Free Kiki and Jacques by Susan Ross Page B

Duane’s grin hardened into a sneer as he pushed Jacques aside.
    Jacques shook his head. “You need to go! You have to leave
right now
.”
    â€œWe’ll be gone soon enough.” Duane motioned for Jacques and Monique to stay quiet. After checking that the dressing room was empty, he crept into the showroom and crouched by the front door.
    Jacques tried to follow Duane, but Garth’s good hand landed squarely on his shoulder. Jacques andMonique stood back with Garth, a few feet behind Duane. They could see through the display windows to the street.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Monique glanced sideways at Jacques’s flushed face.
    There was some kind of commotion outside. A policeman ran by with his radio flashing, and people were gathering in a circle on the sidewalk.
    Duane reached up and cracked the front door open. Suddenly, a muffled scream rose from the crowd: “Call an ambulance! He’s hurt bad!”
    Jacques could barely breathe; his heart was pounding
think! think! think!
Maybe he could bust out and yell for the police, but Garth’s fingers were deep in his shoulder, pressing to the bone. If only he had closed the shop early, turned Monique away . . . or warned poor Mr. Silverstein that Duane was planning something terrible.
    â€œDo you hear an ambulance?” Monique whispered. The sirens were faint at first, but getting louder.
    Duane took a stained envelope from the backpack and tossed it on the couch. “We’re outta here.” He grabbed Monique by the wrist.
    Garth smacked the side of Jacques’s head before slipping out the door. “You keep your trap shut, understand?”
    â€œLeave him alone!” Monique exclaimed as Duane pulled her into the road. Her face was pale and her blue eyes were fluttering, scared. They disappeared down Main Street, away from the crowd.
    As soon as they were gone, Jacques stuffed the envelope in his jeans and ran outside.
    A man was lying on the sidewalk, blood pooling beneath his head.
    Jacques cut through the huddle and fell to his knees beside Mr. Silverstein. His head was matted and swollen, but at least Jacques could see that he was breathing.
    Mr. Silverstein’s eyes opened slowly, watery and bloodshot. “Jacques . . . would you tell Jeannette that I’m sorry?” he whispered.
    â€œIt’s gonna be okay!” But Jacques had no idea how badly Mr. Silverstein was hurt and whether it would ever be all right.
    The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics jumped out. “Stand back! Give us room.”
    As Jacques rose, he noticed Mohamed in front of the Army Navy Store, shaking his head wildly. Two police officers were with him. A block away, from the direction of the library, Kiki was coming toward them. She was walking fast, her long skirt swinging. Then she broke into a dead run.
    Jacques felt someone behind him. He turned and swallowed hard when he saw Grandmère Jeannette’s stricken face.
    â€œYou go ahead home now. Lock the shop and go home.”
    â€œI don’t know what happened,” Jacques began. “I heard the sirens and . . .”
    â€œI’ve got to get to the hospital. You go back home to your father.” Grandmère Jeannette hurried to where theparamedics were preparing to load Mr. Silverstein into the ambulance. She bent forward and smoothed his lips with her fingertips.
    So there it was. Grandmère Jeannette and Mr. Silverstein.
    Jacques’s hands were shaking as he locked the door of the bridal shop. A police van pulled up, and he watched as Kiki and Mohamed climbed in.
    Jacques jammed the key in his pocket and ran as fast as he could toward home.

17
    â€œDad! Dad . . . ! Quick!” Jacques burst into the apartment yelling.
    Dad sat at the dining room table, holding a can of beer. A pile of bills lay scattered in front of him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    â€œMr. Silverstein was