Free The Dog in the Freezer by Harry Mazer Page A

where he went to play ball every winter, and Jake wouldn’t know it.
    He would lie on his bed with these thoughts, his face in the pillow and his fists jammed in his stomach. It gave him a bellyache thinking about it. If it was really just his mother and him, were they even a family anymore?
    His friend Howie Silva lived six blocks away and went to a private school. He also had a paper route in Jake’s building that Jake was interested in. Howie said that when his family moved to Staten Island, Jake could have the route. Mornings when Howie was late delivering the papers he’d bang on Jake’s door and hand him a bunch of papers. “You get the bottom ten floors. I’ll get the top.”
    Jake liked being up early in the morning. It made him feel close to his father. When his father lived home he would get up early and run before the traffic and the fumes got so heavy you could die just from breathing.
    Howie’s family moved over spring vacation. Jake expected his friend to just hand him the route book. He knew the route cold. But Howie had to make a speech. He said he was offering Jake something valuable that he had built up from zilch through his own hard work andeffort and blah, blah, blah. Bottom line: He wasn’t giving it away for nothing. He wanted money for his route.
    Jake was taken aback. Howie knew he didn’t have money. That’s why he wanted the route, so he could have money of his own. Besides, they were friends. Had he ever asked Howie for money all the times he’d helped him? Not once. If the route had been his and he was moving, he would have given it to Howie in a second.
    â€œHand over the book,” he said. He was ready to grab the route book out of Howie’s hands. “As soon as the customers pay me, I’ll pay you.” Howie would have to be satisfied with that.

• TWO •
Raoul
    It was dark when Jake went out to pick up the papers. He had an old shopping cart Howie had left him. The streets were empty and quiet. Cars moved by silently. The cart creaked. Jake felt the reassuring bulk of the route book in his back pocket. It was still dark in Arizona, but he made believe his father was up now, too, and coming along with him to pick up the papers.
    A skinny man stood by a white panel truck on the corner of Twenty-third Street and Lexington, just where Howie had said he’d be. It was the first time Jake was picking up the papers. He didn’t know the man. “I’m here to get the papers,” Jake said.
    â€œWho are you?” The man was no taller than Jake. He wore a sweat suit with red piping and sneakers with a red stripe.
    â€œI’m taking over Howie Silva’s route.”
    â€œSays who?”
    â€œI bought it from him.”
    â€œWhaddaya mean you bought it from him?” The man’s hair was pasted down flat, and there were dark circles around his eyes. “I’m in charge.” The man thumped himself on the chest. “Raoul makes the decisions. Nobody else! Raoul’s the boss.”
    â€œHowie said I could have the route if I paid him.”
    â€œYou’re dumber than he is. You don’t pay somebody for a route. If you pay, you pay me. How much did you pay?”
    â€œNot much.” The lie caught in his throat. Did the man know he hadn’t paid Howie anything yet? “It doesn’t matter.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter?” Raoul said. “Money doesn’t matter? Is that what you said? What are you here for then?”
    â€œI didn’t mean it that way.”
    â€œGive me the book,” Raoul said.
    Jake’s heart sank as he handed it over. There went his paper route.
    Raoul opened the book, turned a page, thumbed through it. “How many papers do you take?” he said. “How many dailies?” It was like a quiz. “How many Sundays? How many papers on the seventh floor? How many on the fourth?”
    Jake answered all the questions