Children of the Knight (38 page)

T
HE
following day proceeded much the same as the previous one for Arthur’s young and exuberant knights. They fanned out across the city, searching for cast-off junk they felt could be reused. Today, they targeted construction sites, inquiring if there was any wood or old fixtures that were being tossed out.

At one large site where several buildings were being demolished in preparation for the raising of new ones, a group led by Lavern and Enrique, all dressed in older, less fancy tunics for fear of dirtying the newer ones, explained to the foreman of the site what they sought. He told them that most of the area was “hard-hat” and off-limits to them. However he did point out a spot toward the back of the site that was used for the throwaway stuff.

“You boys are welcome to take whatever ya want.”

Lavern and the others, per Arthur’s instructions, thanked the man with a courteous bow before heading off in that direction. The foreman and all the workers gaped at the kids in astonishment.

Lavern and his crew found old wood, not-quite empty paint cans, nails, bathroom fixtures, and a host of other so-called throwaway stuff they felt certain could be used again, and loaded it all into the truck Enrique had driven.

W
ITHIN
the warehouse owned by Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Lee, Dwayne handed over a large wad of cash and a handgun, setting both onto the table before Ramirez. As always, Mr. Lee stood, rather than sat. Being somewhat short of stature, he also felt it made him appear more intimidating.

Ramirez studied the slightly jittery Dwayne, eyeing the boy with deep scrutiny. “You seem jumpy, Dwayne. Been sampling my goods again?”

Dwayne’s eyes bulged in fear, and he shook his head. In truth, he
had
been sampling. Ramirez’s meth was the purest around. “No, sir!” he insisted, but Ramirez’s eyes told him he knew the boy was lying.

He just stared a moment, a very intimidating tactic he’d learned years ago. “You’re sure they saw you?”

Dwayne nodded vigorously. “They seen me. Prac’ly stuck my whole head out the winda!”

Ramirez nodded. He snapped his fingers, and one of Mr. Lee’s Asian footmen hurried over. Ramirez indicated the handgun. “Dispose of this.”

The young Asian, who couldn’t have been much out of his teens, nodded and scooped up the gun, hurriedly exiting the office.

Ramirez gazed long and hard at Dwayne, who was so hopped up he kept shifting from foot to foot. “Villalobos was the target, Dwayne, not his little sister, and even at that, the girl didn’t die.”

“It was hard, Mr. R., trying ta shoot an’ make sure they all seen me too,” Dwayne protested. “Plus that fool Marquis be swervin’ the car too much fo’ me ta aim!”

He was sweating now, profusely.

Mr. Ramirez drummed his fingers lightly against the wood of his desktop.

“I wanted a gang war, Dwayne,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “It appears this
King
Arthur has robbed me of that.”

“That ain’t my fault, Mr. R.!” Dwayne exclaimed, his voice cracking with fear.

Ramirez sighed again. “I suppose not. Mr. L.?”

Lee stepped forward and pulled a wad of bills from his thousand-dollar suit pocket and handed them to Dwayne. “For selling, and half for the shooting, because you missed the target. Do you have a problem with that, boy?”

Dwayne hurriedly pocketed the cash and shook his head vigorously, anxious to get out of there.

“You may go.”

Dwayne gave a nod to Mr. Lee, glanced once more at Ramirez, who was lighting a cigar and eyeing him soberly, and then bolted from the office.

Lee looked at Ramirez. “He’s becoming a liability.”

Ramirez sighed. “Yes, and so is this King Arthur. Have your guys dig up what they can on him.”

Mr. Lee nodded.

J
ACK
and Chris played catch in the river basin near the grate entrance to Arthur’s underground kingdom. Much as they enjoyed all the training and sparring with weaponry, the shadowy darkness of those tunnels got to everyone after a while, so they’d go topside and soak up the sunlight or play ball or just walk and hang out.

Arthur would not allow them to practice swordplay or archery outside during the day for fear they would be spotted. While Chris idolized Lance above all others, the little boy also loved Jack for his muscles and athleticism and because he could always make him laugh.

Jack had been teaching Chris how to throw and catch a football for the past hour. The California sun was setting with its usual kaleidoscope of red and orange and gold, and Jack knew Arthur and Lance would likely be at the park with that teacher lady by now. Jack considered the implications of Arthur’s idea. So far, the gathering of materials for their Cleanup Tour, a name Mark had come up with, had been going well.

But tonight, Arthur planned to introduce himself and the crusade to the city at large, and that might change everything for him, Mark and all the kids. Would it change for better or for worse? So far, people had been confused, but nice, when Arthur’s knights had asked for their cast-off junk. But what would everyone else say? Would the police and politicians try to stop them? The future, which seemed so clear and joyous the evening he’d been knighted, now suddenly seemed very cloudy and uncertain.

As he and Chris tossed the ball back and forth, Jack’s eyes kept flitting involuntarily to Mark, who sat on a concrete balustrade deep in thought and looking forlorn. Jack had told Mark about his talk with Lance and how they were all buds now, and that seemed to please his friend. But there was something eating away at Mark, and Jack felt despairingly certain he knew what it was.

Chris tossed him a long bomb for a six-year-old, with a perfect spiral. Jack easily plucked it from the air and trotted over to high five the boy.

“That was perfect, Chris!” he enthused. “I couldn’t throw a spiral like that at your age. NFL here you come.” Chris laughed with delight, and they high-fived again.

As they did, Jack caught another glimpse of Mark. His best friend hadn’t budged for the entire hour. Now was the time.

“Go on in now, Chris,” he told the boy, tossing him the football. “It’s getting dark.”

Chris beamed excitedly. “Thanks, Jack, for all the tips. I’m gonna be a big, buff football player when I grow up. Just like you.”

Jack grinned down at the small blond boy who’d already grown quite a bit in the weeks since he’d met him. “I’ve no doubt, little man.”

Chris got that devilish look in his eye that always made Jack laugh. “Can I punch you one more time ’fore I go in?”

Jack laughed, as always. “Sure.” Chris had recently discovered how hard Jack’s six-pack abs were, and he loved punching them because it was like hitting a wall.

Pulling back his small fist dramatically, Chris punched with all his might. His fist impacted with the rock-hard abs, and pain shot up his arm. “Ow!” he screamed dramatically, shaking his hand as though he’d broken it. Jack just laughed, and Chris grinned at him. “Gonna have those too,” he insisted, still shaking his hand.

Jack tousled his shaggy blond hair. “That you will. Now head on in. Almost dinnertime.”

Chris beamed again that innocent, trusting smile that melted Jack’s heart and almost made him feel innocent again too.

Almost….

The little boy darted through the grate and vanished into the darkness.

Jack watched him depart and then turned to gaze at Mark, looking beautiful and sad in the setting sun. A light breeze ruffled his unruly hair, and the ever-present sound of freeway traffic in the distance filled the coming night. Sighing, and with a heavy heart, Jack approached the boy he loved more than anything in the world and sat beside him.

Hoping he was wrong about the cause, he decided to try a lighter approach. “Okay, Marky Mark, out with it. You been in the dumps all day, and I don’t mean the ones we been raiding.” He smiled, hoping his joke might elicit some response, but Mark didn’t even react.

“He hardly notices me no more,” Mark stated, his voice laced with hopelessness.

Jack looked at the ground, anywhere but at Mark. Here it comes. “You mean Arthur, don’t you?”

“’Course I mean Arthur,” Mark replied as though Jack had asked a really stupid question. “He never hardly talks to me no more, it’s always Lance an’ them gangbangers an’ now that teacher….”