Dodger

Once out of that bedroom, he wondered what he should do. Search another room? How long had it been? Sheila had warned each of them to get what they could, then get out as fast as possible. Would the others be outside right now waiting for him?

He had no idea of the protocol regarding house robberies. He moved stealthily toward the stairs. He didn’t encounter any of his friends. Maybe it was time to leave.

None of the others were downstairs. He went back to the big kitchen, but Rob was gone. Worse, the door was shut and bolted. From the inside.

Someone in the house was awake.

Whoever was awake would probably hear him. Shit, whoever had done this had probably already called the police. What should he do? Go around the front? That seemed like the best option.

When he turned, he saw a guy in the kitchen doorway.

Dodger almost dropped his bag. He reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his knife.

The guy surveyed him with interest. “You’re a little young to be robbing a house, aren’t you?” he asked. “Maybe it’s me, but I always associated breaking and entering with middle-aged drug addicts at the end of their rope.”

Dodger didn’t say anything. He had spent his life on the streets, but he had never actually been in a fight. This guy was taller than he was, and built. Then again, he didn’t have a weapon. Not one that Dodger could see anyway.

“You’re not more than fourteen, I’ll bet.”

“I’m sixteen,” Dodger said and wrapped his fist more tightly around the knife.

“Sixteen,” the guy repeated as if he were contemplating the number. “Sixteen. I actually think you’re lying.”

“I’m not!” Dodger growled. What the hell was this guy doing? Trying to keep him there until the police arrived, probably.

“Right,” the guy said with a wry smile. “But you look way too scrawny to be just a year younger than me.” He walked toward Dodger. For a second Dodger thought the guy had a weapon, but he didn’t. He just walked to the door and slid back the deadbolt.

Dodger stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you out.”

“You’re letting me go? Don’t you want to have me arrested?” He set the bag down on the floor, not believing this stroke of luck.

“Take it,” the man said. “It’s just money, right? We have plenty of it.”

“You’re just going to let me rob you?”

He smiled again. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you honestly arguing with getting a free pass?”

Dodger didn’t move. “I want to know what the catch is. Have you called the police?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“There’s no catch. Go ahead. Freedom.”

Dodger took one last glance at the stranger and then grabbed the bag and ran.

The car had gone. Dodger felt a moment of panic until he noticed it pulling around the curve. It stopped for him.

“Get in,” Sheila yelled. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I got held up.” He tossed his bag onto the floor and slid in next to Jane.

“No one woke up, did they?” Pam asked slightly panicked.

He briefly considered telling them what happened but it felt too absurd and…like a violation of some unspoken trust between himself and the stranger. An I-won’t-tell-if-you-won’t-tell sort of deal.

He had never lied to his family before.

Luckily Rob saved him. “Of course no one did. You don’t hear any sirens, do you?”

“Just ’cause you don’t hear the police, doesn’t mean they weren’t called,” Pamela told him.

The conversation devolved into an argument over the success of their robbery. They had all found useful items, though Rob hadn’t stolen much beyond food. Not that food was a bad thing.

Once they were back home, Dodger fished the class ring he’d stolen out of his bag before depositing the rest in Sheila’s room. He wondered if it had belonged to the guy who had let him go...