Free When Dad Came Back by Gary Soto Page A

the oven-like heat of the garage, sweat began to roll from his scalp.
    â€œDang,” Gabe muttered as he eyes became accustomed to the dark.
    Inside the garage were stacks and stacks of sodas, bottled water, canned foods, cereals, dog food, and fifty-pound bags of rice and pinto beans. Were they expecting a world famine? The garage was not nearly as large as a Costco warehouse, but it was loaded with a lot of what Gabe figured was stolen stuff. He laid out a theory: the Torres family intended to raise the puppy to guard their loot. And there was no telling what was stored inside the house. They could have stolen computers and plasma televisions stacked to the ceiling.
    Anything was possible.
    Frankie came into the garage, stepped over a case of SpaghettiOs and another case of Campbell's soup, and, ostrich-like, bent over to pick up a box of Rice-A-Roni. He tossed the box into the air and caught it.
    Frankie returned to the house.
    The heat within the garage had a smothering effect. Gabe reached down and tore open a case of bottled water. He took a bottle and drank down its warm contents, then poured some of the water on the back of his neck. He tiptoed over the stuff in the garage, stood at the door, and peered out onto the patio. Grateful for the fresh air, he wiped his face with the front of his T-shirt.
    The puppy was gnawing at his rope. He was no dummy. Even he had the instinct to escape. The pup, aware of Gabe in the door of the garage, stood up, tail wagging.
    Gabe made his move. He struggled to get the puppy's head out of the noose, becoming scared when the puppy whined and barked. Would the sound bring Frankie out the back door to see what was happening? He waited and listened. When he didn't hear footsteps, he continued working at the noose until the puppy's head finally slipped through.
    Gabe scampered away with the puppy in his arms.
    But home was a two-mile walk in the sun's glare, and it was more difficult than Gabe had imagined, as the puppy kept wriggling to get down from his arms. When Gabe put him on the ground, the puppy had to stop and sniff every leaf, candy wrapper, Popsicle sick, and crooked line of ants hauling goodies to their hole. Everything was exciting, even a splotch of gum pasted to the sidewalk.
    â€œCome on, let's go,” Gabe begged, when the dog began to lick a crushed soda can in the gutter. Gabe was so thirsty he was almost ready to push the pup away and lick the can himself.
    But Gabe had a reason to move on, and quickly. Two shirtless gangsters were staring at him from the porch of a nearby house. They were like vampires, unwilling to come out into the daylight. They would hang on the porch until the net of dusk began to shroud the neighborhood, and then they would saunter down the wooden stairs. Then, with their vampire eyes, they would scan the world for something to steal or someone to hurt with their fists. They would draw blood from a passerby and drink it down.
    Today they seemed eager to get the evening started.
    â€œCome here!” one of the vampires ordered. He had been killing time in a white plastic chair, and now he stood up. His pants hung low on his waist, revealing striped boxers. His ribs showed evidence of his workout of Marine sit-ups. The humps of chest muscle shone like trophies. His belly button, like the eye of a Cyclops, seemed to stare at Gabe, too.
    Gabe pretended not to hear. He hoisted a smile to his face, but there was nothing funny about the possibility of the vampires flying down the steps and going for his throat. He had been jammed up by guys like these before. It was la vida loca of gangsters who would search you for coins and dollar bills.
    â€œFool, I said, come here!” The vampire snapped his fingers, as if Gabe were a dog. His friend, who had also stood up, revealing a wobbly belly, chuckled.
    â€œMe?” Gabe asked, from the edge of their scraggly lawn.
    â€œYeah, you—fool!” the wobbly-bellied vampire scolded.
    Gabe