Dear Santa Part 3

"I don't care," he repeated.

Vic didn't believe that for an instant. He had a suspicion food was one thing this boy really did care about. From the look of him, he might have missed a few meals lately. Unfortunately, Vic had seen that look before.

"Well, I care," Vic said, taking Coyote's arm and helping him up off the matting.

"Pretty soon my stomach's going to be rumbling so loud I won't be able to hear myself think. We can't have that happening, can we?"

Vic didn't expect an answer. He'd had enough experience with kids who'd shut themselves down like this one to know this was going to be a one-sided conversation for a while. With that in mind, Vic kept up a casual line of gab all the way to the center's kitchen. He also kept his hand on Coyote's shoulder in case he should try to bolt like he so obviously wanted to do. This was just as obviously a boy in some kind of trouble, and Vic was determined to discover what that trouble might be.

The center ran a breakfast program for neighborhood children. Those kids had already eaten and left for school. Sandra Thomas, who ran the breakfast program, was finishing the morning cleanup. She waved Vic toward the oversized refrigerator when he told her what he was there for.

"You'll find whatever you need in there," she said, "or in the pantry. But you'll have to fix it for yourself, and you'll have to wash up after, too. I'm way past the end of my shift, and I have to be moving on out of here right this minute."

"We can take care of ourselves, Sandra. Thanks," Vic said.

"You're very welcome," she said.

Her legendary dictatorial tone warmed as she glanced at Coyote. She might run this kitchen like a captain runs a ship, but Vic knew her to have a heart as big as the ocean. She even smiled at the boy as she pulled off her ap.r.o.n and dropped it into a hamper under the long, stainless-steel counter.

"You help yourselves to whatever you can find in here,"

she said.

"And don't forget to leave my kitchen just exactly the way you found it, spotless as an angel's wing."

"We'll be sure to do that, won't we, sport?"

Vic was only slightly surprised to hear the previously close-mouthed Coyote answer, "Yes, ma'am." Sandra Thomas was hard to resist and almost impossible to defy. She smiled one more time before pushing through the double, swinging doors from the kitchen into the multipurpose room.

"Come on, Coyote. Let's see what we can scare up in the way of breakfast.

I'm about to starve," Vic said, though he knew he wasn't truly the hungry one.

Their encounter with Sandra had taken some of the edge off Coyote's belligerence. He actually helped Vic pour cereal into two bowls and slice bananas on top while whole wheat bread heated to golden crispness in the industrial-sized toaster. They sat down together on stools at the long counter after that, where Vic watched Coyote dig into his raisin bran with undisguised eagerness. However closed off he might be capable of making himself appear, he was still only a boy who couldn't hide the fact that he was very hungry. Vic saved his questions till Coyote had eaten his fill.

"Did you sleep here all night?" Vic asked then. "Nah," Coyote denied.

"I came in early this morning."

Vic was pretty sure that was a lie, but he went along with it for now.

"What were you doing here so early? Did you come for breakfast?"

"Yeah. That's right. Breakfast."

"Then why'd you go into the gym instead of coming in here where breakfast is served?"

Vic could see the curtain of caution and distrust lower over Coyote's eyes.

He didn't respond for a moment, probably while he came up with an answer.

"I was looking for you," he said at last.

For some reason, Vic had the feeling that might be the truth.

"What did you want to see me about?"

Coyote hesitated again, a little longer this time.

"I wanted to ask you about signing up for basketball." Vic had an even stronger feeling that this was not the truth. He was considering what might be most productive to ask next when one of the swinging doors pushed open and Katherine Fairchild leaned her head through the opening. Her hair had already begun to escape the band she'd had it pulled back into when he first saw her earlier in her office.

"Vic, could I speak to you out here for a minute, please?" she said.

She'd called him by his first name at last. He could hardly believe how much like a breakthrough that felt or how good it sounded to him.

"I'll be right back," he said to Coyote.

"Why don't you take these dishes to the sink and get. started washing them like Mrs. Thomas said?"

Coyote nodded, and Vic headed for the door.

The ceiling of the multipurpose room was draped with handmade paper chains. They reminded Vic that, sometimes in some places, simple, real holiday things still happened. Life for children wasn't all problems, even though that too often seemed to be the case here at the center. He'd walked through this room the day the kids were making these chains, connecting red and green construction paper in circle after circle till they heaped on the floor around the metal legs of the folding chairs. The kids were laughing and chattering.

Occasionally, they pretended to menace one another with the staplers they were using to fasten the circles.

Vic remembered when he had made chains in elementary school back in Troy, New York. They'd used paste for the fastening then, the kind that tasted pretty good but didn't keep things stuck together for very long. The paper colors were brighter now. The construction paper he remembered always looked like it had been left out in the sun to fade before they used it. Other than those couple of changes, however, the process looked about the same, even after the quarter of a century or so that had pa.s.sed since he was ten. Noticing that had made Vic smile.

Vic tended not to get into the jolly part of the holiday season, at least not as much as some people might think he should in his position here at the center. In fact, he sometimes felt his usual undercurrent of anger move even closer to the surface. It had something to do with the way so many kids in the world didn't have a good sock to put on their feet much less one for Santa to fill up with presents. That wasn't all of it, though.

He hadn't been so fresh out of the Christmas spirit when he was a kid. The difference was that, in those days, he didn't have a clue as to what was really what where some of the members of his own family, the Malteses and their numerous kin, were concerned. He'd actually believed that the houseful of boisterous relatives, the mountains of food and the piles of presents were all about love and celebrating a holy occasion. He'd jumped wholeheartedly into that celebration with the rest of them until he found out the truth that lurked underneath the hugging and backslapping and claims of deep affection. After that, remembering the hypocrisy of those scenes made him almost physically sick.

Vic turned away from the paper chains.

"What's up?" he asked Katherine.

They had pushed through the heavy door and were out of earshot of the kitchen now.

"I remembered where I saw the name Coyote Bellaway before this morning. It was in the return address on one of the letters that came in for the Fund yesterday. I looked through them, like I always do, when they first arrived. I remember his letter in particular because it was pretty banged up. In fact, it looked like it had been run over by a truck."

"Where's the letter now?"

"It wasn't on my desk, so it must be one of the ones you took with you."

Vic had all but forgotten the pile of mail he'd stuffed in his jacket pocket earlier when he first started talking to Coyote.

"Then it has to be in the kitchen."

Vic had taken off his jacket and left it on the counter while he and Coyote made breakfast. Something told Vic he'd better get back in there and retrieve it straight off. He turned and shoved through the door without saying another word. Katherine was right behind him, but they were both too late. Coyote was gone. The breakfast dishes were still on the counter, but Vic's jacket was on the floor with the Most Needy Cases Fund letters scattered around it. Coyote's letter wasn't among them, and the fire exit door, which Vic hadn't taken into consideration when he left the boy alone here, was ajar.

"d.a.m.n."

Vic poured all of his frustration into that one word. Once again, he'd misjudged the true motives of the person he was dealing with, just like he used to do with his family when he was a kid. Only he wasn't a kid anymore. Now, he could make up for his mistake, and that was just what he intended to do.

"I WANT TO COME along," Katherine had said when Vic announced he was going to the neighborhood elementary school where he seemed certain Coyote had to be enrolled.

"Maybe this is something I should do on my own. Dealing with more than one person at a time seems to Spock him."

"Please." She put her hand on his arm to emphasize what she was saying.

"This means a lot to me."

Vic looked down at her hand gripping his leather sleeve. She pulled away. Some people didn't like to be touched without permission. Maybe he was one of those.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to presume."

"That's okay," he said.

"You surprised me is all. You can touch me any time you want."

He looked into her eyes when he said that. The words alone would have made her uneasy or worse. The intensity of his gaze set her nerves jangling as well till she was afraid her teeth might start chattering even though they hadn't yet stepped out into the cold.

"It really does mean a lot to me to tag along on this one," she repeated hastily to fill the sudden silence that she had begun to imagine vibrating around her.

"Why is this boy so important?" Vic asked.

She'd caught up with him at the main door out of the center, the same entrance way where they'd had their misunderstanding last night.

Katherine wished they could go to a more neutral and private place if she was going to discuss this subject, which was so difficult for her.

"Coyote reminds me of someone," she said sounding almost as unsettled as she felt.

Vic continued to watch her, probably expecting more in the way of an explanation. He was right. This kind of hands-on case work was not her designated territory. Her job here at the center was strictly administrative. Yet, ever since the moment she saw that little boy sleeping on those mats, she'd wanted to be more than what Vic called a pa-per-pusher, at least in this one instance. She'd have to justify such out-of-the-ordinary involvement, of course. She was about to ask him to come into her office for a moment. This was too sensitive for her to go into out here in the hallway. Before she could make that suggestion, however, Vic reached out and touched her arm this time.

She'd had her hand on leather with no real physical contact made. She was wear ing a sweater over a long, gray wool skirt which she'd put on today, for some reason, instead of her usual suit. She could feel the pressure of his fingers through the pale gray cashmere. She was surprised, maybe even thrown off balance, by how natural it seemed to have him touch her.

"We'll talk about it in my car," he said almost gently. "Get your coat, and I'll meet you out there. It's the black Trans Am."

He was out the door then, and whatever sensation she'd been obsessing about just a moment ago was gone. As she hurried to her office for her coat, she told herself that Coyote and the connection with difficult memories-he caused in her must have sent her emotions haywire for a while. Still, she was glad to swathe herself in a heavy navy camel-hair coat and a scarf wound twice around her neck. If Vic Maltese should touch her again, she wouldn't feel his hand any more than he could have been aware of hers through his leather. She resecured the covered elastic band at the nape of her neck then pulled her knit hat down over her still rambunctious hair. Unless Vic decided to touch the tip of her nose, she'd be safe from inappropriate responses now. Or would she? Katherine was on her way back to the building exit, chiding herself that this should even be a question, when Megan popped out into the hallway from her office.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she asked.

"We're going to Arbor Hill School to check on Coyote Bellaway," Katherine answered without slowing her pace. "Who's we?"

"Myself and Victor Maltese."

"I approve."

Megan had been bustling along to keep up with Katherine's dash toward the door. Katherine stopped abruptly now while Megan's momentum carded her on a few more steps.

"What do you mean by that?" Katherine asked rather sharply of Megan's still advancing back.

Megan stopped and turned around. Katherine expected to see a mischievous twinkle in Megan's eyes, but her expression was quite serious.

"I'm glad to see you out of your office for a change and actually spending some time with an attractive man."

"This is business," Katherine protested. "It's a start."

"Oh, Megan," Katherine said as she resumed her hurried trek to the door.

"Psychologists aren't supposed to be romantics."

"Who says?" Megan called after her.

When Katherine looked back she saw that a wide grin had replaced the somber look on her friend's face. She shook her head and waved in response before pushing through the door. Vic had pulled up to the edge of the parking lot just outside. Exhaust billowed from the rear of his rumbling vehicle in white clouds even thicker than those created by Katherine's breath. Vic reached across the seat and pushed open the pa.s.senger door of the low vehicle.

Katherine hesitated a moment. She'd always a.s.sociated cars like this one with street punks.

"Get in," he said.

"I want to get there before early lunch hour. The place is a zoo then."

She smiled and crouched down to keep from banging her head as she climbed into the low-slung car.

"Buckle up," he added as she slammed the door.

"The roads may be icy, and this thing fishtails sometimes."

She pulled the belt across her body and fastened it into the latch at the side of the bucket seat as he'd suggested.

"Maybe you should try driving more slowly," she said. "I drive slow enough."

Vic hit the gas pedal as if in deliberate contradiction of his words, and they were across the parking lot in what felt like an instant.

Katherine gasped.

Vic laughed.

"Don't be scared," he said.

"I'm just teasing you. Trust me. I don't take any chances on slippery pavement. You're safe with me at the wheel."

He did take it easy then as they drove out of the parking lot and up the first rise of the slope that was called Arbor Hill. Fortunately, road crews had been out that morning and the incline was well coated with salt and sand. The sun was out and sparkling on the otherwise dingy snow on either side of the street. Maybe it would warm up enough later in the day to melt some of this packed stuff from the roadbed. Katherine hoped, probably in vain, that would happen before they drove back down this way. She still hadn't quite shaken the street punk a.s.sociation and half expected Vic to take off with a squeal of his mag-wheeled tires at any moment.

"If you feel like talking," he began instead, "I'm a good listener."

"Talking about what?"

"That thing you said back at the center. About Coyote reminding you of somebody."