Shaking his head, Ron answered, “I can’t. That kid might be dying.”

Dewey nodded. “I know . . . well, good luck, son.”

The old man stuffed handfuls of dried food into Ron’s ragged pockets and helped him down to the street. Ron waved to him from the corner, turned, and headed back downtown. He munched on dried piece of fruit as he started out.

It took the rest of that night and all the following day for Ron to get just halfway back to the Gramercy area. He had to be especially careful now because the pack he carried contained valuable property. If anyone saw him, they would kill him just for the chance to look inside the pack. And with the pack weighing him down, Ron couldn’t run or fight as well as before.

So he had to go slowly, very slowly, through the dirty, nearly empty streets. Whenever he saw someone or heard anything at all, he hid in an alley or doorway or basement. Most of the day he had to stay hidden. Twice he dozed off while he crouched in basements. Each time he snapped awake, feeling angry at himself and ashamed for being so weak.

He made better time after dark. Still, it was nearly dawn on the third day when he got back to the building where he’d left Sylvia and Davey.

But they weren’t in the upstairs room where he had left them.

Ron put his pack down on the floor. His shoulders and arms creaked in relief as he got rid of the weight. The room was empty. In the gray light of early morning, Ron searched the whole floor for them. They weren’t in any of the rooms.

She must have gone to look for food, Ron told himself. Maybe Davey’s feeling better and they both went to look for food.

But he didn’t really believe that.

Ron searched every floor of the building, starting at the top and working down, floor by floor, until he reached the basement. Nothing.

He climbed wearily back up the stairs to the main hallway on the street level.

“Hello dude.”

Dino and four Chelsea warriors were standing in the hallway waiting for him. Somehow, Ron wasn’t surprised. He almost expected it.

“Lookin’ for somebody?” Dino was smiling. A nasty, yellow-toothed smile.

“Where are they?” Ron asked flatly.

Dino laughed. “Where d’ya think? Sylvia came lookin’ fer me yesterday. Th’ kid was sick an’ they both was starvin’. So now she’s my girl.”

“I’ll bet she’s thrilled by that.”

“You betcha.”

Ron jerked a thumb toward the staircase. “I’ve got medicine for Davey. He—”

“He won’t need it. He’s dead.”

“What?” Ron felt the breath catch in his throat.

With a sour face, Dino said, “Damn’ little brat coughed his guts out all night. Died jes’ about an hour ago. One less mouth t’ feed.”

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Ron growled like an animal and leaped at Dino. He got a glimpse of Dino’s face, suddenly scared-looking, and felt the solid shock of their bodies smashing together and hitting the floor. They rolled and thrashed around, and then Ron was on top of Dino, pounding him with both fists.

“Murderer! Butcher!” Ron screamed. Dino’s mouth and nose were filled with blood. “Killer! Filthy goddamned killer!”

The other guys pulled Ron off Dino. He fought back, hitting, kicking, screaming at all of them like a cornered wild beast until they clubbed him to his knees and kicked him unconscious.

Ron came to slowly.

His head throbbed painfully. His body ached and felt stiff. He found that he was lying on the cold floor of a completely dark room. He couldn’t see anything at all. No window, no light. Only darkness.

He sat up, taking it easy, trying to see if anything was broken.

Not so bad, he said to himself. It hurt, but not as much as the first time Dino and his pals had worked him over.

He thought about that time for a moment. It was almost as though the past few months hadn’t really happened. Here he was again, stiff and sore from a beating by the same guys. Everything that had happened was like a dream. A bad dream. Al and Davey were dead. As if they had never lived. Nothing but memories now.

Sylvia. Ron frowned, then winced as a cut on his cheek pulled open. Sylvia. She never gave a damn about me at all. He almost laughed, but it hurt too much. Did she really love Al? Or did she do everything just to make sure Davey would get fed and protected? Maybe she went to Dino just to get help for Davey. Sure, that’s why she did it. I was gone for three days. She must have thought I wouldn’t come back. Maybe she thought I was dead. Dino would be the only one who could help her—and Davey.

But Ron heard his own voice whisper to him, “Then why is she staying with Dino now? Davey’s dead. She doesn’t need Dino’s help.”

He sat there, seeing her face in the darkness, hearing her voice, feeling her touch. He tried to hate her. “You never cared for me at all,” he said to her.

Then he thought of Dino, and he did hate. Dino had led the raid by the Chelsea gang. He knew all the strong points of the Gramercy headquarters. He knew Al’s defenses. Dino had planned the raid. He had triggered the trap. He had killed Al. And Davey too.

Dino was going to kill Ron now. Ron knew it. But he knew one thing more. He knew that he would kill Dino first. He didn’t know how he’d do it; he only knew he was going to kill Dino. He snarled like an animal, sitting there in his blackened cage. A few months in the City and Ron had turned into a hating, blood-thirsty animal, eager to kill.

Footsteps outside.

Ron scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain and stiffness in his body. He had to feel along the walls to find the door, it was that dark in his cell.

From outside he heard a muffled, “Hey, what—” And then scuffling sounds. A thud. A moan. Finally, the rattling of a key in the door’s lock.

Ron flattened himself against the wall, next to the door. When they come in here, I’ll jump them.

But they didn’t come in. The door opened outward and somebody flashed a light into the cell. Ron was blinded.

“Hey you! C’mon out, quick! B’fore somebody sees us.” It was an urgent whisper.

Ron staggered out of the cell, rubbing his eyes. Squinting in the light from a bare bulb in the ceiling, he found that he was in a hallway. Two guys were standing next to him: strangers. A third guy, one of Dino’s pals, was lying face-down on the floor, out cold.

“C’mon, dummy. Move! We’re tryin’ t’ getcha outta here,” one of the strangers whispered harshly.

Puzzled, Ron went with them. They led him down the hallway, into a tiny bathroom. They crawled through a window into an alley. Then they sprinted, all three together—Ron and the two strangers—down street after street, staying in the deepest shadows.

After a few blocks, Ron saw a car parked at a corner. The driver must have spotted them at the same moment, because the engine coughed to life.

“Okay, here it is,” one of the guys said, panting for breath, as they came up to the car. The rear door swung open and the two guys more-or-less pushed Ron inside.

“Okay,” said the driver in a deep, rumbling voice. He handed something to the two guys, who were still standing on the sidewalk beside the car. It looked like a plastic package of white powder.

“This better be the good stuff,” one of the guys muttered.

The driver laughed. “It’s real, baby. We don’t cheat.”