“Bobby.” The kid’s chin lifted, and he looked him square in the face. Cheeky little bugger. The kid would bear watching.
“How’d you get out of the crate?” He reached for an apple, well aware the children hadn’t eaten in days.
The boy looked away from the fruit, a mulish expression settling over his face.
“So you don’t want to tell me, huh?” He sliced off a small piece of apple and stuck it in his mouth, chewing slowly. There were ways to make him talk. “Grady?”
“Yeah, boss?” Grady straightened, flexing his muscles.
He nodded toward a small, dark-eyed youngster. Grady grabbed the child and wrapped his beefy hands around the kid’s arm. The kid’s eyes widened.
One squeeze would crush the arm like a bug.
The boss’s gaze slid back to Bobby. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer.”
The kid stood rigid, watchful, eyes narrowed.
One thing he’d learned about these kids: they were street savvy to the core. Both boys knew exactly what would happen if somebody didn’t give an answer.
Soon.
Bobby’s gaze bounced between the boss and Grady’s too-eager hold on the smaller child. Grady’s free hand wrapped around the boy’s neck, fingers flexing, an evil grin spreading across his face.
The boss flicked a small piece of apple peel toward Grady. “Easy. No need to get carried away.”
They could use the kid in the factory, but it was more important the others knew who was in charge. “Now, Bobby, you want to tell me what happened in the warehouse?”
“A boy, an older kid, pried the lid off and let us out.”
“What’s his name?”
Something flickered between the two boys.
Interesting. Did they know more than they were letting on?
“Grady.” The boss spoke the name quietlike, but Grady knew what to do. His fingers tightened on the kid’s neck. The dark eyes widened with fear, and a whimper gurgled up the small throat.
“He said his name was Luke. That’s all I know.” The words rushed out of Bobby in his haste to protect the younger boy.
The boss motioned to Grady, and the ex-prizefighter loosened his grip.
“Luke, huh?” Settling on the corner of his desk, he smiled at the youngsters. This little episode might turn out for the good. These kids were so afraid him and Grady, they’d do anything. Anything at all.
“Grady, take them to the back. Bobby can run one of the sewing machines. I think he’s more than up to the task.”
“Yes, sir.” Grady opened the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The youngsters followed Grady through the door, meek as little lambs. Just the way the boss liked them. Grady slammed the door shut, locking it behind him, and the boss settled behind his desk and reached for a cigar.
Luke.
Must be one of the kids who’d gotten away the night one of the crates fell off the train and burst open. The four boys inside had scattered like rats down the alleys of Chestnut.
He’d watched them go. There was no way to link them to him, and they were criminals after all. The last place they’d go was to the cops. He lit his cigar and took a puff, eyes narrowed in thought.
But why would this Luke risk his life to save the others?
Now there was a question worth pondering.
* * *
Boards creaked under Jake’s boots as he made his midnight rounds. A scuffling sound came from a nearby alley, and he paused. Were those street kids prowling around again? He eased into the shadows and followed the noise. Ten yards into the passageway, a familiar humming wafted toward him.
What was Gus doing out so late?
Augustus P. Jones lived in a shack outside of town. He did odd jobs for people but didn’t mingle with many. The old man had risked his life to pull Jake out of a tight spot a couple years ago, and Jake made a habit of checking on him as often as he could.
“Gus?” he called out, careful not to startle him. “Augustus?”
A loud clattering and banging ensued, and Jake winced. So much for not scaring the old feller. It didn’t take much to send Gus into a panic.
“Whaddaya want? I ain’t got nuthin’.”
“Gus, it’s all right. It’s me, Jake.”
A nervous laugh shot out of the darkness, followed by the shadowy form of a round, little man leading a donkey hitched to a cart. “You scared the bejeebers outta me, Mr. Jake.” He wiped a hand across his whiskered face.
“Sorry, Gus. I didn’t mean to. What’ve you been doing today?”
“Nuthin’ much.” Gus shrugged and dropped his head,