CHAPTER FOUR
Jimmy discovered that he was admirably suited to the business ofspotting. The "job turnover" was high because the spotter must be youngenough to be allowed the freedom of the preschool age, yet be matureenough to follow orders.
The job consisted of meandering through the streets of the city, inthe aimless patterns of youth, while keeping an eye open for parkedautomobiles with the ignition keys still in their locks.
Only a very young child can go whooping through the streets bumpingpedestrians, running wildly, or walking from car to car twiggling eachdoor handle and peering inside as if he were imitating a door-to-doorsalesman, occasionally making a minor excursion in one shop door and outthe other.
He takes little risk. He merely spots the target. He reports that thereis such-and-such a car parked so-and-so, after which he goes on to spotthe next target. The rest of the business is up to the men who do theactual stealing.
Jimmy's job-training program took only one morning. That same afternoonhe went to work for Jake's crew.
Jake's experience with kids had been no more than so-so promising. Heused them because they were better than nothing. He did not expect themto stay long; they were gobbled up by the rules of compulsory educationjust about the age when they could be counted upon to follow orders.
He felt about the same with Jimmy Holden; the "missing person" reportstated that one of the most prominent factors in the lad's positiveidentification was his high quality of speech and his superiorintelligence. (This far Paul Brennan had to go, and he had divulgedthe information with great reluctance.)
But though Jake needed a preschool child with intelligence, he did notrealize the height of Jimmy Holden's.
It was obvious to Jimmy on the second day that Jake's crew was not takingadvantage of every car spotted. One of them had been a "natural" toJimmy's way of thinking. He asked Jake about it: "Why didn't you take thesea-green Ford in front of the corner store?"
"Too risky."
"Risky?"
Jake nodded. "Spotting isn't risky, Jimmy. But picking the car up is.There is a very dangerous time when the driver is a sitting duck. Fromthe moment he opens the car door he is in danger. Sitting in the chanceof getting caught, he must start the car, move it out of the parkingspace into traffic, and get under way and gone before he is safe."
"But the sea-green Ford was sitting there with its engine running!"
"Meaning," nodded Jake, "that the driver pulled in and made a fast dashinto the store for a newspaper or a pack of cigarettes."
"I understand. Your man could get caught. Or," added Jimmy thoughtfully,"the owner might even take his car away before we got there."
Jake nodded. This one was going to make it easy for him.
As the days wore on, Jimmy became more selective. He saw no point inreporting a car that wasn't going to be used. An easy mark wedged betweentwo other cars couldn't be removed with ease. A car parked in front of aparking meter with a red flag was dangerous, it meant that the time wasup and the driver should be getting nervous about it. A man who cameshopping along the street to find a meter with some time left by theformer driver was obviously looking for a quick-stop place--whereas theman who fed the meter to its limit was a much better bet.
Jake, thankful for what Fate had brought him, now added refinements ofeducation. Cars parked in front of supermarkets weren't safe; the ownermight be standing just inside the big plate glass window. The car parkedhurriedly just before the opening of business was likely to be a good betbecause people are careless about details when they are hurrying to punchthe old time clock.
Jake even closed down his operations during the calculated dangerperiods, but he made sure to tell Jimmy Holden why.
From school-closing to dinnertime Jimmy was allowed to do as he pleased.He found it hard to enjoy playing with his contemporaries, and Jake'sexplanation about dangerous times warned Jimmy against joining Moe andhis little crew of thieves. Jimmy would have enjoyed helping in thestripping yard, but he had not the heft for it. They gave him littlemessy jobs to do that grimed his hands and made Jake's stern rule ofcleanliness hard to achieve. Jimmy found it easier to avoid such jobsthan to scrub his skin raw.
One activity he found to his ability was the cooking business.
Jake was a stew-man, a soup-man, a slum-gullion man. The fellows whoroamed in and out of Jake's Place dipped their plate of slum from thepot and their chunk of bread from the loaf and talked all through thisnever-started and never-ended lunch. With the delicacy of his "inside"life, Jake knew the value of herbs and spices and he was a hardtaskmaster. But inevitably, Jimmy learned the routine of brewing a bucketof slum that suited Jake's taste, after which Jimmy was now and thenpermitted to take on the more demanding job of cooking the steaks andchops that made their final evening meal.
Jimmy applied himself well, for the knowledge was going to be handy. Moreimportant, it kept him from the jobs that grimed his hands.
He sought other pursuits, but Jake had never had a resident spotterbefore and the play-facilities provided were few. Jimmy took toreading--necessarily, the books that Jake read, that is, approximatelyequal parts of science fiction and girlie-girlie books. The sciencefiction he enjoyed; but he was not able to understand why he wasn'tinterested in the girlie books. So Jimmy read. Jake even went out of hisway to find more science fiction for the lad.
Ultimately, Jimmy located a potential source of pleasure.
He spotted a car with a portable typewriter on the back seat. The car waslocked and therefore no target, but it stirred his fancy. Thereafter headded a contingent requirement to his spotting. A car with a typewriterwas more desirable than one without.
Jimmy went on to further astound Jake by making a list of what thecustomers were buying. After that he concentrated on spotting those carsthat would provide the fastest sale for their parts.
It was only a matter of time; Jimmy spotted a car with a portabletypewriter. It was not as safe a take as his others, but he reported it.Jake's driver picked it up and got it out in a squeak; the car itselfturned up to be no great find.
Jimmy claimed the typewriter at once.
Jake objected: "No dice, Jimmy."
"I want it, Jake."
"Look, kid, I can sell it for twenty."
"But I want it."
Jake eyed Jimmy thoughtfully, and he saw two things. One was athousand-dollar reward standing before him. The other was a row of prisonbars.
Jake could only collect one and avoid the other by being very sure thatJimmy Holden remained grateful to Jake for Jake's shelter and protection.
He laughed roughly. "All right, Jimmy," he said. "You lift it and you canhave it."
Jimmy struggled with the typewriter, and succeeded only because it was anew one made of the titanium-magnesium-aluminum alloys. It hung betweenhis little knees, almost--but not quite--touching the ground.
"You have it," said Jake. He lifted it lightly and carried it into theboy's little bedroom.
Jimmy started after dinner. He picked out the letters with the samepainful search he'd used in typing his getaway letter. He made thesame mistakes he'd made before. It had taken him almost an hour andnearly fifty sheets of paper to compose that first note without anerror; that was no way to run a railroad; now Jimmy was determinedto learn the proper operation of this machine. But finally the jaggedtack-tack--pause--tack-tack got on Jake's nerves.
Jake came in angrily. "You're wasting paper," he snapped. He eyed Jimmythoughtfully. "How come with your education you don't know how to type?"
"My father wouldn't let me."
"Seems your father wouldn't let you do anything."
"He said that I couldn't learn until I was old enough to learn properly.He said I must not get into the habit of using the hunt-and-peck system,or I'd never get out of it."
"So what are you doing now?"
"My father is dead."
"And anything he said before doesn't count any more?"
"He promised me that he'd start
teaching me as soon as my hands were bigenough," said Jimmy soberly. "But he isn't here any more. So I've got tolearn my own way."
Jake reflected. Jimmy was a superior spotter. He was also a potentialdanger; the other kids played it as a game and didn't really realize whatthey were doing. This one knew precisely what he was doing, knew that itwas wrong, and had the lucidity of speech to explain in full detail. Itwas a good idea to keep him content.
"If you'll stop that tap-tapping for tonight," promised Jake, "I'll getyou a book tomorrow. Is it a deal?"
"You will?"
"I will if you'll follow it."
"Sure thing."
"And," said Jake, pushing his advantage, "you'll do it with the doorclosed so's I can hear this TV set."
"Yes sir."
Jake kept his word.
On the following afternoon, not only was Jimmy presented with one of thestandard learn-it-yourself books on touch-typing, but Jake also contriveda sturdy desk out of one old packing case and a miniature chair out ofanother. Both articles of home-brewed furniture Jake insisted upon havingpainted before he permitted them inside his odd dwelling, and thatdelayed Jimmy one more day.
But it was only one more day; and then a new era of experience began forJimmy.
It would be nice to report that he went at it with determination,self-discipline, and system, following instructions to the letter andemerging a first-rate typist.
Sorry. Jimmy hated every minute of it. He galled at the pages and pagesof _juj juj juj frf frf frf_. He cried with frustration because he couldnot perform the simple exercise to perfection. He skipped through thebook so close to complete failure that he hurled it across the room, andcried in anger because he had not the strength to throw the typewriterafter it. Throw the machine? He had not the strength in his pinky topress the carriage-shift key!
Part of his difficulty was the size of his hands, of course. But most ofhis trouble lay deep-seated in his recollection of his parents' fabulousmachine. It would have made a typist of him in a single half-hoursession, or so he thought.
He had yet to learn about the vast gulf that lies between theory andpractice.
It took Jimmy several weeks of aimless fiddling before he realized thatthere was no easy short-cut. Then he went back to the _juj juj juj frffrf frf_ routine and hated it just as much, but went on.
He invented a kind of home-study "hooky" to break the monotony. He wouldrun off a couple of pages of regular exercise, and then turn back to thehunt-and-peck system of typing to work on a story. He took a furtive gleein this; he felt that he was getting away with something. In mid-July,Jake caught him at it.
"What's going on?" demanded Jake, waving the pages of manuscript copy.
"Typing," said Jimmy.
Jake picked up the typing guidebook and waved it under Jimmy's nose."Show me where it says you gotta type anything like, 'Captain Brandonstruggled against his chains when he heard Lady Hamilton scream. Thepirate's evil laugh rang through the ship. "Curse you--"'"
Jake snorted.
"But--" said Jimmy faintly.
"But nothing!" snapped Jake. "Stop the drivel and learn that thing! Youthink I let you keep the machine just to play games? We gotta find a wayto make it pay off. Learn it good!"
He stamped out, taking the manuscript with him. From that moment on,Jimmy's furtive career as an author went on only when Jake was either outfor the evening or entertaining. In any case, he did not bother Jimmyfurther, evidently content to wait until Jimmy had "learned it good"before putting this new accomplishment to use. Nor did Jimmy bother him.It was a satisfactory arrangement for the time being. Jimmy hid his"work" under a pile of raw paper and completed it in late August. Then,with the brash assurance of youth, he packed and mailed his firstfinished manuscript to the editor of _Boy's Magazine_.
His typing progressed more satisfactorily than he realized, even thoughhe was still running off page after page of repetitious exercise,leavened now and then by a page of idiotic sentences the letters ofwhich were restricted to the center of the typewriter keyboard. Thepractice, even the hunt-and-peck relaxation from discipline, exercisedthe small muscles. Increased strength brought increased accuracy.
September rolled in, the streets emptied of school-aged children and theout-of-state car licenses diminished to a trickle. With the end of thecarefree vacation days went the careless motorist.
Jake, whose motives were no more altruistic than his intentions werelegal, began to look for a means of disposing of Jimmy Holden at thegreatest profit to himself. Jake stalled only because he hoped that thereward might be stepped up.
But it was Jimmy's own operations that closed this chapter of his life.