Sneaky People: A Novel by Thomas Berger

see—oh…”
    “Surprise,” Buddy said. Then, pointing to the seat: “You just get in and keep your trap shut.”
    Ralph obeyed, and Buddy drove rapidly until they were across the iron bridge. “Now,” he said, slowing down, “I want to know why I oughtn’t take you to the police station—or maybe the mental asylum.”
    Ralph was looking into his own lap. “I can’t give you any good reason.”
    “Then I’ll tell you why,” Buddy said levelly. “Buddy Sandifer’s boy up on vandalism charges: that would be swell for business.” He whipped his head towards Ralph and then back. “Have you possibly turned into a rotten little punk? Tell me I’m wrong, if you can.”
    He had stopped the car now. Ralph looked out and saw the railroad station again. It was depressively fascinating to think that in this place, not long ago, though drunk, he had not been in any trouble.
    “I certainly wish I could,” said he.
    “You’re talking like a bum, Ralph. Who was that other kid?” He revved the engine and then turned off the ignition. Crickets were singing in the weeds below the platform. “I can sit here till the cows come home.”
    “It’s an outlandish story,” said Ralph. “I’ll admit that. You know what was tied to that brick we threw in the window? Money.”
    Buddy repeated the word without expression.
    “I knew you wouldn’t believe it.”
    “ Money ?”
    “Six or seven dollars, I think,” said Ralph, “though I never counted it, true. Whatever the original amount was, plus a dollar for the window, which was the basement window. The main window is plate glass, and if you broke it, it would certainly cost more than a dollar, so we—”
    “You’re talking junk now, Ralph,” Buddy said in despair. “Nobody throws money away for a cheap laugh.”
    “Well, it’s the God’s honest truth that that brick had money tied to it with a shoelace.” In fact the lace was Ralph’s own. Consequently he hadn’t been able to run well; his gym shoe threatening to fall off, he had surrendered at the appearance of the car. He had rather be caught than lose one Ked. “Actually it won’t cost a dollar to replace that small amount of glass, so there’s something extra for the inconvenience caused Mr. Bigelow.”
    Buddy sighed. For once Ralph looked at him, and saw a weird, wolfish grin in the light from the dashboard.
    “It wasn’t vandalism,” Ralph assured him. “You could check that tomorrow. You could go around there and I’ll bet he would tell you.”
    Buddy maintained his queer, sinister expression until Ralph turned away. “I wasn’t an angel myself at your age.” said he. “I helped myself to something from the collection plate once in Sunday school, and ate ice cream till I got sick. But I never destroyed property and can’t understand anybody who does.” He changed pace with a harsh accusation: “I guess you think it’s exciting to break glass?”
    “Not me.”
    “It’s dumb, Ralph, is what it is. What have you accomplished?”
    “You’re not getting the point. You’re not paying attention to what I said.”
    As could be expected, neither did his father listen to this. “Tell you what you’re going to do, Ralph. Tomorrow you’re going around to that store and make a clean breast of it to the owner. You’re going to have to take a chance he’ll have you arrested. But I don’t think that will happen. I think he will realize the courage it took on your part and your honest desire to make good on the damage.”
    Buddy lifted a hip and fetched the wallet from his back pocket. “Here.” He handed a bill to Ralph. “You give him that.” He started the car, but before pulling away from the station he said: “I bet he’ll end up thinking more of you than if you hadn’t broken the window at all. People are like that.”
    Ralph closed his eyes in acquiescence, though his father wasn’t looking at him. He opened them as they passed under a streetlight and saw that the bill was a