Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 10:15 P.M. HEADING TOWARD THE SOUTH SIDE Oscar dodged a speeding horse wagon and leaped over a steaming pile of manure. He hopped up onto the wooden sidewalk and wove his way through the crowd, his eyes glued to the yellow cap bobbing in front of him. The girl didn't look like much of a criminal, with her stick legs and flapping braids. But wasn't that innocent look part of her act? Papa always said that Earless was a charmer. "He'll dazzle you with his smile then shoot you dead," Papa would say. Plus, Papa explained, Earless treated the guys in his gang like brothers. "He made sure they ate and drank like kings."

Oscar figured the girl was heading for the gang's hideout. His best bet was to secretly follow her there. Oscar stayed hidden as he followed her through the busy streets. They crossed behind a tavern and then cut through a snaking alley. They finally came out onto a dark street of small houses and shacks. The girl beelined for a sagging little house set back from the street. Oscar ducked behind a barrel and waited as she used a key to open the front door. "Bruno," she called out as she went inside. "I'm back!" Bruno. Must be one of the thugs, Oscar thought. He saw a piece of jagged wood lying on the ground. He grabbed it. It would make a decent weapon, just in case. He crept up to the house, crouching low so none of the criminals would spot him out the window. He wondered what he should do. Barge in? Demand his suitcases? Suddenly his knees started to shake. Sweat oozed down his neck.

What was he doing? He needed to get out of here! But then he thought of Papa facing the gun barrel of Earless Max Kildair. No, Oscar thought, he wasn't going to run scared from a bunch of street thugs. He was going to get Papa's badge back. He curled his fingers around his weapon as he rose up, ready for a fight. Oscar peered through the window. He spotted the little thief. And his mouth dropped open in shock. No, he thought. It can't be. He had imagined her sitting there with Otis Webber and the other boys, rummaging through piles of loot. He'd gotten it wrong. There were no thugs, and no sign of his suitcases. The girl sat in a little wooden chair. On her lap was not a pile of stolen money and jewels but a smiling little boy with a mop of dark curls. Oscar guessed he was maybe three years old. Their voices floated through the open window.

"Sorry I had to leave you alone again," she said. "I very brave, Jennie," the boy said, puffing out his chest. His little croaking voice made Oscar think of the baby frogs he used to catch behind his house. "Next time I help." "No," the girl said. "It's no fun, what I do. And you need to stay here and guard our house!" The boy puffed out his chest proudly. "I guard." "And guess what. I have enough money to get us some nice, fresh milk tomorrow." "And a cookie?" the boy asked hopefully. "We'll see," she said, taking off her yellow cap. She suddenly looked older than Oscar had first thought, maybe nine or ten. The boy reached up and tenderly smoothed one of the girl's crooked braids. "I love cookies, Jennie," the boy whispered. "I know you do, Brunie," Jennie said. She smiled. But it was a weary kind of smile, tinged with sadness. It reminded Oscar of Mama's smile, how she looked in the months before Mr. Morrow appeared. Oscar swallowed hard as he stepped away from the window. Those kids were on their own. Oscar

felt it in his bones. He remembered what the policeman said: Otis Webber preyed on the most helpless orphans. Oscar dropped his stupid weapon and headed slowly toward the road. What a dope he was, pretending he was like Papa, chasing a killer outlaw through Chicago. Instead he'd found two sad little kids. And now all he could think of was Mama. How could he have left her like that? She must be going crazy with worry. His mind was so jumbled up that he barely noticed when something landed on top of his head. It felt like a leaf, or a big moth. He absentmindedly brushed it away, then was startled when a shower of sparks spilled down in front of his face. A few hit his skin, burning his flesh like red-hot needles. Oscar looked up and saw a sight so strange he was sure his eyes were playing tricks. It looked as if glowing red snowflakes were falling from the sky. They danced in the gusting wind, hundreds of hot, burning embers of different sizes and shapes. Before he knew what was happening, they were

all around him, attacking like a swarm of fiery bees. They seared his scalp, burned through the wool of his clothes, scorched his lips. Pain lashed him, and the sickening smell of his burning hair made him gag. And suddenly, Whoosh! Flames leaped up in front of Oscar's face. The sparks had ignited his clothes. Oscar was on fire!