Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

again.
    The tent flap opened. Another beam, this one brighter than the last, found its way to Booter’s tape-wrapped head.
    He decided to wiggle a little, just to show them he was alive.
    “See?” said the redheaded boy. He was standing next to the flashlight-wielder, his eyes big as quarters, his jaw even slacker than before. “Maybe they’re holdin’ him captive, huh?”
    “Who?”
    “I dunno. The chem-frees or somebody.”
    The boy with the flashlight steadied the beam on Booter’s face, blinding him momentarily.
    The redhead added: “He could be really dangerous.”
    There was no reply from the other boy. He knelt and leaned forward slowly to examine Booter’s features.
    Booter blinked several times, then beheld the familiar face of a handsome half-breed child. When their eyes met, the boy made an expression like a clenched fist and leaned even closer. “Booter?” he said.
    Just as amazed, Booter uttered a grunt and nodded.
    The boy turned to his henchman. “It’s Booter,” he said.
    “Who?”
    “He’s married to Gangie. My mom’s mom.”
    “He’s your granddad?”
    “No, booger-brain. He’s married to my mom’s mom. That doesn’t make him my—”
    Groaning indignantly, Booter cut him off.
    “You better do somethin’,” said the redhead.
    Edgar tugged a piece of tape off Booter’s cheek. It stung like hell. He made a sound to say so.
    “Be careful,” said the redhead.
    Seizing another piece of tape, Edgar tugged more gently this time, until the whole sticky webbing, gag included, came away from his face. He gulped air and licked his parched lips.
    “You O.K.?” asked Edgar.
    He nodded, still filling his lungs. Then he said: “Where’s your mother?”
    “At her camp,” the boy replied.
    “Where’s that?”
    “Down by the river.”
    “Get her for me.”
    Edgar shook his head gravely.
    “Why not?”
    “It’s women-only space.”
    “What?” It was a madhouse, this place, pure and simple. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “I can’t go,” the boy said earnestly. “They won’t let me.”
    “Untie me, then. Help me, you little idiot! Don’t just stand there!”
    The redhead frowned and peered at Edgar for the final word. Edgar, in turn, gnawed on his fingernail and pondered. “Did you do something bad?” he asked.
    “No,” thundered Booter. “Of course not!”
    “We better go,” the redhead told Edgar. “Somebody’s gonna come back and—”
    “No,” Booter blurted. “Don’t go. Just untie my hands.”
    Wrinkling his brow again, Edgar began to pick ineffectually at the knot.
    “Hurry up,” said Booter.
    “I can’t. It won’t untie.”
    “Find a knife, then.”
    The redheaded accomplice tugged on Edgar’s sleeve. “I’m gettin’ outa here.”
    Edgar kept his eyes on Booter. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, how come they tied you up?”
    “I fell asleep in a canoe, Edgar. It drifted ashore. They tied me up because I’m a man.”
    The boy bit his lower lip.
    For emphasis, Booter added: “I swear.”
    Edgar studied his step-grandfather a moment longer, then grabbed the redhead’s arm as he tried to leave. “Philo,” he barked, “get Jackson and Berkowitz and the two Zacks. Tell ‘em I need ‘em here. On the double.”
    “Hey, Edgar, I’m not—”
    “On the double!”
    “Isn’t there a knife?” asked Booter.
    Edgar shook his head. “We’ll get you outa here. Don’t worry.”
    As the other boy scrambled into the night, Edgar squatted on his haunches next to Booter’s head. “You wanna sit up?” he asked.
    “Yes, son. Please.”
    The boy helped him into a sitting position, propping bedrolls behind his back. When he was done, he searched his blue quilted jacket until he found a chocolate bar. Breaking off a piece, he said: “Want some?”
    “Please,” said Booter, opening his mouth for the proffered chunk. Its dark sweetness tasted sacramental on his tongue. When it was gone, he said: “When will they be back?”
    “Not long. Few minutes.”
    “Those women could come back at any time.”
    “I know.” Edgar patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, O.K.?” He looked at Booter gravely, then plopped down next to him against the bedrolls. “Hey,” said the boy, brightening. “What’s blue and creamy?”
    Booter looked at him, utterly confused.
    “It’s a riddle,” said the boy. “Guess.”
    “Edgar, this is no time—”
    “C’mon,” urged Edgar. “What’s blue and creamy?”
    “I told you …