said. "We've got the same nose. Big. Look at this." He turned his head so Little Pete could see his profile. "And check out these cheeks. They're exactly the same. And the hair. Face it. We're practically twins." He was desperate and sounded like a babbling fool, but it was better than grappling with a knife-wielding teenager.
Besides, it worked. Little Pete relaxed and folded the knife away. "You sure do look like her," he admitted grudgingly. "What are you doing here? You'd better leave. I'm waiting for somebody."
"You're waiting for me," T.S. explained. The look this statement inspired in Little Pete instantly shamed him. "But not for the reason you think," T.S. added quickly.
"The man is not going to like this at all," Little Pete answered. He moved to a large, sagging bed that dominated the bare room and sat on it dejectedly. "He'll beat me to death like Timmy."
"What?" T.S. moved toward him. "What did you say?" He knelt beside the boy and Little Pete buried his face in his hands. T.S. patted his back and the fatherly gesture summoned what was left of the little boy in Little Pete. The child began to sob and talk at the same time, his garbled explanation discernible only in bits and pieces. It took ten minutes for T.S. to figure out what had happened. And he finally had an idea of where Auntie Lil might be.
Timmy had been beaten up, Little Pete explained. On the orders of a man who used to be nice to Timmy and Little Pete. Because Timmy had done something wrong. At first, everything had been going well. The man had gotten them customers, clean ones. And paid them plenty of money. Given them clothes and shoes. Food. Then, a couple of days ago he