Crash Page 4

  “Mackenzie, sweetheart,” he said. “You must be cold. The car’s nice and warm. Why don’t you join me for a ride?”

  She stopped and looked at him. In a fake-polite voice, she answered, “Not tonight. I can’t. I’m busy.”

  I got a good look at the face of the guy now. He wore glasses and had a tie on. He looked at me and sneered. Then he just drove off.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  We made our way into the basement of the old bakery and settled in as best we could. My fear was that troublemakers—maybe those punks from the street—would find us in the middle of the night. I could barely sleep. And Ozzie felt the danger too. Every time I looked up, he was standing guard at the door to the basement. When I lay back down with my back to Mac, she put her arm around me and held me tight. It almost made the whole crappy day worthwhile.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the morning we woke up to sunlight coming through the basement window. I felt disoriented and confused. It was cold, and I was hungry. Mackenzie sat up and let out a sigh. She looked discouraged.

  “We’re gonna figure something out so we never have to do this again,” I said. I meant it, although I didn’t really have a plan at all.

  We stumbled out of the basement and went to the coffee shop for breakfast. We splurged on some real food. Mac insisted. Ozzie got the scraps, but I knew I had to get him some real dog food. I really hadn’t thought any of this through. But I was determined now to keep Mac with me. We’d survive somehow. All three of us.

  After breakfast we took to the street. “Listen, we need to split up,” Mac said. “People are more likely to give money to a girl alone than two of us.”

  “Right,” I said. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  So we did opposite corners of a busy downtown street, away from where the other street kids were. I tried a number of different lines. “Excuse me, could you spare some money so I can get a meal?” “Please, sir, I’m trying to get back home. I need money for bus fare.” And “Miss, could you help me out? I’m cold and need a place to stay tonight.”

  Most folks just ignored me or carved an arc around me as they walked by. Few people would make eye contact with me, but many would look at Ozzie, loyal and calm by my side. Some patted the dog and didn’t give me anything. Some folks patted the dog and gave me a quarter. The results were meager. But then it sunk in.

  A mother with two little kids approached and began to steer her little ones away from me. “Please,” I said, holding out an empty coffee cup. “My dog hasn’t eaten for two days. Can you spare some change so I can buy him dog food?”

  She stopped in her tracks and opened her purse. She looked at the dog and then at me. She smiled and handed me a ten-dollar bill. She even let her kids pat Ozzie’s head. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  When they had gone, I looked across the street at Mackenzie. She had been watching. She waved and gave me a big smile, and I suddenly felt like the world was a much kinder place than I had thought. And I’d learned my lesson. People were more likely to give me money to feed my dog than to feed me. If we were lucky, Ozzie would help us pay the rent and keep us all fed.

  By mid-afternoon, Mac and I had enough money to stay the night at Eddy’s. We went to the public library to warm up for a bit, but I hated leaving Ozzie out in the cold, lashed to a post, for long. We bought some food at the grocery store and snacked on carrots and celery with peanut butter. As the long but good day came to a close, we found our way to Eddy’s and cooked macaroni and cheese at one AM, then fell asleep on the living room floor, next to Ethan and a couple of other kids who were already snoring.

  In the morning, Eddy was sitting in the kitchen, feeding Ozzie and patting his back. They looked like old chums. As Mac and I got ready to hit the streets, she said, “Cameron, you have to get your ass back in school today. You can’t lose that. I made a big mistake in dropping out. You can’t do the same.”

  “But I don’t care about school anymore.”

  “Well, you should. I wish I hadn’t had to quit.”

  “I’m afraid of losing you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do the usual routine and work the street. We’ll regroup this afternoon. It will be fine.”

  “What about Oz?” I asked.

  Eddy was listening to the conversation. He jumped in and said, “The dog can stay here. I like him.”

  Mac was looking at Ozzie, who had just had his first real meal in a couple of days. “Yeah,” she said. “He should stay here, and we’ll get him this afternoon. You’ll need your star performer if you want to work the crowd.”

  Eddy smiled. He looked mellower than before.

  If Mac hadn’t seemed so certain, I wouldn’t have gone along with it. But I didn’t have a better plan. I decided I could trust Mac to be there at the end of the school day. I could see that Ozzie would be all right here. And I realized that if I was gonna make it in this weird new world, I’d have to trust someone. Even if it had to be Crazy Eddy.

  Then something else hit me like lightning. If Mac wanted me back in school, maybe deep down she wanted to get herself back in school too. “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll go to school if you come with me. You can talk to the guidance counselor, Mr. Brewster, about dropping back in. We’ll both work the streets when school is over, but we’ll have someplace to hang out during the day. Someplace warm and safe.”

  I expected to get massive resistance, but she surprised me. “I’ve been thinking about that for quite a while, but I never had the courage to just walk in through the doors by myself.”

  “But now you’re not by yourself.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I thought she was going to chicken out about school. She chattered nervously all the way there. We dropped by the school office, and I introduced her to Mr. Brewster. Brewster had given me plenty of crap in the last couple of years, but he’d always seemed like a straight shooter. Like I said, I had to trust someone. So I decided to trust him.

  When I went off to class, Mackenzie was smiling and answering Brewster’s questions. Things were going well.

  I was having a hard time concentrating and even staying awake in my classes. Missing just a few days had put me behind. I also noticed the other kids looking at me funny. Yeah, I’d been sleeping in my clothes. On Eddy’s floor and in that damn bakery basement.

  I met up with Mac at lunchtime. She looked a little nervous but said she was okay. We had enough money left to split a meal between us, and cafeteria food had never tasted so good. Davis Conlon saw us sitting together and shook his head and smiled an obnoxious, condescending smile. I’d try to keep us clear of him and his friends, but I knew that pretty soon some things about Mac and me would be school news.

  As we approached Eddy’s place in the afternoon, I could hear Ozzie barking. The door was unlocked, and we walked right in. Eddy, still in his bathrobe, was wide-eyed, yelling and smashing dishes on the kitchen floor. He looked up when we came in. Then he looked down at the smashed plates on the floor and seemed surprised, as if he didn’t know who had done it. Ozzie was frantic. He ran to me, and I bent over and gave him a hug. Eddy now looked embarrassed and confused. “Sorry,” he said and turned to go to his bedroom.

  Mac had hung back by the door, and she looked scared. I was beginning to wonder how safe our crash pad was and if Crazy Eddy was as harmless as we had thought.

  Back on the street, our luck was good. We worked the corners again. The after-work crowd was ready to ante up to feed a dog, although some people who had given money to me the day before looked at me differently now and just walked on by. I was always cheered up if someone who gave me money stopped to speak to me, like one older woman did. “I’m Ruth,” she said. “Ruth Goldbloom. What’s your name?”

  “Cam,” I said. “And this is Ozzie.”

  She smiled. “Everything going okay?” It seemed like a really
odd question to be asking a homeless person. I almost gave her a really snarky answer. But I didn’t.

  “As good as can be expected,” I said.

  “Good,” was all she said. She patted Ozzie again and walked away.

  I kept an eye on Mac across the street, and in less than two hours we had enough money for some food and another night, maybe our last one, at Eddy’s. Other kids would be there, so I was pretty sure we’d be okay, and, besides, we had nowhere else to go.

  Unfortunately, our good luck panhandling had attracted the attention of a policeman. “I can fine you both for panhandling, you know. It’s against the law.”

  We both said nothing.

  “You have a license for the dog?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  He looked us over, then Ozzie. “A couple of store owners made a complaint. I’m obliged to follow up.”

  “What are they complaining about?” I asked, trying not to sound hostile.

  “People don’t like having you begging them for money.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Mackenzie asked.

  The cop looked annoyed, but he took a deep breath. “Look, you’ve got a warning, okay?” And he walked away.

  But we were good for the day. We had enough money. We went to the coffee shop, and Ozzie dutifully sat down on the sidewalk while we tied him to a bicycle rack.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Mac said.

  “Used to what?”

  “The cops. They don’t really want to arrest us.”

  “But they can if they want to, right?”

  “Yeah. But if we’re careful, and if we keep an eye out for them, I think we’ll be okay.”

  After the cop had spoken to us, I’d realized just how vulnerable we were. No one was looking out for us. Although we hadn’t finished our coffee, I had a funny feeling. “Come on. Let’s go,” I said.

  When we got out on the sidewalk, Ozzie was gone. He was nowhere to be seen. I felt a wave of panic, and my mind went numb. Ozzie wouldn’t have run off, even if he hadn’t been tied up. We had to find him. Had someone stolen him, or had the police taken him? Maybe Mackenzie was wrong about the cops.

  “We have to find him,” I said, desperation in my voice.

  At the police station uptown, we were greeted by a bored-looking woman in uniform. She listened to our story, then said, “Sorry, dogs aren’t our business. You have to talk to animal control.” She checked her watch. “They’re closed now, but open at eight in the morning. If your dog got picked up, he’d be there.”

  I wanted to go there right away, but Mackenzie said they wouldn’t open the doors for us. “He’ll be okay for one night if he’s there. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

  “I love my dog,” I said.

  “I know you do,” she said. “We’ll find him.”

  We decided to go back to Eddy’s and head out first thing in the morning. Eddy was calmer than he’d been earlier. “Where’s Ozzie?” he asked.

  When I told him what had happened, he went on another rant, this time about the cops. Then things quieted down and I slept fitfully, worried that maybe I’d lost Ozzie forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mackenzie and I used what little money we had left to take a bus to the industrial park on the other side of the river. That’s where the animal-control center was. We were standing outside the door when it opened a few minutes after eight. A woman at the reception desk heard our story and motioned to a sour-looking guy in a uniform. “Deacon, take these hobos on the tour.”

  Deacon had a big set of keys, and he led us out of the small office and into a concrete nightmare of howling and snarling dogs and unimaginable smells. There were dozens of dogs in here. We walked down one row, then another. Then another. It was like a horrible prison for lost pets. Deacon didn’t seem to have much time for us, and he seemed downright angry that we didn’t just pick any old mutt and say, “Yeah, that’s him,” so he could get rid of us. We neared the end of the last row. I was having a hard time breathing. Mackenzie held on to my arm and tightened her grip when she knew I was afraid we wouldn’t find him.

  I’d had enough of the smell of dog crap and pee and really needed to get out of there for fresh air, but I was afraid they might not let me back in. I thought I was gonna puke.

  But then, there he was. Ozzie. He was lying on the cold concrete floor, his tail tucked in and his head down. He didn’t see us at first. “Ozzie,” I said. He sprang to life, got to his feet and began wagging his tail. I shoved my hands through the bars and held his gorgeous face.

  “That’s him,” Mac told Deacon. “Can you open the door so we can get him out of here?”

  Deacon acted as if she’d just asked him if we could throw his mother over a cliff. He leaned over and looked at the tag on the bars of the cage. “Says here he was found abandoned on Spring Street.”

  “He wasn’t abandoned,” I said. “We were inside a coffee shop for, like, ten minutes.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “Yeah sure, you can take him. Just go pay the fine first. Two hundred bucks.”

  I stood up and looked at Mac, then at the man in uniform. “We don’t have that kind of money, sir,” I said as politely as I could.

  He cleared his throat and looked at us, sizing us up. He knew what he was looking at—a couple of sorry-ass street kids. But that didn’t exactly inspire compassion in this old buzzard who spent his days inhaling the pungent smell of dog crap. “You’ll have to find it. That’s the fine. Everyone has to pay if they want their pooch back.”

  “What if we can’t get the money?” Mackenzie asked.

  “We hold the dog for ten days. Like I say, the official story is he was abandoned. No tags or nothing. We get hundreds of dogs like him down here. He ain’t no different from the rest.”

  I looked around at “the rest.” A howling, barking, dirty zoo of imprisoned animals, some who would be rescued and some, I knew, who would not. “And after ten days?”

  “We put him up for adoption,” Deacon said flatly. Then he looked up at the ceiling and added, “But only a small number of these mangy hounds ever find a home. Especially older dogs like this.”

  It was unbearable to think of Ozzie living with someone else. I felt the blood drain from my head as I asked the next necessary question. “What happens if he doesn’t get adopted?”

  Deacon just put his hands in the air. He didn’t have to say it. I knew what would happen. The same thing that was likely to happen to most of the sad and hopeless dogs in this hellhole. “Can’t we just take him outside for a walk?” Mac asked. “We’ll bring him back, I promise. Then we’ll go get the money. Please.”

  Deacon looked at her, and for a split second I thought the hard-bitten old geezer was going to drop his guard and be human. But even if he’d felt something, he wasn’t buying. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t do it.”

  I was ready to tackle this guy. I really was. I figured I could knock him down, Mac could release Oz, and we would run. But the saner part of my brain was telling me we’d be in deeper trouble if we did that and might never see Ozzie again. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done to walk away from my dog as he watched us leave.

  Outside, it had begun to snow. We walked a long way before we came to a pay phone at a gas station. It’s not until you find yourself without a cell phone and living on the street that you realize how few pay phones are left. I called my mom’s cell, and she answered. I explained about Ozzie. I begged her for the money.

  At first she didn’t say anything. Then she said, “I’m sorry, Cameron, I can’t. If Nick found out, he’d be really mad. We’re just working things out. I can’t take the chance. I can’t do something behind his back.”

  “Jesus, Mom. This is Ozzie we’re talking about. It’s only two hundred dollars.”

  “I’m sorry, Cam. I can’t. Some nice family will adopt him. Cam, I’m worried about you. Come back home.”

  But she didn’t mean home, I knew. She meant Nic
k’s place. It wasn’t going to happen.

  I used the rest of our change to call my dad out west, but all I got was a message saying his number was no longer active. With almost no money left, we had to hitchhike back downtown. That taught me another lesson about life on the street. Drivers don’t like picking up hitchhikers when it’s snowing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Back on Spring Street, we started to panhandle, but there weren’t many people out in the snow and wind. I tried telling the truth about our situation to the people walking by, but no one wanted to stop and listen. Another rule of the street. The more desperate you really are, the less likely people are to stop and listen.

  We gave up early and knocked on Eddy’s door. As usual, he was in his bathrobe. The TV was blasting in the background—some reality show about rich housewives. “Too early,” Eddy said. “Come back later.”

  “Eddy,” Mac said, “they took our dog. He’s in the dog pound. We need your help.”

  “Ozzie? They took Ozzie?”

  I nodded. “We need two hundred dollars to bust him out of there. Can you help us?”

  I could see that he was genuinely concerned. I think he really liked the dog. “Two hundred bucks? Are you crazy? Where would I get that kind of money?” Then he shook his head. “Poor Ozzie.”

  No. Eddy couldn’t help us. But he did let us in early, and though he told us we had to stay in the kitchen until his TV show was over, he said we could crash there for free that night. Eddy was crazy, and he was unpredictable, but he had a heart.

  In the morning, we still didn’t know what to do. Mac convinced me we should go to school. Maybe if we talked to enough kids, someone would be able to help. The snowplows were out, but the sidewalks hadn’t been shoveled. We had wet feet and cold hands by the time we approached the front door of the school. Mackenzie stopped suddenly. “I just had an idea,” she said. “I think I know a couple of people who can help. Real dog lovers.”

  “Great,” I said. “Let’s go.”