Free The Sixteen Burdens by David Khalaf Page A

off to tell the police, not until he could confirm it himself.
    “Well?” she said. “How are we supposed to work as a team if you don’t tell me?”
    “We ain’t a team,” Gray said. “I work on my own.”
    She crossed her arms.
    “Driver, pull this car over right now.”
    “We’ll lose them!” Gray said. “Driver, keep going.”
    The driver glowered at them in his rear-view mirror. He pulled over into the slow lane. They began to lose Pickford’s car in the traffic.
    “I obey whoever’s paying.”
    “I am!” Gray said. He reached into his pocket but came out with only pennies.
    The young woman removed a crumpled dollar from her coin purse. She handed it to the driver.
    “Now,” she said to Gray, “Are we stopping, or are we working as a team?”
    “Come on, dollface,” he pleaded.
    She crossed her arms. Gray had no choice; he’d have to let her tag along.
    “We’re going to the circus,” he said.
    She smiled.
    “There, that wasn’t so hard. And don’t call me dollface.”
    Gray pulled his fedora over his eyes and pretended to nap.
    “I’m Elsie,” she said.
    She cleared her throat. Gray tipped his hat up to see her holding out her hand.
    “Gray,” he said without taking it.
    “Oh, you’re Gray ,” Elsie said, folding her hands back in her lap. “Mrs. Pickford was right. You are rough around the edges.”

 
     
     
     
    C HAPTER T EN
     
    P ANCHITO AWOKE TO paramedics lifting him onto a stretcher. His head was throbbing and his vision was blurry. When he tried to sit up, someone guided him back down.
    “Don’t move, Parcheesi,” Farrell said. “They’re going to take you to the hospital.”
    Panchito forced his head up.
    “Where’s Gray Studebaker?”
    Farrell’s lips pressed into a pruney little oval. The big baby looked as if he were on the verge of tears.
    “He’s gone.”
    The paramedics were carrying Panchito through the dormitory, out through the hall. The foyer was lined with crippled boys on both sides, excitedly watching the procession of medics and the injured. The First Inaugural Polio Parade.
    “What do you recall?” Farrell asked, following behind the stretcher. “You remember that I wasn’t there, don’t you? I was in the dining hall, taking care of the other boys as is my duty. I had nothing to do with this.”
    Panchito remembered going into the dormitory, finding two little men rummaging through Gray’s things. They were looking for something. He shouted at them, told them to stop. That’s when a third scoundrel appeared and hit him on the back of head. The coward.
    “Those men,” Panchito said. “Where are they?”
    “Those odious dwarves?” Farrell said. “They’re tied up in the printing room. The police will be here any moment to arrest them.”
    “The police!”
    Panchito tried to sit up, but Farrell forced him back down.
    “I’ll have them restrain you if you don’t sit still.”
    Panchito swiped Farrell’s hand away and rolled himself off the stretcher. He fell to the floor, breaking his fall with his belly more than his hands. The paramedics set down the stretcher to lift him back on.
    “Stop struggling,” Farrell said. “I doubt you’ll get very far without your wheelchair.”
    “I won’t hold your doubt against you,” Panchito said. “I’m used to being underestimated.”
    Panchito jumped to his feet. The other boys gasped. Farrell grabbed him by the arm.
    “Who are you?”
    Panchito puffed out his chest.
    “I am José Doroteo Arango Alameda, son of José Doroteo Arango Arámbula—revolutionary and hero of the Mexican people! Cuidado !”
    He pushed Farrell aside and jumped over the stretcher, parting the sea of boys. It felt good to move his legs after two days of pretending to be bound to a wheelchair. Everyone watched as he escaped, but they were too stunned to follow.
    He ran for the workshop. Mary Pickford would be furious if the police got involved. She had ordered Panchito to keep an eye on Gray for the past