Page 57 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Thrown for a Loss

Until you stumble and tell us something different, I thought, but
held my peace.
“All right,” said the lieutenant. “That will do for now. Please go
back to your table and tell Luke to come over here. Do not leave that
area until I indicate you may do so.”
He rose with a gesture intended to prove to his buddies that he
had defied the cops at the end. Nice show of bravado, but he ruined
it by tripping over his shoelaces as he turned to stride off. Or had the
lady cop once again put some spin on his behavior that would
encourage the other mall rats to give her respect?

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I think we both watched the group’s reaction to Curt’s return. No
doubt they would have liked to jeer him for getting taken down a peg
or two, but he was capable of doing the same to any of them later,
when he would clearly be top dog. So they kept their eyes on
anything but his face. One down, three to go. I looked at my watch.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Luke shuffled over to us. This kid was a classic misfit. His eyes did
not focus properly. One of them was always pointing in another
direction when he looked at you. His clothes, his manner, his
haircut—nothing in his appearance indicated he was either a rebel or
a conformist. Instead he presented the world a patchwork quilt of
one-offs, hand-me-downs and leftovers. His head was shaven only
on side and his left earlobe was scarred where an earring might have
been torn off. The rip in his jeans was in the right place but someone
had sewn it up with a gather that made his pant-leg lopsided. I
already knew that he spoke with an accent that hinted of an origin in
some rural area far removed from the big city and Cumbaya Mall.
This was my first look at the boy up close, however, so I had no way
to predict his response to what was going on.
“Please sit down.” I sat down at the same time, sandwiching him
between us. Good thing they both had narrow hips. Labelle
undoubtedly had sized him up, too. Did he fit any mental profile she
had of juvenile delinquents? Well, that is what they were called in my
youth, and I don’t know any term to replace it with that doesn’t
sound a whole lot worse. “What is your full name?”

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