Badass and the Beast

FOLLOW THE FOX

Mikel Andrews

Her name was Landry, and I’d first seen her at Mama Louisa’s, one of those little hole-in-the-wall diners, with a bell above the door and a sign in the window that said Regulars Welcome. It was a polite way of saying Scrappers Unwelcome.

As if that needed saying.

I’d been frequenting Mama Louisa’s a lot—or rather, the street corner outside—busking with the taped-up mess I called a guitar. Mama Louisa herself, an older lady whose real name was Lois, sometimes let me play inside during the most unforgiving days of winter. I wasn’t drawing any crowds, but I think the Mama part of Lois couldn’t stand seeing a girl my age shivering in the street. Tips weren’t better indoors, but it was nice to actually feel the strings for a change.

But this isn’t about me, it’s about her.

I was taking five with a cup of hot broth—my usual pay grade—when Landry walked through the door. I didn’t know her name at the time. For the moment, she was just a strikingly beautiful girl in an oversized jacket, ragged and dirty, like moth wings. Her dark eyes flashed, shutters capturing everything in an instant. She blew a few loose strands of cocoa hair from her faded porcelain face.

Can I help you? Lois asked from behind the register.

Maybe, the young woman replied. Have any scraps?

Lois’s face grew stern, her fists balled at her hips. I swear, you people get more gutsy by the day. There used to be a subtleness to begging, and now—

It’s not for me! I’m—I’m fine. The young woman’s hand went to her stomach, nearly a grimace. It’s for the fox.

My eyes traveled to the big bay window. In the lower corner, snowy paws glued to the glass, was a beautiful sterling-furred fox, a Soviet Greyhair. Not the sleek, streamlined red variety that had become so popular with the city’s elite, Greyhairs were more stout, pudgy. The one in the window was no exception. He looked pretty well-fed to me.

But those eyes, watery amber stones that grew bigger by the second, set in a band of charcoal fur—my heart was a puddle. Even Lois’s frown wilted.

He’s been tagging along for a couple days, and I can’t seem to shake him. Landry laughed. Couldn’t hunt down a dead rat if he tried. Must’ve been an inside fox.

Lois let go a disgusted groan. Those high-rise yuppies. Can’t be captains of industry without their exotic pets, can they?

No, ma’am, Landry replied, mirroring her annoyance. I don’t think he knows how cold it’s about to get.

Lois’s shoulders drooped a little. Let me see what I have in back. Might be a few minutes.

Thank you so much, ma’am, Landry gushed. Anything you could scrape up would be amazing.

Before she left, Lois tried to be subtle about locking the cash drawer with a key tied to her apron. When she was gone, I went back to my broth, but it suddenly seemed less appetizing with the fox’s desperate, pink tongue flicking in and out.

All the while I kept a sliver of my vision on Landry.

Her eyes found some baked goods under glass, the carnival posters on the wall—the cash register—the grumbling percolator, the napkin holders—the cash register again—and finally landed on me.

Are you in a band? she asked, staring at my open guitar case. It was mostly empty, save for a few coins. I toed it closer beneath me.

I busk, I said, quietly.

Busking. She had a tone.

What of it?

"Where I come from we call that begging with music."

I finished my sip of broth. Better than begging with a fox.

She stared down at me. "I’m. Not. Begging."

"You’re right. He is. I nodded at the fox. Very noble."

Something came across her face. Whimsy, maybe? What’s your name, little girl?

Alice, I lied.

"Well, Alice, she said, steepling an eyebrow, if you’re very quiet, I’ll show you a magic trick."

Before I could even ask what that meant, she leaped over the register, getting up close and personal with the keyhole.

What are you—

Quiet, she hissed.

My stomach went icy. You’re robbing her?

"Do you know what quiet means?" she grunted.

I couldn’t believe her nerve. She wasn’t just biting the hand that fed her, she was tearing it off and serving it for brunch!

The only reason I kept my trap shut was the thought of her getting caught red-handed. I knew firsthand the register didn’t open without the key. And even if she did by some miracle pop the drawer, the stupid bell that always threw off my timing would signal Lois. No, this girl’s only shot was to run off with the entire bulk of the register, which was impossible as it was bolted to the counter. It wasn’t going anywhere.

Landry cleared the counter again, landing elegantly. She blew more hair out of her face and flashed a wad of cash. The whole till.

My mouth hung open. The register hadn’t made a sound.

Abracadabra. She dropped a five spot into my case. It looked out of place among the coins. Not a peep, Alice.

You’re gonna get caught.

We’ll see. She chose a pocket and stowed away the cash, getting back into character just in time.

Lois handed her a little bundle. It’s not much, but it’ll get him by if you parcel it out right. And there’s a little something for you in there too.

That’s—you didn’t have to do that. Landry’s eyes welled up on cue. She patted down her many pockets, finally plucking out a single bill of Lois’s hard-earned cash. What do I owe you?

Oh, bravo, I kept to myself. A truly masterful performance, but here’s where you slipped up.

Lois had a good heart, but this wasn’t St. Mary’s. Not even my broth was truly free. Lois would ring her up, see the drawer was empty, and the only thing Landry would be eating was a knuckle sandwich.

It’s just scraps, dear, Lois replied. You just take care of that darling little fox.

I will, Landry said. Bless you.

I nearly gagged.

Landry pocketed the goods and smiled warmly at me. Too warm. "Good luck with the busking."

My eyes became slits as she walked out into the cold, gray afternoon. She snapped her fingers twice. The Greyhair pulled away from the window and heeled at her side.

Tagging along for a couple days, huh?

What an angel, Lois muttered.

I stood up quickly. I’ll be right back.

Where are you going, dear? Lois asked. I didn’t usually leave my guitar unattended.

I think your angel forgot something.

I buttoned the only button left on my green canvas coat and hung a sharp right out the door. I could see my breath instantly, a reminder of how grateful I should be for my current station. For Lois. It only pushed me faster.

I spotted Landry’s coat up ahead, hood up. You big, dirty moth. As I drew closer, I could see the fox trotting at her feet. I was on her in seconds, grabbing her arm. The fox growled as I whirled her around.

Landry didn’t look happy. "What do you want?"

Guitar lessons, I snapped. What do you think I want?

She smiled, frosting laced with arsenic. It’s too late to be a snitch, little girl. I’m already out the door.

Just give me the money.

You’re robbing me? she said, loudly. A few heads turned.

I lowered my voice. Of course not.

I know, she whispered. She gestured around us with her eyes. But I can be a pretty convincing victim, can’t I?

I don’t want any trouble, and I’m no snitch, I told her. But—you can’t take her money. She barely has anything!

"Barely has anything? Landry put a hand to her chest, feigning shock. My heavens, whatever could that be like?"

I grit my teeth. You know what I mean—this is wrong.

Thou shalt not judge, Landry said. "Least of all a beggar like you."

Is that worse than being a thief?

Girl’s gotta eat.

I let go a sigh. Please. Just give it back. Or some of it, at least.

Landry fumed through her nose. Alice. Darling. You have no idea how the world works. I’m not saying that to insult you, I’m saying it to remind you. I know you’re not going to believe me, but your friend and her diner are going to be better off because of this.

How could she possibly—

"I said you weren’t going to believe me, Landry pressed. But you’ll see. Trust me."

"Trust you?"

A screech of rubber on cobblestone erupted from the street, followed by the pop-plop of a sputtering engine. My head jerked towards the commotion in time to see a Highboy coming to an abrupt halt, one of its rims rolling away into a gutter. The car behind it barely had time to steer out of the way, the driver jacking the hand brake for dear life. As shouting broke out, I noticed a streak of silver fur bolting from the middle of the scene.

The fox.

I quickly turned back to Landry but, of course, she was gone. The fox too. Both of them had dissipated like phantoms.

I stamped my foot. I didn’t know how I was going to explain to Lois what happened.

As I opened the door to the diner, I realized there were more pressing matters.

Inside, three men in fine suits and trilbies fanned around the register. At the bell, the shortest of the pack tipped up his hat to see me better. His grin was like a cut across his face that went too far up.

"Bad timing, bambina," he said to me. Another suit, much bigger, took a step in my direction.

No. Lois said, quickly. She’s just picking up a delivery for me. It’s in back, honey, then out you go, okay?

I stared wild-eyed at her.

Use the back door, Lois said. Her eyes flicked like a caged bird’s. I’m just finishing with my guests.

I bit my lip and nodded. Keeping my eyes on the short man, I slipped away.

Something was wrong. The diner didn’t have a backdoor.

I ducked into a dry goods pantry behind where Lois stood. The only thing separating me from her was a thin sheet of wood painted to look like a real wall.

These guys were gangsters. Not the two-bit kind like the Deep Pockets, or any of the local thugs, who talked the talk around the neighborhood. No, these were mafiosi. Authentic mobsters from the old country.

I pressed my ear to the dummy wall and held my breath. When the mobsters thought I was gone, they picked up their ‘sales pitch.’

"As I say, Mama Louisa, one of them said, and I knew instantly it was the short one with the twisted smile. Your due is owed to the family. Capisci?"

I don’t owe anything to—

Something struck the wall, piercing the wood inches from my nose. I barely stifled a scream. Feeling along the wall, I found the tip of the something.

A tiny throwing knife. A leaflet blade.

No real gangster bothered with a gun anymore—on account of the Scrappers—but the mafia had become so deadly efficient with their blades that folks almost missed bullets.

My fingers trembled in the dark.

Don’t make me ask again, Mama, the short one said. My associate here, his holster is running out of politeness, I think.

Lois said nothing, but I heard her fumbling with the register key.

No.

She didn’t know the register was empty.

The bell dinged as the drawer shot open. Nobody said anything. The tone just reverberated in the air.

What d’hell eezis? a much thicker accent asked.

More silence. Then Lois said, Business has been slow—

Glass shattered almost instantly. Lois screamed.

The short man made a clicking sound. My associate. Bad temper. Our business has been slow too. Ness and his boys running around town, keeping us on our toes. Nobody’s business is doing too well without hooch, is it? But that’s why it’s so important for my associates and I to make these house calls. For when this silly—what do they call it?

"Proibizionismo," one of them said.

Prohibition, yes, the short man translated. When it goes away, good folks like yourself will have us businessmen to get you back on your feet. You understand that, don’t you, dear?

Lois kept quiet.

Fortunately, Mama Louisa, I’m not an unreasonable man. My associates and I will come back later. Friday, I think. I bet business will be so good, we can collect a little extra.

How much extra?

Two.

Hundred?

Add a zero.

Two thousand? Lois choked. That’s—that’s impossible.

It’s only a couple grand, Mama. A small price to pay for the insurance we offer.

More glass shattered. The leaflet blade tore free in front of me, leaving behind a strand of daylight whirling with dust.

See you Friday, Mama.

Fancy shoes crunched over glass, the bell tinkled, and they were gone. Lois began crying.

I took a deep breath and squeezed out of the pantry. The low window where the anti-Scrapper sign hung had been kicked through, shattered. I tiptoed through the glass.

Lois look startled when she saw me. Those men, they—they’re just—

I heard, I admitted. And I heard they’re coming back.

Her posture melted, and she cried freely. I don’t know what happened. There was no money to give. She gestured at the register with both hands.

I took a step toward her. I know—

A wad of cash fell out of my coat pocket, hitting the floor with the thud. For a moment, we just stared at it.

Is—is this from the register? Lois asked quietly. She picked up the money and counted through the bills. This is mine. Why do you have this?

Great question. One I didn’t have an answer for. Even if I did, I couldn’t seem to find my voice.

It’s not all here, Lois said quietly. Sheepishly, I went to my guitar case and plucked out the five spot. I handed it over.

I’m still short twenty.

Girl’s gotta eat, was all I could hear in my head. I—I know what this looks like—

Get out.

My eyes welled up. Real tears, not like Landry’s. No, wait, please—

Lois came forward in a flash, taking me by the arm only to shove me back towards my guitar case. I nearly fell skittering across the loose glass. "Out. Now."

Lois, please—you have to believe me—it was that girl, I pleaded. The girl with the fox, she—

Take your guitar and go, Lois said, her voice cracking. And don’t come back. Understand?

Please just listen—

I should’ve known the minute you walked in, she said. I can usually tell a Scrapper a mile away.

My eyebrows knit together. Guilty as I felt, that one genuinely confused me. Scrapper? I’m—I’m not—

You think I’m a fool? Lois shouted. I’m calling the police. They’ll pay good money for one of you.

I don’t know what you’re—

Out! she spat, then softened. Don’t make me call.

I wiped saltwater from my cheeks and retrieved my guitar from the chair in the corner, packing it quickly into its shoddy case.

I turned back at the door. Wh-what about Friday?

Not your problem, Lois said, holding out a finger. Go.

I went, hugging the guitar case to my chest. I sobbed into it like someone’s shoulder. Folks squinted at me, or dodged out of my path to avoid me. I didn’t care. I got a block away from Mama Louisa’s. Two blocks. Further than I’d been in a while. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like it was getting colder the further I got from the diner. The familiar smell of cherry tobacco and shoe leather disappeared, and I missed it instantly.

My head was so full of swirling questions that it hurt.

Why wouldn’t Lois listen to me? How could she have thought I’d ever steal from her? But how did that money get into my pocket? And how was Lois going to get two grand by Friday?

I know I didn’t take the money, but I also didn’t stop the girl who did. I wanted to help, but what could I do? Even if there were five of me busking dawn to dusk, I still couldn’t make that much by Friday. And I knew Lois—if Henry Ford himself cut me a check for two grand, I couldn’t get close enough to hand it to her. Why wouldn’t she just listen? Why in the world would she think I was a—

I froze in my tracks.

A Scrapper.

That was it. It was so obvious. Lois thought I took the money from the register—to be fair, it had fallen out of my pocket. But the only person who could’ve gotten in and out of a locked register, rigged with a bell, without a key, and without so much as a friction squeak, was a Scrapper.

I’ll show you a magic trick.

The girl with the fox. The Scrapper.

Lois was right about one thing. The cops would pay good money for one of those.

I felt foolish for not putting it together sooner. Maybe Landry was right when she said I didn’t know how the world worked. In my defense, I was just a kid and Scrappers hadn’t been around much longer than I had. I’d never met one, at least not that I knew of. Nobody went around announcing they were a Scrapper. You’d have better luck telling people you were Capone’s bookie—and probably live twice as long.

Having a plan dried my tears up real quick. The sun even peeked through the clouds. Pleasant flakes fell from the sky only to vanish on my cheeks.

There was no shortage of police officers in Chicago. All I had to do was find one.

As luck would have it, I found two—an older gentleman with a gut that hung over his belt, and his much younger partner. I set down my guitar and tugged on the officer’s sleeve. A little sugar and spice, know what I mean?

What’s this now? he said, turning in my direction. He frowned beneath his handlebar mustache. Can I help you, young lady?

I hope so. My friend’s diner was robbed this morning. By a Scrapper, I explained. The partner’s ears pricked like a dog’s, but he just kept on watching the street.

A Scrapper, you say. The older officer’s eye twitched. That’s a pretty serious claim.

I know, sir.

Well, what happened then? he prompted. Out with it.

Well, this girl—the Scrapper—came into my friend’s diner and cleaned out the register, I explained.

And which diner are we talking about here?

Mama Louisa’s. On Fifth Street? The partner’s ears pricked again. And then right after that, some guys in suits came and—

The partner turned his hawk-like face on me. He quickly stepped forward and took me by the arm. His fingertips even felt like talons.

Lou, why don’t I handle this one? the partner said. Maybe you should go give O’ Sullivan’s that surprise inspection we was talkin’ about.

The older cop—Lou—nodded. If it turns out to be anything, come find me.

As he wandered off, his partner went for his holster, drawing a revolver. Even though they didn’t scare Scrappers anymore, they still put a pit in my stomach. I could see deep into the muzzle.

To my surprise, the officer popped the cylinder open and removed the shells.

You’re a very clever little girl, he said. Then he removed the cylinder itself.

I squinted at him. What are you doing?

You and I both know a Scrapper didn’t knock over that diner, he continued. Those ‘guys in suits’ you mentioned, I think you know who they were. I think I do too.

You do?

Yeah. They’re friends of mine.

I gulped. Friends?

More like business partners.

A couple twists and some sort of rod broke free from the body of the gun. Like I said, I think you’re a very clever little girl. Half the cops in this city wouldn’t bother investigating a mafia job. Even less would interfere with one. But a Scrapper? Hoover’s got us running all over town looking for ‘em. Pays cash money for leads on ‘em too. But you already knew that, didn’t you?

I didn’t answer.

Let me see if I can do the math here, honey, he said, twisting loose yet another piece. Those ‘guys in suits’ came by for a payment, and your friend couldn’t make with the dough. So you thought you’d wrangle up some cash by making up a story about a Scrapper and feeding it to a couple flatfoots, right?

I’m not making it up, I replied. The Scrapper is real.

Oh, I know she’s real. She’s right in front of me, and look. He held out the gun fragments, all six of them. She even took apart my piece with that Scrapper noodle of hers.

I shook my head. I didn’t do that.

Nah, you did. I saw it with my own two peepers. You used your screwy Scrapper noggin and my gun went to pieces. Nobody’s prints on it but mine—ain’t that just like a Scrapper? he said. "My partner over there hates Scrappers. Calls ‘em an ‘abominable’ something or other. All I gotta do is show him this and you’re toast, see? Poof. You’ll be lucky if you make it to the Feds."

You—you’re—

I’m what, doll?

You’re supposed to be a cop! I hissed.

He leaned in real close and sucked on his tooth. Yeah. I was. But I gotta mortgage. Mommy and Daddy ever tell you about those? Now listen up. If I hear any reports about a little blond girl running around town spouting off about mobsters or crooked cops, I’m gonna remember this little encounter, understand?

The gun pieces clinked in his hand.

I’m not a Scrapper, I managed to whisper.

Prove it, he hissed. Now if I were you, I’d tell your pal at the diner to ante up, all right? These guys don’t screw around—now scram!

He walked away, turning back once to tip his cap. I wasn’t sure if I was still standing, my legs felt like seaweed.

They had the cops and they were coming back Friday. There was nothing I could do.

Landry’s voice echoed in my head. Your friend and her diner are going to be better off because of this.

Yeah, I screamed back, what do you know?

That got me thinking.

Landry robbed the diner only to give almost all of it back. Why? Why not just take what she needed from the register and walk away? Why the reverse-pickpocket routine?

What did she know?

I picked up my guitar and headed east towards the harbor. If the cops weren’t going to find my Scrapper, I’d have to find her myself.

I’d been bossed around all day. Told to scram by two different adults that were supposed to give a damn. I was a kid, sure, but I wasn’t fresh off the playground. I was a street kid. No matter how clean I tried to keep my nose in this city, it still got grimy. I knew where to find certain types. How to read the signs and nods the thieves gave each other in the alleys. You didn’t have to be a bloodhound to find a crook in Chicago.

The kid I was looking for was behind a cobbler’s shop on Riverdale. Martin. He was a few years older than me. I hadn’t seen him in a while, not since St. Mary’s.

I knew he’d know where to find the girl with the fox—I just couldn’t afford to jog his memory.

The innocent tugging-on-the-sleeve bit didn’t work on the cops, so when I got close enough, I did more than tug on Martin’s sleeve. I pinned it behind his back and pressed his face into the brownstones.

What the hell? he cried out.

Don’t you know you’re supposed to keep your back to the wall, Martin? I whispered in his ear. I need some information.

He forced a laugh. I never hold out for a pretty face.

I dug my knee into his kidney. "The face ain’t got nothin’ to do with it—it’s the pretty wallet you’re after."

Can’t I like both?

Yeah, well, today you’re gonna tell me what I want to know on the cheap, I told him. "Real cheap."

Piss off.

My knee dug deeper. Is that any way to talk to a lady? Maybe I should tell your buddies in the Deep Pockets that you got hoodwinked by a little girl.

Let me up, he grunted.

You gonna talk? I asked. Or should I just hold you like this ‘til they get here?

I’ll talk, I’ll talk, he sighed. Just let me up already.

I did, and Martin lurched away from the wall like it was made of lava. He tried to act cool as he picked up his hat and dusted it off. He squinted in my direction. Hey, you’re—

"Alice."

He snorted. So it’s Alice now?

It is today, I told him. I need to find somebody.

Who?

I don’t know their name.

Ain’t Santy Claus, is it? he remarked. Cuz I don’t think he’s in town.

I rolled my eyes. It’s a girl. Your age, maybe a little older. Dark hair, dark eyes. Big coat with a lot of pockets. Runs around with a fox.

Is a Scrapper, I didn’t say.

Martin nodded, rubbing his chin. Thinking. You’re talking about Landry.

Landry.

I had a name. For a moment, it felt like enough. I looked around as if I could see the whole city through the buildings. As if just knowing her name somehow tethered our pinkies with string.

Where do I find her?

See…now that’s gonna cost ya.

Martin.

He produced a pair of spectacles from his vest and held them up to the fading daylight. I think you broke my glasses. Not very polite.

I sighed. I couldn’t tell if I’d really broken them, but I was suddenly feeling a little guilty for roughing up an old friend. I reached into my coat and revealed a silver coin. Yesterday’s haul. I tossed him the loot.

Martin bit down on the coin, and grinned. Feeling better already.

The girl. Landry, I reminded him. Where can I find her?

He looked up at the sky. Nowhere this time a day, but she beds down near the East Lagoon Bridge.

I gulped. Jackson park?

Yep.

That was quite a hike. Even if I left five minutes earlier, I still couldn’t hoof it by sunset. And Jackson Park after dark was nothing to write home about. Wonderful.

Martin nodded past me. "Course, you could always ask her."

I spun around, expecting to a see the silhouette of a mothy girl with a fox.

Instead I found nobody.

I don’t—

When I turned back around, Martin was gone and my loot pocket had been picked clean. My groan echoed in the alley. I’d had my fill of thieves for the day.

I made my way through Jackson Park encountering nothing more threatening than a couple ill-timed owl hoots. It was the only sign of life I’d come across until I made it to the East Lagoon Bridge. Then they started to come out of the woodwork. Pairs of eyes in the shadows, faces covered in grime. They weren’t all criminals and thieves, to be fair. Some of them were clearly factory workers by day that just had a tough time finding living arrangements.

Beneath the arch of the bridge, just out of reach of prying eyes, were several oil drums and retired wheelbarrows, each with a meager blaze. Folks burned whatever they could to keep the fires going. For the most part, that meant anything but wood. All shapes and sizes clambered for space, but there was no shoving or fighting. There was room for everybody under the East Lagoon. Except for me, it seemed. Kid or not, I was still a newcomer.

I realized I didn’t have a plan. What did I think was going to happen? That I’d just walk under the bridge and see Landry straight away? That she’d be holding up a sign with my name on it? I had to toss a line out if I wanted a bite.

I nuzzled up to the first fire like I was just warming my mitts. Fortunately, I had plenty of motivation for that role. A couple folks shoved off when I appeared, leaving only a stocky man with two pairs of glasses on his head, and a much larger man with skin the color of coffee and a scar blinding his left eye.

I’m looking for Landry, I said.

The scarred man grunted.

Girl with a fox? I pushed.

Fox, he repeated. Fox, fox, fox.

Yeah, a fox. Have you seen her?

Cateye ain’t much of a talker, the man with the glasses said. If you’re looking for the fox girl, we can shows you where she is.

Please! I said, eagerly

The man smiled. Follow me.

I