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“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?”
“You just told me to forget fair and then you ask me if something’s fair.”
“So?”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Sometimes I think you’re toying with me, Alfred, which is incredibly cheeky for a kid in your position. Final time, last chance, do-or-die: Are you going to help me tonight?”
“Tonight? You’re doing it tonight?”
He nodded. He was on about his third cup of coffee and his nod was quick and sharp, like a bobble-head’s. “I have to. Samson is out of town and Myers wants his sword back ASAP. It’s now-or-never time. Fourth quarter, ten seconds left.”
“So you’re going to do it whether I help you or not?”
“I gave my word, Alfred. I made a promise,” he said pointedly, as if reminding me I should keep mine, although I couldn’t remember actually making any promises. “So the only question left is . . . are you going to help me?”
When I didn’t answer right away, he leaned in close and whispered, “You think I won’t do it? You think I won’t send you back to foster care?”
I wiped my cheek with my napkin, which was sticky with syrup, and I felt the stickiness on my cheek.
“Maybe if you try, I’ll tell the police you stole the sword.”
“Keep your voice down, will ya? I’m not stealing anything. I’m recovering it for the victim. I’m doing a good deed, Al. Now, last time I’m going to ask. Are you going to help me?”
I dabbed my cheeks again with my sticky napkin, and for some reason I thought about Amy Pouchard and the fact that Barry Lancaster was probably going to kill me when he found out she was tutoring me in math, and then I thought about my mom who died and the dad I never knew. The only person I had left was sitting across the table from me, slugging down coffee, nervously wetting his lips and drumming his fingers on the table.
“Okay,” I said. “But I’m a minor, so whatever happens up there they’ll blame you for it.”
“Whatever happens up there,” he said, “it’s gonna change both our lives forever.”
I would remember those words when Uncle Farrell turned to me and whispered my name, Alfred, right before he died.
5
In the car on the way to the Towers, I asked him, “Uncle Farrell, have you thought about how you’re gonna do this?”
“Do what?”
“Get the sword. What about all the security cameras?”
“We’re going to cut the power.”
“To the whole building?”
“No, just the power to the security system. Power goes out every now and then.”
“There’s no backup?”
“You can override it. If it stays down over ten minutes, though, a call automatically goes to police headquarters.”
I thought about it. “Okay, so we have ten minutes from the time you cut the power till the cops know.”
