The Fight for Kidsboro (4 page)

“Okay, okay. You can go for a while. Then everybody will miss you, and you can come back.”

“Maybe.” And with a look that seemed to say, “I'm going to France to find people who appreciate my talents,” he left.

“I don't understand,” Roberto said. “He had good donuts, but his business is over?”

“I don't understand it either, Roberto,” I said. I looked at Scott. “I'm gonna miss the bear claws. Did you ever try those? They were incredible.”

“Nope. Never tried one. I never bought
anything
from the bakery.”

“Why not?”

“I don't have any money.”

I didn't want Roberto to get the impression that life was tough for citizens of Kidsboro. He had just met someone whose business had tanked, and another person who was broke.

But It was true. Scott had never earned a single token with his detective agency in the two months of Kidsboro's existence. Of course, there hadn't been much need for a private investigator.

Like every other citizen of Kidsboro, Scott had been given enough tokens to start off with. He had probably already used that up-front money and never made any more.

I wondered if this was true of more people in Kidsboro. Citizens were responsible for making their own living in whatever ways they wanted. As mayor, I was paid by the city. This meant that every month the residents paid 10 percent of their income for taxes. This money went to pay me, Alice, and Corey, the garbage man. Tax money also went to build special buildings, like the meeting hall. So far, I had not had to worry about making a living.

Alice, in addition to being the police chief, was also in charge of collecting taxes. She was an obvious choice because no one would dare try to cheat her for fear of their very lives. Alice took care of all of this herself, so I didn't know how much anyone made at all. Were there a lot of people out there not making any money? Was that the reason Sid was going out of business?

We dropped Roberto off at his club house and left him there to consider what his place would be in Kidsboro.

The next night there was a buzz in the air about some kind of meeting or rally that was taking place at the meeting hall. I figured I should check it out. When I got there, the place was packed.

Valerie stepped to the front and stood behind a music stand. Oh, no. It was Valerie's rally. I bit my lip to keep it from quivering as she began to speak.

“Here I have the city charter,” she said, holding up a 10-page booklet. “Let me read some of the rules we have in this town. ‘No one is allowed to be in the city after eleven o'clock on weekends and nine o'clock on school nights.'” She flipped a page. “Here's another. ‘There will be no fires or fireworks inside the city limits.'” She flipped through some more. Her eyes widened as if she saw a really offensive one. “And it goes on like this for 10 pages.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Is it my imagination, or has our city council suddenly become our parents?”

Heads began nodding in approval. She continued. “These people think they can tell us how to live our lives. They don't think we have enough rules. But don't we? I mean, we have rules in school, we have rules at home, we have rules at church and on the street and in the grocery store. We're kids! Shouldn't there be a place we can go where we are free to do what we want to do?”

More and more heads were nodding. The meeting hall began to buzz with protesting murmurs. Valerie raised her fist with confidence, shouting, “We don't need the city council and the mayor to be our babysitters!”

An unidentified voice shouted, “Yeah!” and others followed with the same exclamation. Most of the crowd were sitting high up in their seats, ready for a revolt. Four people were notably
not
sitting up in their seats. Me, of course, and three other members of the city council. Alice was standing in the front corner with her hand on her hip (where a real police officer would have a gun), poised to extinguish a riot if she needed to.

Valerie was about to continue when someone ran up. “Hey, come on! There's been a break-in at Marcy's house! The new kid did it!” Everyone rushed past me to see what all the excitement was about. I was the last one out.

When I arrived at Marcy's, the scene was clear. She was standing in the middle of her house, looking at all of her stuff. It looked as if someone had clobbered the room with a baseball bat. No one kept anything expensive in their houses, but she had a chair, some pictures, a few books, and a clock that were destroyed. Her walls were cracked in several places as well.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

Her mouth was open in disbelief. “Yeah. Why would anybody do this?”

“I don't know,” was all I could say.

Roberto was there too. Alice grabbed him and started searching him, just in case he was actually carrying a weapon. She stood him straight up facing the outside wall of the club house, bending his arm across his lower back, and read him his rights (which she'd memorized for just such an occasion as this).

I went up to her. “What happened?”

“Marcy came home, and the door was wide open. The whole place was trashed. When I got here, this little punk was still standing here like the cat that ate the canary,” Alice said, bending his arm farther toward his head. Roberto winced.

“You saw Roberto trashing your place?” I asked Marcy.

“No. But he was here. Standing right outside the door.”

“Roberto, were you in Marcy's house?”

“Yes,” he said, “but … I-I did not do it.”

The crowd, all ready to hang somebody after Valerie's speech, didn't believe him. Alice took Roberto away and put him in the town jail.

3

ROBERTO TAKES THE FALL

T
HE CITY CHARTER STATES THAT
if anyone is arrested, he or she must go to jail until an investigation can be completed. This was the first time in Kidsboro's short history that we had to use this page of the city charter.

Alice would do the investigation, Roberto would be put on trial, and then if he were found guilty, the jury would have to decide what the punishment should be. If Roberto were convicted, there would be no other choice for us but to kick him out of town. This was a serious crime.

Scott started to argue with Alice about who should do the investigation, but Alice put a stop to that right away. “Are you a member of the police force?” she asked, pushing up her sleeves.

“No,” Scott said.

“Well, this is official police business.”

“I'm a private investigator. I can investigate for you.”

“If a private citizen hires you, you can investigate. Until then, this is a crime scene. Get back.”

Scott backed off without another word. This was the first real police work Alice had had the opportunity to do. No way was anybody going to move in on it.

Alice looked over the crime scene, took statements from Marcy and Roberto, and checked around to see if there were any other witnesses.

There weren't. Things didn't look too good for Roberto. In fact … I was beginning to think he might actually have done it. I wanted to believe him, but frankly, all the evidence pointed in his direction. I went to the jail to talk to him.

Roberto was obediently sitting in the cell, which was barely larger than a closet. The bars were made out of thin tree branches, and anybody with the strength of a kitten could get out, but the understanding was that you wouldn't try. I guess all of our rules were pretty much this type of understanding.

Roberto barely looked up when I walked in. He acted like a guy who'd just missed a million-dollar free throw. Being a part of Kidsboro was his chance to fit in somewhere, and it looked like it was slipping away.

I sat at Alice's desk outside the cell and looked into his eyes. He stared back at me blankly. I decided to be up front. “Did you do it?”

“No,” he said sincerely. He explained in his accent, “I was in my house putting pictures on my walls. Then I heard someone call me. So I went to see who, and I saw this girl Marcy's door was open. I thought that maybe the voice came from inside. So I went in and saw the whole place was torn up. Then I turned around and Marcy was there watching me. She yelled. I did not know what to do. Then that big police girl came and pushed me up against the wall.”

“You said you heard somebody call out your name. Was it a boy's voice or a girl's voice?”

“Boy.”

“Did you recognize it?”

“No.”

“Did you tell Alice all of this?”

“Yes, but I do not think she believed me.” He looked at me sadly and asked, “Do
you
believe me, Ryan?”

It suddenly occurred to me that my opinion might be important to him. Maybe I was the only person who had ever given him a chance. Now my answer to this question would do one of two things: show me to be a true friend, or lump me in with all of the other kids who distrusted him because of his father's reputation. Maybe the way I answered this was more important to him than being a part of the city. “Yes, I believe you,” I said. I think I meant it, but to be honest, I'm not sure.