You could stand to learn some history and current events stuff, but it'll be all right. I don't think there's much point in putting you in a conventional school."
Especially since they hardly even pretend to teach, these days.
"We have a lot to do before you can get by on your own. Most of the hard work will be yours, I'm afraid, but you're well enough to begin it. I'm going to put you on a reading program, start teaching you how to drive, start exposing you to normal society in small doses. If it goes well, six months from now you should be ready to...to..."
To what? Even if I fabricate a convincing background to cover up what happened to you, where do you plug in?
He checked his pacing when he realized that she was sitting silent and motionless, facing rigidly forward, as he talked to himself about how to arrange her future. Embarrassed, he slipped back into the chair in front of her.
"Chris, what would you like to do?"
After a moment's silence, she reached for his hand. He let her lead him up the stairs to his office, where his computer was running the Bohr atom screen saver that had fascinated her. Her face held both solemnity and hope.
"You said you would teach me."
Louis swallowed hard. A thousand objections rose to his lips. He bit all of them back. She waited in silence.
"All right, Chris. I'll try."
***
The back streets of Onteora were hardly safe places for the solitary pedestrian in full daylight. Even so, it was Malcolm Loughlin's occasional practice to stroll them, after midnight, alone.
He sauntered through the city. Like most of the small cities in central New York, Onteora was irregularly seedy. More than half of the two and three story tenements that had been built a century ago to house the immigrant workers that had flooded the state were abandoned now, doors padlocked and windows boarded up. Many storefronts off Grand Avenue, Onteora's remaining locus of activity and prosperity, had also been abandoned, as well as a few on the Avenue itself. The city government asserted ownership of all abandoned structures within the city limits, but for years it had not tried to sell them, nor to do anything with them. The majority were unused even by the lowest strata of derelicts and squatters.
Many residents used the less-populated streets as dumping grounds. Perversely, those nearest to Grand Avenue were the most heavily littered. The prevalence of old, soiled and damaged furniture, scattered here and there on the sidewalks and the greenswards, was a sure sign that the Avenue was only a block or two away.
Despite the darkness, alleviated slightly by a crescent moon and a few unbroken streetlights, Loughlin walked around the scattered obstacles with little effort. He had been here many times. He knew the area well, and was confident that if he stayed at it long enough, someone would bring him what he sought.
He had been walking for twenty minutes when three tall, dark figures converged on him at an intersection: one from before him, the others at the opposed limits of his peripheral vision. No one else was in sight.
"Yo, Pops, drop your wallet and walk away."
Loughlin scanned the area for other watchers, then put on the most insolent grin he could manage and shook his head. "Nope. Keep fishing, fool."
The silence was broken by an audible click. The one before him had bared a blade. It glinted in the dark, held low for slashing across the belly.
"You the fool, Pops. You want to live, you drop your dough and run."
Loughlin cackled. "Run from you? You think you're going to cut me? With that? How long did you save your lunch money for that nail file? What if you drop it? Never find it again. Not you, anyway. Probably takes you ten minutes just to find your dick."
The thug shouted and charged, still holding the knife low and ready to swing. His accomplices converged more cautiously.
Loughlin stepped forward and to his left. As he moved, the sideboys froze in position. Before the thug could slash at
Especially since they hardly even pretend to teach, these days.
"We have a lot to do before you can get by on your own. Most of the hard work will be yours, I'm afraid, but you're well enough to begin it. I'm going to put you on a reading program, start teaching you how to drive, start exposing you to normal society in small doses. If it goes well, six months from now you should be ready to...to..."
To what? Even if I fabricate a convincing background to cover up what happened to you, where do you plug in?
He checked his pacing when he realized that she was sitting silent and motionless, facing rigidly forward, as he talked to himself about how to arrange her future. Embarrassed, he slipped back into the chair in front of her.
"Chris, what would you like to do?"
After a moment's silence, she reached for his hand. He let her lead him up the stairs to his office, where his computer was running the Bohr atom screen saver that had fascinated her. Her face held both solemnity and hope.
"You said you would teach me."
Louis swallowed hard. A thousand objections rose to his lips. He bit all of them back. She waited in silence.
"All right, Chris. I'll try."
***
The back streets of Onteora were hardly safe places for the solitary pedestrian in full daylight. Even so, it was Malcolm Loughlin's occasional practice to stroll them, after midnight, alone.
He sauntered through the city. Like most of the small cities in central New York, Onteora was irregularly seedy. More than half of the two and three story tenements that had been built a century ago to house the immigrant workers that had flooded the state were abandoned now, doors padlocked and windows boarded up. Many storefronts off Grand Avenue, Onteora's remaining locus of activity and prosperity, had also been abandoned, as well as a few on the Avenue itself. The city government asserted ownership of all abandoned structures within the city limits, but for years it had not tried to sell them, nor to do anything with them. The majority were unused even by the lowest strata of derelicts and squatters.
Many residents used the less-populated streets as dumping grounds. Perversely, those nearest to Grand Avenue were the most heavily littered. The prevalence of old, soiled and damaged furniture, scattered here and there on the sidewalks and the greenswards, was a sure sign that the Avenue was only a block or two away.
Despite the darkness, alleviated slightly by a crescent moon and a few unbroken streetlights, Loughlin walked around the scattered obstacles with little effort. He had been here many times. He knew the area well, and was confident that if he stayed at it long enough, someone would bring him what he sought.
He had been walking for twenty minutes when three tall, dark figures converged on him at an intersection: one from before him, the others at the opposed limits of his peripheral vision. No one else was in sight.
"Yo, Pops, drop your wallet and walk away."
Loughlin scanned the area for other watchers, then put on the most insolent grin he could manage and shook his head. "Nope. Keep fishing, fool."
The silence was broken by an audible click. The one before him had bared a blade. It glinted in the dark, held low for slashing across the belly.
"You the fool, Pops. You want to live, you drop your dough and run."
Loughlin cackled. "Run from you? You think you're going to cut me? With that? How long did you save your lunch money for that nail file? What if you drop it? Never find it again. Not you, anyway. Probably takes you ten minutes just to find your dick."
The thug shouted and charged, still holding the knife low and ready to swing. His accomplices converged more cautiously.
Loughlin stepped forward and to his left. As he moved, the sideboys froze in position. Before the thug could slash at
Similar Books
