I bought him breakfast in a café down the street and he wolfed it down: two bacon baps and hot chocolate and an apple flapjack. There was barely any chat from him. He sat with his back to the door. Whenever it opened, he didn’t look round or show any interest; he knew the police were looking for him, that the Miller boys were after him, and that both sets of hunters had to have feelers out all over the city, but he appeared inured to it. He had been besieged and intimidated, he had lost a leg and now his mother; maybe he thought they’d done their worst. I suspected they hadn’t. Every time the door opened, I jumped.
He said, ‘What happened to your eye?’
‘I got in a fight. It’ll heal. What about your leg?’
‘What do you mean what about it? It won’t heal.’
‘I know . . . I mean, you seem quite proficient with it.’
‘I had lessons. I’m aimin’ for the Paralympics.’
‘Really?’ He gave me the eye. I blew air out of my cheeks. I fiddled with the remnants of my fry. After a while I said, ‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘What are your plans now?’
‘You tell me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re supposed to look after me.’
‘I bought you breakfast, and you found my secret stash of Twix. It’s the least I could do, after what happened, but . . .’
‘You’re right.’
‘I’m right. I’m right what?’
‘It’s the least you could do.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘My mum said you would look after me.’
‘Yes, I appreciate that, but just because she says something, said something, it doesn’t mean it’s magically going to happen. I met her once, for five minutes, I gave her my card. I’d never even set eyes on you till you broke into my office. I have an Xtra-vision card in my wallet, but I don’t expect them to look after me if I fall on hard times.’
‘I was listening to youse from the top of the stairs. You said to her, if there’s anything else I can do. She took you at your word.’
‘I was just being polite.’
‘So you were lying to her.’
‘No, it’s just something you say.’
‘If you didn’t mean it, then it’s a lie.’
‘Okay. It was a lie. Happy?’
‘What am I supposed to do now?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not my problem.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ I snapped. ‘Come back to my place, put your head down till I sort something out? Come under my wing? You can be the son I never had?’
He looked at me for a long time, and there were tears in his eyes and he was straining, bloody straining hard to stop them coming out.
Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.
I am not completely callous. I said he could put his head down in my spare room for one night until I sorted something out for him. In response, I got a shrug. As we drove to St Anne’s Square, I spelt out how it was going to work. He wasn’t to mess with my stuff. He wasn’t to use my phone. He wasn’t to go out. No drugs. No drug deals.
He said, ‘What do you think I am?’
‘I know exactly what you are. The Millers weren’t picking on you because you were choirboy of the year.’
‘That was then.’
‘So you say. I don’t have to do this. If it’s not good enough for you, I can stop the car now.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Do you have an Xbox?’
‘No.’
‘PlayStation? Anything like . . .’
‘No.’
‘PC?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Yes, I have a computer. Yes, you can use it, if you’re careful and don’t spill anything over it and don’t use it inappropriately.’
‘Ina . . .’
‘You know what I mean. And if you’re on Facebook, don’t update your status to your new location, don’t tell anyone where you are.’
‘I’m not fuckin’ stupid. And Facebook? You fuckin’ jokin’?’
‘Sorry, is Facebook not where it’s at these days?’
He just shook his head. We rode in silence for a while.
Then he said, ‘They didn’t spell paedophile right.’
‘I know,’ I said.
We got to St Anne’s Square and parked. Bobby nodded appreciatively as we crossed the piazza; he nodded some more when we got to the block and took the elevator up, and continued nodding as we entered my apartment. He stood just inside the door and smiled.
‘I could get used to this,’ he said.
‘Well don’t. The bathroom’s straight ahead. Go take a shower, you smell of smoke and cigarettes and sweat. The spare bedroom is on the left. There may be some food in the fridge, but there’s definitely Coke. Not that kind of coke. I have work to do, I have to go out again, so I’m going to leave you to it, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘I can trust you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Though you would say that.’ He made eyes. ‘Okay. I’m not sure how long I’ll be; make yourself at home, keep your head down, I’ll sort what I can sort.’
I nodded.
He nodded.
I left. I walked down the hall and pressed the elevator button. It came, and went, but I stayed where I was. I gave it three minutes. When I let myself back into the apartment, Bobby was standing exactly where I’d left him, with his arms folded.
‘Do you not fuckin’ trust me or somethin’?’ he barked.
I said, ‘I forgot something. Okay? I can come back into my own fuckin’ home if I fuckin’ want to.’
I crossed the room and sat down at my desk and switched the computer on. I had forgotten nothing, but it seemed important to check my e-mails.
He said, ‘I’m gettin’ my shower now, okay?’
He stomped towards the bathroom.
‘Bobby!’
He stopped reluctantly. ‘What?’
‘Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.’
‘Fuck off!’
He roared in and slammed the door. The handle moved up and down several times as he tried to work out how it locked. It didn’t. There were no locks on any of the doors, apart from the front. It was a design flaw, or a design preference depending on your point of view.
After a bit, I finally heard the shower running, and the sliding doors open and close. Five minutes later, I shut the computer, stood up and crossed to the bathroom. I opened the door. Bobby’s outline was just visible through the steam.
I did what any single man with a helpless, naked fourteen-year-old boy at his mercy would do.
I stole his leg.