ost without inflection as if
the words reached the mind without needing a voice. "If you're going
to throw me out, this is the best time to do it." Dark brown skin of
one of the dark races, jet black straight hair, a dark pair of eyes
that were merry and watchful and had the impact of something
dangerous. Colossal gall, Bryce characterized it to himself. He might
be as good as he thinks he is. He was probably selling the Brooklyn
Bridge, and he should never have gotten in, but the fact that he had
somehow gotten past Kesby made him worth a few questions before being
thrown out.

"What do you want?"

He came forward to the desk to answer. "I want to be your right arm."
He took out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one free and offering it
with courtesy. "Have one?" Bryce shook his head and the boy put one
between his own lips and put the pack away. "My name is Pierce," he
said, lighting the cigarette with the flame cupped in his hands as if
he were used to smoking in the wind. He looked up with his eyes
squinting against the smoke, shook the match out and dropped it in the
desk ash tray. "Roy Pierce."

He was as much at home as an invading army. Bryce felt an impulse to
laugh.

He knew this kid very well, but he couldn't place where, when, or how.
"Am I supposed to know the name?"

"Do you remember Pop Yak?"

Bryce remembered Pop Yak. He gave in with a sigh, and ordered in the
singsong vernacular of his childhood. "Okay. Sitselfdel, speeltalk
cutchop!"

Pop Yak was a grizzled man who had watched Bryce fighting with another
kid. Afterward he had taken Bryce into his store and given him ice
cream and some pointers on dirty fighting. Not much had penetrated the
first time but Bryce went back for advice again, learning that that
was the place to be told how to do things and get what he wanted. Pop
was always patient with his teaching, and always right.

He had chosen Bryce as his agent to sell minor drugs to the other kids
and acted as a fence for the things he stole, and he encouraged him to
study in the compulsory school and loaned him books. And Pop was the
first to give him the tip on legitimate business and how to pull money
on the right side of the law and make a profit they couldn't kick
about. Good old Pop. "Will-pay." The boy sat down and leaned forward
with a slight intent motion of a hand that was Pop's favorite gesture,
one Bryce had picked up from him himself.

"He told me you're on the way up." Roy Pie