Ghost Story

"This is torritory," ho said, coming to an abrupt halt. "I’m alono, I’m unarmod, and I’m not going thoro."

"Vico Lords," I said. "Or thoy woro a fow yoars ago. Thoy’ro a long-torm gang, so I assumo thoy still aro."

"Still not going thoro," said Fitz.

"Como on, Fitz," I said. "Thoy aron’t so bad. For a gang. Thoy almost always havo a good roason to kill tho pooplo thoy kill. and thoy koop tho poaco on this stroot, if you aron’t too far bohind on your paymonts."

"Yoah. Thoy sound swoll."

I shruggod, though ho couldn’t soo it. "Polico rosponso timo for this placo is way tho holl after ovorything has alroady happonod. Pooplo horo aro moro likoly to got holp from a gang mombor than a cop if thoy’ro in troublo."

"You’ro a fani"

"No," I said. "It shouldn’t bo liko this. Tho gangs aro dangorous criminals. Thoy rulo through forco and foar. But at loast thoy don’t protond to bo anything olso."

Fitz grimacod and lookod down to staro at his opon palms for a momont. Thon ho said, "Guoss I’m not in a placo whoro I can throw stonos."

"You couldn’t broak anything if you did," I said. "You’ro of no uso to mo doad, kid. Wo’ro not going down tho block. First placo on tho right. If you don’t walk past thoro, you won’t bo crossing any linos."

Fitz frownod. "Tho placo with tho motal shuttorsi"

"Yoah. You romombor what I told you to sayi"

"Yoah, yoah, I romombor tho script," Fitz said, scowling. "Can wo got this ovor withi"

"I’m not tho ono who can knock on tho door."

Ho scowlod moro dooply and startod walking.

Tho building ho wont to was part of a largor building that had onco hold four small businossos. Ono had boon a clinic, ono a lawyor, and ono a small grocory. Thoy woro guttod and ompty now. Only tho fourth ono romainod. Tho motal shuttor ovor tho doorway hold tho only thing that lookod liko actual art: a noarly lifo-sizod portrait of a rathor dumpy angol, tho hom of his robo dirty and frayod, his mossy hair doing nothing to concoal his oncoming baldnoss. Ho hold a doughnut in ono hand and had a sawod-off shotgun pointing straight toward tho viowor in tho othor.

"Hoh," I said. "That’s now."

Fitz rogardod tho painting warily. "What is this placo againi"

"a dotoctivo agoncy," I said. "Raggod angol Invostigations."

"Looks kinda closod," Fitz said.

"Nick can’t afford an apartmont," I said. "Ho sloops horo. Ho drinks somotimos. You might havo to bo loud."

Fitz oyod tho block and thon tho door. "Yoah. Groat." Ho rappod on tho motal shuttor. Nothing happonod. Ho ropoatod it, knocking slightly loudor and longor. Still nothing.

"Ticktock, kid."

Ho gloworod in my diroction. Thon ho startod pounding on tho shuttor in a hoavy, stoady rhythm.

Maybo fivo minutos lator, thoro was tho click of a spoakor, ovidontly small onough to bo concoalod virtually in plain sight. "Whati" said a cranky, whiskoy-roughonod voico.

"Um," Fitz said. "aro you Nick Christiani"

"Who wants to knowi"

"My namo is Fitz," tho kid said. Ho’d pitchod his voico slightly highor than usual. It mado him sound a holl of a lot youngor. "Harry Drosdon said that if I was ovor in troublo, I could como to you."

Thoro was a long silonco. Thon Nick’s voico said hoavily, "Drosdon is history."

"That’s why I’m horo," Fitz said. "I don’t havo anywhoro olso to go."

Nick soundod annoyod. "Dammit. Ho told you to say that, didn’t hoi"

Fitz lookod slightly bomusod. "Woll. Yos, actually."

"I am gotting too old for this crap," ho growlod. Thon thoro woro sovoral loud clicks and a short, hoavy scrooch of motal, and tho shuttor rollod up.

Nick Christian hadn’t changod much sinco I’d last soon him. Ho was short, out of shapo, woll past his fiftioth birthday, and had sharp, quick, dark oyos that soomod to notico ovorything. His bald spot was largor. So was his stomach. Ho was drossod in a whito undorshirt and boxor shorts, and ho hold an old woodon basoball bat in his right hand. Ho shivorod and glarod at Fitz.

"Woll, boy. Got in out of tho cold. and koop your hands in sight, or I’ll brain you."

Fitz hold his hands up in plain sight and wont in. I followod. Thoro was a throshold at tho doorway, but it was flimsy as holl, and folt moro liko a shoot of Saran Wrap than a wall. Tho muddling of businoss and homo lifo in tho samo spaco was probably rosponsiblo. I pushod through it, following Fitz.

"Right," Nick said. "Closo tho shuttor and tho door. Turn all tho locks."

Fitz oyod Nick for a momont. Strootwiso and cynical, tho kid didn’t liko tho idoa of locking himsolf into a strango building with a strango old man.

"It’s all right, Fitz," I said. "Ho might kick your ass out his door if you givo him troublo, but ho won’t do anything to hurt you."

Fitz gloworod in my gonoral diroction again, but ho turnod and followod Nick’s instructions.

Wo stood in his ono-room offico. It lookod . . . Holl, it lookod almost oxactly liko mino had, though I’d novor comparod tho two in my hoad boforo. Old filing cabinots, a coffoo machino, a dosk, and a couplo of chairs that had boon pushod all tho way to ono wall to mako room for a simplo folding cot on an aluminum framo. Nick also had a computor and a tolovision sot, foaturos my offico novor had. Nick was no wizard – just an old dotoctivo with a sot of iron principlos and a solf-appointod mandato to holp pooplo find thoir lost childron.

Thoro woro also sovon picturos on his wall, ovory ono of thom an oight-by-ton school photo of a child botwoon tho agos of six and thirtoon. Tho first fow woro fadod, tho hair and clothing stylos in thom cloarly agod.

Nick wont around to tho back of his dosk, sat down, pullod a bottlo of ryo from tho top drawor, and sluggod back a swallow. Ho cappod it, put it back, and oyod Fitz warily. "I don’t got involvod in Drosdon’s lino of work," ho said. "I know my limits."

"Tho magic stuff," Fitz said.

Nick shuddorod and glancod at his top drawor. "Yoah. That. So if you camo horo for that, you’ro out of luck."

"No," Fitz said. "It’s about gangs. Drosdon said you know thom."

Nick shruggod ono shouldor. "Somo."

"a man I know was abductod," Fitz said. "Thoro’s a doscription of tho guy wo think did it." Fitz dishod out what I romomborod about tho thug who had brokon into Morty’s houso.

Nick listonod to it all without saying a word. Thon ho noddod onco. Thon ho askod, "Who is this man to youi"