W Is for Wasted

two inhaled with such satisfaction, you’d have thought they’d just made love.
    “He tell you about the backpack?” she asked. She still sounded belligerent, but maybe that was her normal tone.
    “The gist of it. Why don’t you fill me in?”
    “Man, I was PO’d. I go up to that minimart for a pack of smokes? There stands one of those Boggarts with Terrence’s backpack.”
    “Boggarts?”
    She fixed me with a look of disbelief. “Bad fairies. Like Knockers, only worse. My Scottish granny used to tell me stories about Boggarts when she tucked me in at night. This lot has taken over a camp in the woods where they live like hooligans. They’ll steal anything that’s not nailed down.”
    “How do you know the backpack was Terrence’s?”
    “Because he’d wrote his name on the front with a waterproof marker pen. I saw it with my own eyes less than two hours ago. I followed the guy and watched him hang it on a tree branch like the bears might be after it. I intend to go up there and get it back. So what do you say?”
    “Why don’t you just leave well enough alone?”
    “Because it belongs to Terrence.”
    “But you can’t just go in there and
take
it.”
    “Why not? If they stole it from Terrence, why can’t I steal it back?”
    “What if they catch you?”
    “They won’t. They’re out panhandling at this hour. It’s like regular shift work—five to seven except they don’t punch a clock. Besides, there’s only three of ’em.”
    “And three of us,” Felix pointed out.
    Pearl ignored his observation. “First, we check to make sure they’re all at work. If Boggarts are busy, we go in, get the stuff, and take off. No big deal.”
    “If it’s that easy, what do you need me for?”
    “It’s not just the backpack. It’s his cookstove and all his books. Terrence loved his books. He kept them in this waterproof box so the weather wouldn’t get to them. Plus, he’s got two big bags packed with stuff. Me and Felix together can’t carry that much.”
    I nodded toward the shelter. “Aren’t you going to miss supper?”
    “Well, yeah, but that’s not the worst of it. We’re not back by seven the place is locked up and we got no place to sleep unless we have a good excuse, which we do in this case. Otherwise, they put us at the back of the line and we have to start all over waiting for a bed. Might take months.”
    “What’s your excuse?”
    “I told Ken at the desk Felix and me were going to church.”
    “Really. You said that? And he believed you?”
    “Naw, but he knew better than to call me a liar. I’ve punched the lights out of guys for less. Anyway, don’t worry about it. Place closes, we’ll go somewheres else.”
    “Pearl, be reasonable. You know what’s going to happen. The minute one of those bums sees you with the backpack, they’ll know you took it and they’ll come after you. And then what?”
    “‘Then what,’ who cares? They can’t complain when they stole it off Terrence in the first place. Robbing a dead guy? How cold is that? They sure as hell won’t be filing a police report. All I’m asking is you stand by with your car and help put the stuff in the trunk. Then we take off.”
    “Where is this place? Felix said it was over by the bird refuge.”
    “Up that nature trail. The path snakes back in there until it butts right up against the zoo. There’s a service road runs along the hill at the property line. We go in that way, from the backside.”
    “How do you know this?”
    “Everybody knows. Bums been camping there fifty years or more. Started as a hobo city during the Depression. Guys out of work hopped on trains and went clear across the country, riding the rails. They used to elect their own mayor and everything. Access road is their escape hatch, in case the cops bust in.”
    “How do you know there aren’t twenty guys up there?”
    “Because the Boggarts invaded the place and that’s how it is now. Everybody else took off. Nobody wants to mess with them three. They’re bad news,” she said.
    “What if they happen to be there?”
    “They won’t be. I just got done telling you. They’re busy manning the ramps at this hour because people are coming home from work, happy to pass out dollar bills to bums claiming their car’s broke down. Can’t they figure it out? There isn’t a
car
. Bums don’t have cars.”
    “I love your confidence,” I said.
    “Fine. You don’t believe me? We can check the off-ramps first to make sure