The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (Page 7)

“ ‘Lay down his life’?” I asked. “Uncle Farrell, he’s saying you might have to lay down your life.”

“He’s just trying to make a point, Alfred. Some people exaggerate to get across what they’re saying. You know, to get your attention. He doesn’t mean literally lay down your life. Right, Mr. Myers? Huh? Not literally lay down our lives.” Mr. Myers didn’t say anything. Uncle Farrell wet his big lips and said to me, “You should listen to Mr. Myers. You can learn a lot from a guy like him.”

Mr. Myers said, “I could turn to more . . . ruthless men for my purpose. I know such men, but I do not trust them. For the very quality that makes them ruthless makes them untrustworthy. I need someone I can trust. Someone who will not betray me.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, Mr. Myers!” Uncle Farrell said. “You can trust us. You can consider your fancy sword as good as returned.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Myers said. “As I mentioned, time is of the essence. Samson leaves for Europe tonight and will return in two days.”

“We’re going in tonight,” Uncle Farrell said firmly. “Or tomorrow night. Tonight or tomorrow, either one, but maybe Al has homework, I don’t know.” He looked at me. “Anyway, very soon, one of the two nights. Tonight or tomorrow night, right, Al?”

“How do you know the sword’s in his office?” I asked Mr. Myers.

“I don’t know for certain, but I do know for certain it isn’t in his home.”

“We don’t need to know how you know that,” Uncle Farrell said. “Right, Alfred?”

“What happens if it isn’t there?” I asked. “Do we have to give back the five hundred thousand?”

“Hey,” Uncle Farrell said. “That’s a pretty good question!” He was clutching the satchel to his chest as if he were afraid Mr. Myers might reach over and yank it away.

“Of course you may keep it,” Mr. Myers said. “That money is for your trouble. The rest is for the sword.”

We had a big fight after Mr. Myers left. Despite the money sitting there on the sofa that was ours to keep whether we found the sword or not, I still felt really weird about doing this. It just felt wrong. Maybe Mr. Samson really did take the sword and hide it in his office, but that didn’t make stealing it back the right thing to do.

“It’s not like he’s asking us to knock somebody off or do something really evil. And it’s a million dollars, Alfred. We could do anything we wanted, live anywhere we wanted, have anything we wanted!”

It didn’t matter how many objections I raised. To Uncle Farrell, money trumped everything.

He even said, “You do what you want, Al, but maybe I need to rethink this whole arrangement of ours—I mean, maybe you’re too much for me to handle . . . Maybe I should send you back to the foster care . . .”

That ended the fight. He knew I didn’t want to go back to foster care.

4

The very next day my math teacher informed me I was flunking. That was bad enough, but not as bad as being assigned a tutor to save my grade, because my tutor turned out to be Amy Pouchard.

We met for thirty minutes after school, just me—Alfred Kropp—and Amy Pouchard, she of the long golden hair and dark eyes. Sitting right next to her I could smell her perfume.

“Where are you from?” she asked me in that twangy east Tennessee accent. “You talk funny.”

“Ohio,” I said.

“Are you a resource student?” Resource students were either mentally challenged or from a really bad background, or both. I guess some people would say I was both.

“No, I just suck at math.”

“Hey,” she said. “Kropp! You’re the guy who had his IQ tested!”

“Something like that.”

“And you broke Barry Lancaster’s wrist.”

“It isn’t broken and I didn’t actually do it. Somebody else did, but it was my fault, which I guess is practically the same thing.”

“I hate tutoring,” she said.

“Then why do you do it?”

“Because I get extra credit.”

“Well,” I said, “I really appreciate it. It’s hard for me— math, I mean—and it’s been hard too getting used to a new place, a new school, and things like that.”

She put a piece of gum in her mouth and the spearmint warred with the musk of her perfume.

“I’m going to a shrink,” I admitted, at the same time not really sure why I was admitting it. “Not that I want to go, but my uncle is making me. She’s about a thousand years old and she wanted to know if I had a girlfriend.”

She smacked her gum and stared at me. She couldn’t have cared less. She was tapping the end of her pencil on the desktop, and her whole being was in a state of couldn’t-care-less-ness.

“So I told her I didn’t . . . have a girlfriend. Because a new school is hard, um, in terms of meeting them. Girls. Plus the fact that I’m shy and I’m pretty self-conscious of my size.”

“You are pretty big,” she said around her wad of gum. “Maybe we better work on some problems.”

“Like, I was wondering,” I said, my mouth now so bonedry, I would have mugged her for a stick of her gum. “About your ideas on dating somebody my size.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“I was just searching out your ideas, really.”

“Barry Lancaster.”

“Barry Lancaster is your boyfriend?”

She flipped her hair over her right shoulder and nodded, and the gum went click-click-click in her mouth.

“Some guys have all the luck,” I said, meaning Barry Lancaster and in a funny way, me too.

Uncle Farrell had to pick me up that afternoon, since I missed the bus. We drove straight to the driver’s license place and I took my test for the third time. This time I passed, missing four questions, one less than the maximum allowable. To celebrate, I drove us to IHOP for dinner. I ordered the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity. Uncle Farrell had the patty melt. He was wearing his black uniform and wetting his lips more than usual.

“So, what have you decided, Alfred?”

“About what?”

“About this operation for Mr. Myers.”

“I think it’s incredibly unfair of you to threaten me with a foster home to make me do it.”

“Forget unfair. Is it fair that you won’t help your only flesh and blood?”