The MisFit: The Early Years Page 7

  “I don’t know. He’s-he’s dead.” Not a hint of sarcasm.

  She blanched. “Yes, yes, he is.”

  “I don’t want to die.” My voice quavered.

  “Of course not. I meant how can you become like him when he was alive?” A hint of impatience.

  “Oh.”

  “No ideas? C’mon. You’re so smart. Let’s put our heads together.” She swiveled her gaze to the window. Snow was falling softly, sticking to the skylights, casting her face in shadows.

  “Do we get to go outside at lunch?” I asked.

  “What?” She faced me. “I’m sorry, Michael. What did you say?”

  “Can we go outside at lunch?”

  “Who would you play with if you went outside?”

  “Dimitri.”

  “What about playing with someone else? You play with Dimitri every day.”

  “Dimitri lives with me. He’s like a brother. I like playing with Dimitri.” I hunched my shoulders forward a little and let my voice drop on each statement—sounding small and bullied.

  “I understand. And because Dimitri lives with you, I think making new friends would be something your brother did.”

  I sniffle. “The other kids don’t like me. Dimitri does.”

  “I don’t think the other kids—students— Are you sure they don’t like you?”

  I nodded and hunched my shoulders up to my ears.

  “All right.” She sighed. “Let’s not worry about making new friends today. If you promise to give all your attention to your studies, I’ll let you work on your geography project alone.”

  “I promise, Fru Jensen.”

  She hurried to the front of the room, leaving me in the back. Laughing to myself, I returned to my desk.

  God, wait until I told Dimitri. Were all adults idiots? Or was it just women?

  Chapter 42

  Playing by the Rules

  By lunchtime, the fine snow fell in clumps so thick visibility was zero in the schoolyard. Ground fog cast a silver pall over the swings and other playground equipment. Teachers vetoed any idea of students going outside. They herded the fourth, fifth, and sixth graders into one end of the indoor physical education space. There, they organized us into games of tag for the girls and dodge ball for the boys who needed a more vigorous outlet for their pent-up energies.

  The games required zero brainpower, but Dimitri and I were so bored we went along. Anything to keep from returning to the classroom for the boring afternoon sessions. He and I threw the balls with all our force. One by one, the fourth graders dropped out. One by one, Dimitri or I disqualified the older boys until two sixth graders stood with us on the court.

  The open space echoed with yells and screams from those we’d deposed, demanding our defeat. Our opponents stood several inches taller. Plus, they had the crowd’s support. The girls had stopped their tag game to cheer against us. But the afternoons of traipsing for hours all over Copenhagen had toned me and Dimitri to fighting strength.

  The rules decreed no throwing the ball at any player’s head. For once in our lives, Dimitri and I played by the rules. The two older boys consistently heaved the ball at our upper bodies. Dodging a toss at his face, Dimitri slipped. He didn’t fall, but Stefan Oswald immediately hurled the ball at his head, knocking him flat. His skull thunked on the wooden flood.

  Enraged, I scooped up the ball and slammed it into Stefan’s face.

  His nose spurted blood.

  Girls screamed. Boys booed.

  Stefan went down on one knee. His partner, Erik, came toward me, his hand up in a time-out. I ignored the signal and smashed the ball into his chest, knocking him off his feet.

  I extended my hand and helped Dimitri stand just as a teacher came running. Her whistle shrilled, breaking apart the human circle that protected two aggressors from further assault.

  Instead of sitting in classes for the rest of the afternoon, Dimitri and I sat in Herr Petersen’s office waiting for Emma’s arrival. She spent ten minutes behind closed doors with him, emerged with her lips pursed, then sat with us while he gathered our coats and book bags.

  Outside, she relayed our sentence. Suspended for the rest of the week. Four days, during which we had to write a six-page personal essay on what we’d learned from poor sportsman-like conduct. When we returned, we could not play dodge ball for the rest of the school year. She offered no comment on our behavior—perhaps because she struggled to keep her footing on the treacherous sidewalks.

  A layer of ice lay beneath three or four inches of snow. The bitter wind blew huge, wet flakes in our faces and muffled the traffic on the streets. As if by ESP, Dimitri and I walked on either side of Emma, grasping her elbows. We reached the bus stop, exhausted and unsure if a bus had left or was about to arrive. She was half frozen while my mother was probably lolling in her silk robe in her over-heated house flirting with The Carp.

  “Emma,” I suggested, “let’s have a hot chocolate. They know us at that bageri. When we finish, I’m sure we can call a taxi.”

  She lowered her scarf from her mouth. “I didn’t bring enough money.”

  “We have our allowance,” Dimitri said. “It’s more than enough.”

  She didn’t argue.

  Inside the bageri, Dimitri and I urged her to order a pastry with her chocolate. As we waited for our orders, she sighed. “Herr Petersen wanted a contact for your father.”

  My stomach dropped. “Did you give it to him?”

  “I couldn’t. I don’t have an address or a place to leave him a message. He said in cases of emergency, I should get in touch with his good friend, Eva Johannsen.”

  Eva Johannsen. His good friend. I shot a smirk at Dimitri over Emma’s head. Contact his whore, not his wife.

  “What about letting my mother know of an emergency?” I made no effort to hide my sarcasm.

  “Under no circumstances. Those were his orders. Under no circumstances should I make any contact with your mother.” Emma sounded confused and distressed.

  The hot chocolate and pastries arrived. Both dropped like chunks of lava into my gut. Dimitri’s eyes blazed. No need to say anything to him. He understood.

  Chapter 43

  Mastering Manipulation

  The taxi ride in the icy, snow-packed streets was harrowing—harrowing for Emma. For me and Dimitri, it was exhilarating. Especially after we suggested she close her eyes. She quickly dozed off—a habit I suspected she fostered every day while we attended school.

  The house smelled of my favorite roast pork and freshly baked bread and one of Emma’s signature cakes. Amazing how her cooking had improved with frequent boxes of chocolates. We shut the front door, and Dimitri helped her out of her coat.

  “I think you should have a nap,” I said. “You deserve it.”

  “Well . . .” She hung her head. “I was just doing my job.”

  “No.” Dimitri took her coat and scarf. “Your job is to shop and cook and clean and keep the house orderly. Coming out in this weather went beyond your job.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “I’m sorry Herr Petersen made such a fuss over nothing, really.”

  “My thoughts as well.” She sat on a low bench and reached for the buckles on her boots.

  “Let me help.” Dimitri fell to his knees, opened the clasps, and removed the boots.

  Blushing, Emma laced her fingers, then massaged her hands. “You two are so dear. I simply don’t understand Herr Petersen’s complaints. I can’t believe you hurt those other boys.”

  “Thank you,” I said, with the fake sincerity I’d cultivated.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Dimitri asked with the same counterfeit sincerity. We’d been practicing the cadence and rhythm and pitch of the attitude we despised.

  “Oh, no. That chocolate has left me woozie.” She patted her temples. “You’re sure you don’t mind if I lie down? I do have a bit of a headache.”

  We made sounds of sympathy and assured her we expected her to lie down for as
long as she needed. I patted her forearm. “Do you have headache powder?”

  “No, but I’m sure a nap is all I need.”

  “Dimitri and I can snowshoe to the pharmacist’s,” I offered as if I felt her pain.

  “Oh, Michael. I can’t ask you—”

  “You didn’t ask,” Dimitri interrupted. “Michael offered. We don’t mind.”

  She protested a few seconds longer, but of course, surrendered, praising our thoughtfulness all the way to her bedroom.

  Chapter 44

  Breaking Age Barriers

  “Suspension Day” opened so many opportunities to me and Dimitri that we never forgot its significance.

  The most important outcome proved the easiest to influence. Emma wanted to believe so much that we were good boys abandoned by their parents that she went out of her way to make it easy for us to become bad boys. The headache powder cemented her loyalty, but gifts of chocolate, cologne, and a ticket to the ballet deepened her allegiance.

  Thankfully, my father did not leave me and Dimitri penniless. Every month, the bank sent us reminders to pick up our allowances. Although not princely sums, we wanted for nothing material.

  And Emma benefited from our “wealth.”

  A major snowstorm converged on Copenhagen for the entire four days of our suspension, but Emma offered no objections to our frequent sojourns on snowshoes. Hearty as the Danes were, few ventured out during this time. Sometimes we felt as if we had the whole city to ourselves.

  Then, we discovered porn.

  More importantly, we discovered how easily we could obtain girlie magazines and sex toys. No matter the weather, we soon learned, men will always pay for sex. Snow and ice might cut down on hookers on street corners, but they simply went inside. Our discovery of this fact came about by chance. We were so naïve, we nearly missed the comings and goings of men at a house in Vesterbo.

  We’d just snowshoed to Hovedbanegård. For whatever reason, the place drew us like pyromaniacs to matches. We analyzed the ease of another anonymous killing and watched for potential prey.

  We left disappointed and headed for Vesterbo. We’d never explored the meat packing area since the slaughter of animals had little appeal. We didn’t know it was an unofficial red light district.

  I’m sure we’d learned Denmark was the first Western nation to legalize pornography in 1965—the year after I was born, but the fact meant nothing to us. Ten years later, brothels were illegal; prostitution was not. We watched men enter houses and stay for such short times, we didn’t understand what was happening. Nor did we understand why the houses weren’t legally brothels. We didn’t care—except to find a way to use the information to our advantage.

  When a young guy in his early twenties emerged from one of the houses, we took our chance. Between us, based on hours of observations of train passengers, Dimitri and I developed a second sense about people we considered tractable. We judged this guy as a loser. Why else be out on such a day?

  Suddenly appearing in front of him on snowshoes and wearing ski masks against the gusting snow, we fancied ourselves ghosts. He reacted as if he thought we’d broken the membrane between the surreal and reality. He held his hands above his head and swore he didn’t have any money.

  It took us a little time to persuade him we weren’t thieves. It took less time to get him to accept a cup of hot chocolate. Very few shops had opened that morning, but the train station offered a place out of the cold.

  Thus began a long and fruitful business relationship with Simon Lund. Illiterate, burglar, petty thief, and small-time drug dealer, Simon held few illusions about life. He had fewer principles about introducing two underage boys to the ease of making money by selling sex and drugs.

  Chapter 45

  Keys to Lifelong Learning

  At our first meeting, we paid Simon fifteen kroner to buy me and Dimitri four explicit pornographic magazines. Although such materials were readily available in convenience stores, we fell below the legal age of fifteen to make our own purchases.

  Simon scoffed at that particular law. He stuffed an open-faced ham sandwich into his mouth, chewed, swallowed it down with hot chocolate. He set his cup aside and tapped the table with his index finger.

  “Where’s the harm in boys lookin’ at tits and cunts?” he asked, pocketing the half of his finder’s fee, prepaid at his insistence. “I will say, up front though, I don’t hold much with kiddie porn. So, I’d ’preciate it if you don’t ask me to buy you that filth.”

  “We’re not perverts,” I said. What if he was playing us?

  “Didn’t think you wuz, but just wanted to draw the line.”

  “What about breaking into someone’s house, Simon, giving them a scare?” Dimitri asked—always amazing me how he leaped to the conclusion I wanted.

  “Do the owners have firearms?”

  I laughed. “You’ve been watching American movies, have you?”

  “Okay, maybe your man-on-the-street uses a slingshot, but there are plenty of rich bastards who keep guns in their bedside table.”

  “Not in this hypothetical case.” My mother screamed like a harridan at my father for having a gun with children in the house.

  Simon scratched his head and frowned. “Hypo-what?”

  “Imaginary. Pretend,” Dimitri interjected. “We’re just shooting the breeze, Simon. Trying to figure out where you draw the line.”

  “Wherever my ass is on the line.” He peered over the rim of his cup at the two of us. “Living’s a bitch, but I don’t know no one who’s got good things to say about dying.”

  That wisdom ended the conversation. We finished the chocolate and left the train station. Simon offered no objections to our going with him to buy the magazines.

  “Long’s you stay outside, I don’t care. Not that I think a cop’s gonna bust me—’cuz I am old enough. I prefer raising no eyebrows no matter what I do. Let too many people know yer business, and you’ll regret it.”

  That particular advice echoed how I’d already decided to live the rest of my life. Eyes were everywhere. Watching to catch me out. Watching to notice my mistakes. Paranoia?

  Maybe. Or maybe I’d already figured out how to cover my ass.

  Chapter 46

  Eyes Are Everywhere

  Dimitri and I spent an hour penning our personal essays and most of three nights devouring the magazines Simon procured for us. Our porn appetites were insatiable, and Simon was amenable. Emma, plied with chocolates, remained unsuspecting.

  We returned from our suspension in good spirits. Stefan and Erik kept their distance. The flat-chested girls shrank away from us as if we’d descended from Attila the Hun.

  Dimitri and I didn’t give a damn. The first three days, as if released from prison, we raced to the train station where we met Simon and drank hot chocolate and talked about hypothetical home burglaries.

  On the fourth day, he said, “Don’t look now, but that copper’s more interested in us than I like. I’m leaving. Wait half an hour, then meet me in Vesterbro. Our favorite place.”

  We followed his instructions. On our way out, I glanced at the policeman. My pulse jumped. He and I had chatted after I complained about the photojournalist with his camera.

  A few feet from the main exit, I turned around.

  “Come on,” I said. “Follow my lead.”

  The policeman still stood where we’d passed him. I went up to him and said, “Excuse me, sir. Weren’t you the policeman who helped me about a month ago?”

  His blue eyes lit up. “Ja. Ja. I thought you looked familiar, but I didn’t recognize you with your two friends.”

  “Oh, Frederick’s a worker on our farm. He lives in Copenhagen now. He’s sort of lonely.” I pulled Dimitri forward. “This is my friend, Dimitri.”

  “We’ve known each other since we were babies,” Dimitri offered.

  Would the cop recall I’d said I had no friends? “He’s helped me a lot since my broth—”

  “Ja. Ja. I understan
d. You’re lucky to have such a good friend.”

  “We’re both lucky.” Dimitri smiled as if he was an innocent eleven-year-old kid.

  We waved good-bye. I turned at the corner. The policeman stood in the entrance to Hovedbanegård searching in all directions. My blood zinged with excitement. Mr. Stupid.

  “Tonight’s the night,” I said.

  “You could be pushing your luck.”

  “I don’t believe in luck. I believe in planning. Tonight’s the night.”

  Chapter 47

  Zeroing in on the Prey

  The special Royal Ballet performance provided perfect timing for Step One in my plan.

  My mother would attend, of course. She never missed an opportunity to appear in public with The Carp. I was counting on their appearance at the post-performance gala. Their pathetic need to hog the spotlight on such occasions ensured we’d have time to execute the plan.

  A hundred kroner to Simon would also help.

  Dimitri and I excused ourselves from dinner, asking Emma if we could eat dessert in our rooms. Exams were coming up, and we needed to study. Without interruption. We promised we’d wash our dishes when we took a break. A large box of truffles and caramels and marzipan sweetened our request. We did, however, wait until Emma finished the dishes before slipping out of the house.

  The night sky shone clear and brilliant with stars puncturing the darkness. Would my mother even notice? Or would she be too intent on riding The Carp’s dick?

  When we boarded the bus, the driver barely glanced at us. Inwardly, I laughed. No worries he’d remember us the next day.

  Simon met us at the house in Hellerup instead of at the bus stop. Lights blazed from inside, and a television flickered behind Nora’s curtained window. I had given Simon a layout of the entire house two days earlier. Surprisingly, when we quizzed him, he could close his eyes and walk through each room as if he lived there.