The Lost Boys Page 4

  She scooped the child up in her arms. Four teenagers entered the shop in front of her. They were dressed in kind of an odd style. One of them wore an old tux, another embroidered denim. Each one of their jackets was different from anything she’d seen teenagers around here wearing. Probably some sort of teenage fashion statement. She had other things to worry about right now.

  “C’mon,” she said to her small charge. “You’re not going to be lost anymore.” She followed the youths into the video store.

  The door buzzed as she opened it.

  A tall man with curly, dark hair and glasses turned from where he had been watching the teens. His frown turned into a smile as he saw Lucy walk in the store. It was quite a nice smile, open and friendly. There was a dog with him behind the counter, a dog that continued to growl at the youths browsing the racks. An attractive young black woman by the cash register pointedly ignored the four boys as they walked back and forth in front of her.

  Oh dear, Lucy thought. Looks like I’ve walked into the middle of a local crisis. Well, that couldn’t be helped. She had an upset child that needed to be taken care of. She walked up to the man at the counter.

  “This boy seems to be lost,” she began. She glanced around the store. Besides the youths, there were four other customers. “I thought maybe his parents might be in here?”

  “Well, let’s see,’’ the man behind the counter replied as he also looked around the store. He had a nice voice, Lucy thought, warm and deep, the kind of voice you immediately trusted.

  The door buzzed again. A woman in her early twenties rushed in and across the store.

  “Terry!” she called to the child. “Oh, thank God! I was so worried!”

  Terry held out his arms to his mother. Lucy dutifully handed the boy, now no longer crying, to the other woman.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” the woman began. Lucy replied that no thanks were necessary. The man behind the counter reached into a jar and handed Terry a lollipop. The mother backed out of the store, thanking them both again.

  “How about you?” the man asked Lucy. She looked at him and realized he was holding another lollipop out for her.

  “No thanks.” She smiled and shook her head.

  The teenagers walked past them. The man’s smile was gone. He spoke to the blond boy in the lead.

  “I told you not to come in here anymore.”

  The blond boy only smiled. He led his followers from the store.

  The man behind the counter nodded after them as they left. “Wild kids.”

  Lucy looked out the window as the four boys climbed on their motorcycles and revved their engines. They peeled out one by one, off the pier and onto the beach road.

  “Oh,” she said to the counterman, “they’re just young. We were that age, too, once. Only they dress better than we ever did.”

  “A generous nature,” the man replied with a laugh. “I like that in a person. My name is Max.” He pointed to his dog, much quieter now that the teenagers were gone. “This is Thom.”

  “Lucy,” she replied with a smile.

  Max grinned back. “So what can I help you find tonight, Lucy? We’ve got it all. The best selection in Santa Curia.”

  Lucy glanced around at the store, really taking it all in lor the first time. There were a dozen TV screens behind Max, all showing different programs: rock singers in tight pants, Bugs Bunny outwitting Yosemite Sam, John Wayne with six-gun in hand, an old black-and-white film with an overweight corpse rising from a grave. Rock music blared from speakers overhead; as far as Lucy could figure out, it didn’t go with any of the programs on the screens. It was nil a bit overwhelming.

  She looked back at Max. He was still smiling. Should she tell him? She paused a second, then decided, Why not? She doubted she’d find anybody friendlier around here.

  “I’m not looking for a tape,” she began. “What I really need is—”

  “A job.” Max finished the sentence for her.

  “Do I look that needy?” Lucy felt her cheeks flush.

  Max shook his head and laughed. “I just have ways of knowing these things. It comes from living in a resort town for too long.” He walked down to the end of the counter and pulled out a couple of straight-backed chairs. “Why don’t we talk about it?”

  Lucy decided there could be worse things to do on a summer evening than talking with a handsome man about the possibilities of employment. And there was also something about him—it showed in the way he moved and talked—something that said he had been through it all, just like Lucy, and had somehow come through it to find himself, happy and alive, on the other side.

  Whoa, Lucy! she told herself. There she went again, elaborating on first impressions, for God’s sake. But Max seemed so different from her nervous, success-starved husband.

  Ex-husband, she reminded herself. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to talk.

  Max waved her to a chair. She nodded pleasantly to him and sat.

  Things seemed to happen fast in Santa Carla.

  Seven

  Sam had had just about enough of older brothers. First Michael had gotten the room that Sam had had first dibs on. But that wasn’t bad enough. Oh, no. Now his older brother was going to drag him all over Santa Carla and never tell him why.

  Sam caught up with his brother, who had just run them both halfway down the length of the Boardwalk. “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere.” Michael didn’t even look at him.

  “Then what’s our rush?” Sam tried to run a step ahead so his brother would have to acknowledge his existence. “You’re chasing after that girl! Why don’t you admit it? I’m at the mercy of your sex glands!”

  Michael stopped dead. He looked at his brother at last, and the look wasn’t particularly friendly.

  “Don’t you have something better to do with your time than follow me around all night?”

  He wondered if he should remind Michael that they promised their mother they would stay together. Sam was sure his mother forced this promise out of them more for his benefit than his brother’s. But it was getting pretty obvious that right now Michael didn’t want a younger brother around.

  So whose orders was he going to follow, Michael’s or their mother’s? Sam glanced at the storefronts behind them, killing time until he could figure out what to do.

  Behind him was a store window full of comic books.

  Even better, the sign on the window read frog's comics. That meant the whole store was full of them.

  Maybe, Sam thought, there was something worthwhile in Santa Carla, after all.

  He turned back to his brother. Heck, Michael could take care of himself. So could Sam, with a comic-book store around.

  “As a matter of fact, I do have something better,” Sam replied. Michael nodded absently, obviously glad to be free of his burden, and hurried on down the Boardwalk.

  Sam turned and entered the promised land.

  The first thing that hit him were the colors. There were comic books everywhere. They hung from the ceiling, they were tacked to the walls, they were crammed into a dozen long bins. What light there was—Sam could see a few dim bulbs overhead—shone off the plastic bags that held a thousand different comic treasures. Their garish covers beckoned him inside; the overmuscled men in red and blue held Sam in a trance as he walked down the center aisle.

  The second thing that hit him was the smell, a certain musty odor that only came from huge quantities of decaying paper—the cheap paper that comics were always printed on—mixed in with dust and human sweat. Sam breathed deeply. This was the stuff of life. This dim, crowded, and grimy place was a real comic-book store.

  The third thing he noticed was that he was being watched. He got that creepy feeling on the back of his neck, like a pair of eyes were staring at his spine. A kid, close to his age, dressed like he had stepped out of a Rambo film, had glowered at him as he passed. Sam thought it might be better not to turn around and look at him again.

  But what was he worried about? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. No one had even talked to him, much less done anything threatening. It was just nerves, he told himself. Just going into a new place. Come to think of it, this dark little store was a little creepy. Every comer of rvery surface was covered; comics and magazines hung down from the rafters. There was no empty space anywhere, just all these comics closing in on every side.

  Nerves, Sam told himself again. He decided to look through one of the racks that lined the far wall. Maybe it would be a little more open over there.

  He passed another kid in khaki fatigues. This time, he was sure the guy’s eyes were following him.

  What was going on here? He turned down another aisle imd headed slowly past more rows of comics, casually heading toward the door. Ahead of him he could see a counter with an ancient cash register. A couple, close to his mother’s age, leaned against the back wall. Their resemblance to his mother ended with age. Besides that, they looked like they had stepped off the cover of an old Mamas and Papas album, long hair, faded clothes and all. Since Sam and his family had gotten into town this afternoon he had seen maybe a dozen other people who looked the same way. There seemed to be a lot of old hippies in Santa Carla.

  The older people didn’t pay any attention to Sam at all. They stared, hypnotized by the program on a small TV. Sam glanced at the screen. A woman had just screamed. Christopher Lee was getting impaled by a bush. Sam nodded his head sagely. That meant it was Scars of Dracula.

  When he looked back to the aisle, he saw one of the khaki pair quickly moving toward him. He heard footsteps behind him too. The two of them were closing in.

  “Ah—” Sam swallowed. “Got a problem, guys?”

  The two of them stopped close by his sides. Sam leaned against the bin behind him and tried to smile casually.

  The one who had come from the direction of the counter nodded at him. “Just scoping your civilian wardrobe.”

  “Oh.” Sam glanced at his clothes. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Yeah,” the other half of the pair replied, ‘“for a ‘fashion victim.’ ”

  “If you’re looking for the diet frozen yogurt bar,” the first one added, “it went out of business last summer.” i So this was it. His first real challenge in Santa Carla. Sam had to cool these guys out fast.

  “Actually,” he admitted, the slightest touch of boredom in his voice, “I was looking for a particular Batman, j Series E, Volume 26, Issue 14?”

  The two commandos looked at each other.

  “That’s a very serious book, man,” the first one said. “Very serious,” the other agreed. “Only five in existence.”

  “Four, actually,” Sam replied with the slightest hint of a smile. “And I’m always on the lookout for the other three.”

  The fatigue twins both stared at him, their mouths opened in awe. Sam had them now! He had to be careful not to break into a big grin. If he played this right, he could become a legend around here before the summer was through.

  “Now, you look at these bins!” Sam turned around and flipped rapidly through the comics. “You can’t put a Superman #77 in with the #200s! ’ ’ He looked up at the two others, who hovered just past his shoulders. He waved the #77 in the first one’s face. “They haven’t even discovered Red Kryptonite yet!” He went back to the bins. “Or this #98 in with the #300s. I mean, Lori Lemaris the Mermaid hasn’t even been introduced!”

  The first commando leaned even farther forward. “Where j the hell are you from, Krypton?”

  “Phoenix, actually,” Sam replied. “But, lucky me, we’ve moved to this cultural metropolis. And since there is obviously nothing to do here except work on my superior comic-book collection, you’ll probably be seeing a lot of me. Lucky you.”

  The two soldiers stepped back to look at each other. Sum took a moment to get his first really good look at the two of them. They looked like brothers, both with short •lurk hair cropped so close to their heads that it barely showed beyond their green berets. Their bodies were compile! and muscular, as if they had both gone through a lot Hi basic training. Sam decided that if he had a choice, he’d Just as soon have the pair of them on his side.

  The two nodded once at each other, a single shake of Ihc head with no wasted motion. The first one turned his emotionless face to regard Sam.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m Edgar.” He pointed to the other boy. “This is Alan. We’re the Frog Brothers.”

  Sam smiled and introduced himself. The Frog Brothers stared at him impassively.

  “Here,” Edgar said after a moment. “Take this.” He held a comic in his hand.

  What was this, a token of friendship? Sam accepted the frogs’ offering. The two continued to stare at him.

  “Is it free?” Sam asked.

  “Free?” Edgar replied. He shook his head. “This is Santa Carla, not Santa Claus.”

  Alan stuck his palm in front of Sam’s nose.

  “Buck and a quarter,” he added.

  Sam looked at the comic in his hand. It was one of those horror books from the early fifties, before they had a comics code. It wasn’t an EC or some other major book, either; Sam had never even heard of the title, lurid red letters on a gray background: Vampires Everywhere.

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t like horror comics.” He held the comic book out to give it back to the Frogs.

  Edgar didn’t make any move to take the comic back. “You’ll like this one, Sam from Phoenix.”

  He paused as the front door opened. An older teenager with a shaved head walked inside.

  Edgar looked straight into Sam’s eyes.

  “This comic could save your life.”

  Shaved Head reached quickly across one of the bins and ripped a pair of comics from the wall, thumbtacks and all.

  “Hey!” Edgar and Alan yelled as one. “Surf Nazis!”

  Shaved Head laughed and ran from the shop. The Frog Brothers took off after him.

  The older man behind the counter, who Sam guessed was Mr. Frog, looked up from his TV. He blinked, confused, as if what had just happened in the store was an outtake from some movie he had just wandered into. He raised a finger indecisively, then, after a moment, pointed it in the general direction of the door.

  “Hey,” he repeated, then turned back to his real movie.

  Sam decided he had had enough of this place for now. He quickly bought the comic book and left. There were some things he had to think about. Why had the Frogs given him this particular comic? And what about that guy who had swiped the books? Edgar and Alan had called him a Surf Nazi. Surf Nazis? What kind of a town was this, anyway?

  Eight

  “Hey!” Michael yelled as the overmuscled jerk in the Surf Nazis jacket shoved his way past him. The jerk paid no attention but ran on ahead, quickly passing the pair Michael was following.

  Michael had found the girl and younger boy right after he had gotten rid of Sam. He had turned the comer just beyond the comic shop, and there they were, less than a block away.

  Two thoughts jumped into Michael’s head the moment he saw her. One was that she looked even more beautiful than when he had first seen her in the crowd. Her bare shoulders and white vest were bright under the streetlights. She glided along the street with the kid by her side, pausing to look in a store window here, talking and laughing with the boy a second later, her every movement silhouetted against the night.

  Michael’s second thought was that he didn’t have the slightest idea what he could say to her. He had been so afraid that he might lose her that he had run after her the minute she had left the crowd. He had searched the Boardwalk in a panic, afraid that if he didn’t find her at once, she would be gone forever.

  Now, suddenly, here she was.

  Michael didn’t know what to do next. He started to follow them, walking slowly, glancing in store windows himself, as if he were doing nothing but taking an evening walk. He didn’t want to get too close to them just yet, not until he had come up with something to say. But he didn’t want to lose her again, either. So he walked, hoping for that something, the right thing, a word, a sentence, a smile that would make her laugh the way she had back in front of the rock band, something that would make her see him the way he looked at her. Something just had to come to him!

  Two others ran past him, younger than the Surf Nazi, both dressed in what looked like some sort of army-surplus camouflage gear. Michael looked ahead and stopped walking.

  She was looking back at him over her shoulder. She paused as the two kids ran past her, then turned to face Michael.

  “Are you following me?” she asked. Her voice was clear and high and beautiful.

  “Well, I—” Michael began. What could he say?

  She took a step toward him. “Did you want to talk to me?”

  “Well—” Michael could feel his cheeks flushing. Don’t be an idiot! he told himself. He had to say something! “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Okay,” she replied. “Talk.”

  “I just wanted to . . His voice died as if he had no more breath in his lungs. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I, uh—”

  “Hey, Michael!” Feet ran up the street behind him. It was Sam. “Mom’s here!”

  His brother clattered to a halt a few feet in front of Michael. Sam was waving a comic book around in his hand. Michael looked over his brother’s head at the girl.

  She laughed and grabbed the hand of the young boy. “Nice talking to you!”

  “Wait!” Michael called, but they were already out of sight around a comer.

  He wasn’t going to lose her now! He dodged by Sam at

  He stopped when he reached the comer.

  The girl and the small fry had turned to look at him. And they were surrounded by others, all of them on motorcycles, real machines, the kind Michael dreamed about. All he had, really, was a glorified motorbike. These were real choppers, stripped down, customized jobs that could really move.

  There were four bikes, and each one had a rider, guys close to Michael’s age, at most a year or two older. Three of them wore dark coats; the blond guy’s coat was so big, it sort of looked like a cloak. The other one’s jacket was embroidered denim. Their hair was longer than Michael was used to seeing, but they weren’t scruffy like the middle-aged hippies or weird like the Surf Nazis. They all looked like they knew what they wanted. They looked more together than any teenagers Michael had ever seen.