Beck by Mal Peet

Author:Mal Peet [Peet, Mal; Rosoff, Meg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7636-8717-5
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2017-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

WHEN THEY WERE nearing the lights of Windsor, Bone said, “When you got us tied up, kid, run like hell home and tell Irma to get her ass down here. And bring the keys to the Ford, okay?”

But there was no need. The truck was waiting on the quay and Irma climbed out of it. Beck didn’t recognize her at first; she was wearing a heavy jacket, trousers, and a man’s cap. Beck threw her the bow rope and she looped it over a bollard, and when he jumped down from the stern she went to him and put her arms around him without saying anything. Then she saw the awkward way Bone was climbing off the boat. She ran to him. “What happened?”

“We got heisted. Lonnie’s dead. I’m hit in the arm. Ain’t gonna kill me. I’d kinda like one of them hugs, too. But leave my left arm out of it.”

Beck stood watching them embrace. After a while Irma looked at him past Bone’s shoulder. She had tears in her eyes. “You okay, Beck?”

“Yeah.”

“He did well tonight,” Bone said. “Real well.”

Irma let go of Bone and stepped away from him and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Listen,” she said. “Lew’s dead.”

“What?”

“Fran called me —”

“Who?”

“Lew’s housekeeper. Said she was upstairs, heard Lew answer the door and then shooting. After a while she goes down and Lew’s lying dead in the hall.”

“Christ, Irma. When was this?”

“She called an hour, hour ’n’ a half ago. I’ve been down here an age, baby, terrible things going through my head, wondering why you was so late back. Wondering if you’d come back.” She was crying and angry with herself.

“Hush, honey,” Bone murmured. “We’re okay.”

She shook her head. “It’s over, Bone. We gotta get out.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m done in, hon. Let’s get back to the house and —”

“No,” Irma said. “It ain’t safe. Besides, we gotta get you to a hospital, fix you up.”

“You crazy, Irma?”

“Doc Bergman, then.”

“All right. Bergman. And hope the son of a bitch is sober.”

Beck stood silent and watchful. He didn’t understand what was happening but knew it was bad. He felt the cold hands of some implacable clock move into a darker hour.

Now Irma turned to him. “Beck, honey? Get in the truck.”

Irma drove. Beck sat between them. It was a squeeze in the cab because there were two fat items of luggage on the floor and Beck and Bone had to fold up and put their feet on them. Beck closed his eyes for a minute and wondered how sitting there made him feel safe, despite everything.

“So, tell,” Irma said. “What happened over there?”

Bone told her.

Twenty minutes later, Irma pulled up alongside a quiet suburban house. She left the engine running and helped Bone up to the front door, which eventually opened. Beck sat in the truck. The moon was gone and snow began to fall, fine as salt, mesmeric. Beck fell asleep.

He woke up when Irma got back in the truck and jacked the engine into gear.

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