The Never War by D.J. MacHale

suddenly changed direction and all the little tugboats around it had to hurry to keep up.
    Gunny tried to look casual. Spader and I didn’t move.
    â€œYou working the street now, Gunny?” the guy asked with a big smile.
    â€œNo sir, Mr. Rose,” answered Gunny politely. “Just taking a break. Wanted a breath of fresh air.”
    â€œGood man,” the big guy exclaimed. He reached into his pocket and pressed a dollar bill into Gunny’s hand. “Don’t work too hard now, understand?” he said, and gave Gunny a friendly cuff on the shoulder.
    â€œOnly when I’m working for you, Mr. Rose,” Gunny replied.
    The guy let out a laugh that was bigger than necessary. But that was okay. If he was a killer, then I wanted him to be in a good mood. It seemed like he thought Gunny was okay. That was good too. But then he looked down at me and stopped laughing.
    Uh-oh. Was I in trouble? What should I do? I had this image of King Kong—gazing down on all those poor natives who were running around—getting ready to choose one to pick up and swallow.
    â€œHowdy there, Buck Rogers,” he said. “Little late for Halloween.”
    I wasn’t sure of how to react, so I pretended he had made a really funny joke and forced out a laugh. It was the right move because the guy laughed with me. He grabbed my hand and stuck something in it.
    â€œNo offense, pardner, just making a joke,” he said. “You look real cute.” He then walked toward the hotel with his boys scrambling to follow. I looked down at my hand to see he had given me a dollar bill too.
    â€œThe spaceman comments are getting old,” I said.
    â€œWho was that guy?” Spader asked Gunny.
    â€œName’s Maximilian Rose. He’s a businessman who lives in the penthouse here at the Manhattan Tower. He’s got more businesses than Heinz got pickles.”
    â€œAnd?…“I asked.
    Gunny took a quick look around to see if anyone was listening. He continued in a whisper, “And he’s about as crooked as a rattlesnake in an accordion factory.”
    I looked at Spader. Spader shrugged. “Who’s Heinz and what’s an accordion?”
    Gunny continued, “What I’m saying is he didn’t make all his money being an honest businessman. He puts up a respectable front, but he is a very bad individual. Trust me on that.”
    â€œThose gangsters in the subway,” I said. “Do they work for Rose?”
    â€œNo, they’re from a whole ’nother gang downtown.”
    â€œIs there anyone in this town who isn’t a gangster?” Spader asked.
    â€œI know three for sure,” said Gunny. “You, me, and Pendragon.”
    â€œSwell,” said Spader sarcastically. “It’s your basic tum-tigger.”
    â€œTum-what?” asked Gunny.
    â€œLet’s just go inside, all right?” I said. Hearing these guys confuse each other was getting almost as old as the spaceman comments.
    A few moments later, a doorman wearing a uniform similar to Gunny’s held open a heavy, glass door for us and we stepped into the lobby of the Manhattan Tower Hotel. The place was even more spectacular inside than out. It gave me the feeling that I was in some huge, rich-guy mansion. The ceiling of the lobby soared up three stories and was decorated with stained glass scenes of a beautiful green forest. The sun shone down through the glass and sprayed colored specks of light all over the room like a kaleidoscope.
    We walked on thick, oriental carpets under giant crystal chandeliers that looked as if they’d come from a European castle. Several sitting areas had red-leather furniture where people sat chatting or reading newspapers. Nobody spoke above a whisper. It was like being in church, or a library. It was pretty obvious that you had to have bucks to stay here. This was no cheapy hotel like the one my parents took me to at Niagara Falls. That place