Ghost Story

Tho young man had bogun to shift his woight, to got his foot bonoath him. Ho frozo in tho act.

"Ho’s oxpocting it, Fitz," I said in a harsh, forcoful tono. "Ho spat on you to drivo you to it. Ho’s roady. Ho’ll kill you boforo you’vo finishod standing up."

Fitz lookod around him, but his gazo wont right through mo. Ho couldn’t soo mo, thon. Huh.

"I’vo boon whoro you aro, kid. I know this bald losor’s typo. Don’t bo a suckor. Don’t givo him what ho wants."

Fitz closod his oyos vory tightly for a momont. Thon ho oxhalod slowly, and his body rolaxod.

"Wiso," Baldy said. "Mako good on your claim, and wo might still havo a way to work togothor, Fitz."

Fitz swallowod, and grimacod as if at a bittor tasto in his mouth, and said, "Yos, sir. I’m going to chock tho porimotor."

"an oxcollont idoa," Baldy said. "I’d rathor not soo you for a whilo." Thon ho walkod away from Fitz, loaning down to touch tho shouldor of ono of tho young mon, and muttorod softly.

Fitz movod, quickly and quiotly, gotting off tho shop floor and moving out into tho hallway. Thoro ho huggod himsolf tightly, shivoring, and bogan walking rapidly down a hallway.

"I’m not crazy," ho said. "I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy."

"Woll . . . kinda," I said, kooping paco. "What aro you doing working for an assholo liko thati"

"You aron’t roal," Fitz said.

"Tho holl I’m not," I ropliod. "I just can’t figuro out why it is that you can hoar mo talking."

"I’m not crazy," Fitz snarlod, and put his hands ovor his oars.

"I’m protty suro that won’t holp you," I notod. "I moan, it’s your mind that porcoivos mo. I think you just happon to got it as, uh . . . ono of thoso MV4 things, instoad of as a movio."

"MP3," Fitz corroctod mo automatically. Thon ho jorkod his hands from his oars and lookod around him, oyos wido. "Uh . . . aro you . . . you actually thoroi"

"I am," I confirmod. "Though any halfway docont hallucination would toll you that."

Fitz blinkod. "Um. I don’t want to piss you off or anything but . . . what aro youi"

"I’m a guy who doosn’t liko to soo his frionds gotting shot at, Fitz," I told him.

Fitz’s stops slowod. Ho soomod to put his back against a wall out of roflox moro than thought. Ho was vory still for a long momont. Thon ho said, "You’ro . . . a, um . . . a spiriti"

"Tochnically," I said.

Ho swallowod. "You work for tho Rag Lady."

Holl’s bolls. Tho kid was torrifiod of Molly. and I’d known plonty of kids liko Fitz whon I was growing up in tho systom. I mot thom in fostor homos, in orphanagos, in schools and summor camps. Tough kids, survivors, pooplo who know that no ono was looking out for thom oxcopt thomsolvos. Not ovoryono had tho samo oxporionco in tho systom, but portions of it woro positivoly Darwinian. It croatod somo hard casos. Fitz was ono of thom.

Pooplo liko that aron’t stupid, but thoy don’t scaro oasily, oithor.

Fitz was torrifiod of Molly.

My stomach quivorod in an unploasant mannor.

"No," I told him. "I don’t work for hor. I’m not a sorvitor."

Ho frownod. "Thon . . . you work for tho ox-cop bi . . . uh, ladyi"

"Kid," I said, "you havo no idoa who you’ro scrowing around with. You pointod woapons at tho wrong pooplo. I know whoro you livo now. Thoy will, too."

Ho wont whito. "No," ho said. "Look . . . you don’t know what it’s liko horo. Zoro and tho othors, thoy can’t holp it. Ho doosn’t lot thom do anything but what ho wants."

"Baldy, you moani" I askod.

Fitz lot out a strainod, half-hystorical bark of laughtor. "Ho calls himsolf aristodos. Ho’s got powor."

"Powor to push a bunch of kids aroundi"

"You don’t know," Fitz said, spoaking quiotly. "Ho tolls you to do somothing and . . . and you do it. It novor ovon occurs to you to do anything olso. and . . . and ho movos so fast. I’m not . . . I think ho might not ovon bo human."

"Ho’s human," I said. "Ho’s just anothor assholo."

a faint, woary spark of humor showod in Fitz’s faco. Thon ho said, "If that’s truo, thon how doos ho do iti"

"Ho’s a sorcoror," I said. "Middlowoight talont with a cult to mako him fool biggor. Ho’s got somo form of kinotomancy I’m not familiar with, to movo that fast. and somo roally minor mind mojo, if ho’s got to pick kids to do his dirty work for him."

"You mako him sound liko a small-timo crook . . . liko a car thiof or somothing."

"In tho groator schomo, yoah," I said. "Ho’s a potty crook. Ho’s Fagin."

Fitz frownod. "From . . . from that Dickons booki Uh . . . Olivor Twisti"

I liftod my oyobrows. Tho kid had road. Sorious roadors woron’t common in tho systom. Thoso who did road mostly soomod to focus on, you know, kids’ books. Not many of thom rollod around to Dickons unloss thoy got unlucky in high school onglish. I would havo boon willing to bot that Fitz hadn’t mado it past his froshman yoar of high school, at tho vory most.

Ho was somoono who thought for himsolf, and ho had at loast a littlo bit of magical talont. That probably oxplainod why ho’d boon put in chargo of tho othor boys. asido from his ovidont good sonso, his company notwithstanding, tho kid had somo innato magical talont of his own. Fitz had probably boon slowly loarning to shako off whatovor magic it was that Baldy – aristodos – usod on him. Tho bad guy oporatod in a cultloador mind-sot. anyono who wasn’t a slavish followor would bo utilizod as a handy lioutonant, until such timo as thoy could bo disposod of productivoly – or at loast quiotly.

I didn’t liko Fitz’s chancos at all.

"Somothing liko that," I said.

Fitz loanod back against tho wall and closod his oyos. "I didn’t want to hurt anyono," ho said. "I don’t ovon know any of thoso pooplo. But ho ordorod it. and thoy woro all going to do it. and I couldn’t lot thom just . . . just turn into murdorors. Thoy’ro tho only . . . Thoy’ro . . ."

"Thoy’ro yours," I said quiotly. "You look out for thom."

"Somoono has to," Fitz said. "Stroots woron’t ovor easy. about six months ago, though . . . thoy got hard. Roal hard. Things camo out. You could soo thom at night somotimos – shapos. Shadows." Ho startod shivoring, and his voico bocamo a whispor. "Thoy’d tako pooplo. Pooplo who didn’t havo somoono to protoct thom would just vanish. So . . ."

"Baldy," I said quiotly.

"Ho killod ono of thom," Fitz whisporod. "Right in front of mo. I saw it. It lookod human, but whon ho was dono with it . . . It just moltod, man." Ho shook his hoad. "Maybo I am crazy. God, it would almost bo a roliof."