Free The Paper Cowboy by Kristin Levine Page B

hospital.”
    Mr. McKenzie nodded. “Shortly after Sam was injured, I was sent to a work camp.” He pulled back his left sleeve. Z 8914 was tattooed on his forearm.
    I’d heard of the prisoners in German concentration camps with numbers tattooed on their bodies. But I’d never met one.
    â€œThe
Z,
” he said quietly, “is for
Zigeuner.
That’s German for ‘Gypsy.’”
    He pulled his sleeve back down. “I should have died there, but my wife managed to bribe a guard and get me out. We had to go into hiding. There wasn’t enough food and my wife got very sick. She’s never been the same since.”
    â€œShe caught tuberculosis,” said Little Skinny. “TB. It’s why she’s going to die.”
    We both turned to look at him.
    Little Skinny’s face was still pale, but I noticed his eyes were brown with yellow flecks, like the muddy water of a stream where a cowboy pans for gold. His hair was the same shade of brown as mine, and he looked angry.
    â€œShe’s not going to die,” said Mr. McKenzie in a voice that was just a bit too bright and cheerful. It was the voice grown-ups always use when they’re telling a lie. “They have drugs to treat it now.”
    Little Skinny said nothing.
    Sometimes I didn’t like my mom, but I didn’t want her to die. I wondered if that was what happened when you spent a lot of time in the hospital. Was Mary Lou going to die too? Medicines didn’t always work. I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to tell Little Skinny I hoped his mom really would get better. But before I could find the words, Mr. McKenzie went on.
    â€œTommy, I may need you to speak to Officer Russo, to tell him you were the one who placed the newspaper here in the store.”
    â€œFine,” I said. “But please don’t tell my mom.”
    He thought about that for a long moment, long enough that I wondered what her reaction had been when she’d realized I was the one who had stolen the yo-yos. “It’s a deal,” he said finally.
    I let out a long breath, one I hadn’t even known I was holding.
    Mr. McKenzie told me not to move and went to make a phone call. He was only gone a minute, and when he came back, he made us sandwiches on heavy dark bread, with thick slabs of roast beef and rich spicy mustard. They were delicious. We ate the sandwiches in silence. I was just finishing the root beer he’d given me when there was a knock at the front door. Mr. McKenzie stood up to answer it.
    That had to be Officer Russo. I didn’t realize I’d have to confess today! The sandwich sat in my stomach like a stone. Mr. McKenzie returned a moment later with Officer Russo. He was the only police officer in Downers Grove and a friend of my father’s. His brown hair was just turning gray, and he’d gained some weight since I’d seen him last. He didn’t have his uniform on, but he still came in and sat down as if this were his interrogation room. Mr. McKenzie handed him a beer.
    â€œHear you’ve got a story to tell me, Tommy,” Officer Russo said.
    Believe you me, the last thing I wanted was to rehash what I’d done, but when a cowboy has a nasty horse to shoe, he just tries to get it over with as quickly as possible. So I started talking and when I was done telling him about finding and planting the paper, Officer Russo shook his head.
    â€œTommy, Tommy, Tommy. Where did you find this paper?” he asked.
    â€œOn the paper drive.”
    â€œSo we don’t know where it came from?”
    â€œNo,” I admitted. “But I didn’t throw the brick. Or paint the window. Really I didn’t!”
    â€œI believe you, Tommy,” said Mr. McKenzie.
    Officer Russo clucked his tongue. “This kind of nonsense takes time away from us pursuing real criminals, like the Rosenbergs. Or Alger Hiss.” He shook his head. “Your dad would be most