Trash - Andy Mulligan [45]
You’re thinking, How does a boy like a dumb rat get into a safe? And the answer is so simple you could laugh. Father Juilliard, my friend, you must have a bad memory, because you write the lock combination in your diary. You change it every month, sir – at the end of the month – and write the new code down. I would always see it, open on your desk. I’d remember it. This month it was 20861 – I saw it when we were on the computer and you brought us that lemonade … but it wouldn’t be the same after All Souls’ Night – and that was why I’d had to make my mind up to come.
I put in that code, and the door clicked open. Inside I found twenty-three thousand and a bit more. So that was our Bible money for Mr Marco.
It went into my shorts, and I got ready to leave.
On a thought, because – please don’t think the worse of me – the shame was making me ache, I stopped again. The old man’s desk was full of paper, and there was a pen in the drawer. I hadn’t meant to, and I knew it was a risk, but I hated the thought of you never knowing, and wondering who had so betrayed you, so I drew you a picture. I could spell Jun-Jun, so I put the words over me and a big arrow. I tried to draw me like I was hugging Father Juilliard, who I gave a big crucifix to in case the likeness was no good. I put lots of ‘x’s, because I knew people used them as kisses – and I put it in the safe. I had tears in my eyes. This was a goodbye, and though Behala dump could go up in flames and I’d just dance – the Mission School had been a good, safe, warm, friendly, happy, fun place. Sister Olivia had been one of the best, and the volunteers before her. Father Juilliard had told me stories, given me food, given me money. He’d even kissed me once, which nobody before or since ever has done.
When I thought of this, climbing down the wall was hard, but I thought about Raphael and Gardo and what we had to do. I thought about José Angelico too, smashed apart by police, and I carried on.
I waited for a garbage truck to come by. I waited for it to slow. I was up on the back and inside, and we sailed out of the gates onto the street. I reached our little house well before dawn, and slunk in next to the boys so they didn’t hear me. One of the nice things about Raphael is – because he slept with his little cousins, I guess – he’s in the habit of sleeping up close. I crawled in under the blanket, and at once felt an arm go round me, holding me tight – and I felt less like a mean, sly, traitorous, ungrateful thief.
And he had no nightmares that night – he slept easy till sunrise, breathing soft, right on my neck.
2
Gardo again.
Rat wouldn’t tell us where he got the money for two days, and when he finally did, it didn’t seem like such a big deal to me, but I could see he was feeling bad so we said that if we got the Bible, and if the Bible gave away the great José Angelico mystery – and if we got to that pile of money – we would put the twenty thou back in the Mission School, with some added as a gift.
Rat was happy again, and we made some careful treks out over the city to find the guard – which we did, and we fixed up for the handover, and I knew this was the most dangerous thing yet, because he knew I was desperate for that book, which meant first it was valuable, and second – he must know something very strange was going on.
I kept thinking of being in that prison with Sister Olivia, and how they had my picture taken, and I was thinking all the time, What if,