Orff had always been a pacifist. He didn’t like fighting; he was acutely aware of the effects of pain and humiliation. Besides which, he was a terrible coward. Orff had always tried to avoid being in a state of pain and humiliation, so he had no skill at fighting, no physical strength, and no bravery to speak of. It was odd, then, when he became a gunslinger.

“Ozendorff Allegretto Tranquillo E Grazioso!” The cry ran through the streets as Orff ran. Though Orff had always been a coward, he was more afraid of Davvy’s gang than he was of the law enforcement. Unless they were chasing him.

“Shit Shit Shit!” Orff shrieked, nearly running into a couple and dodging around them. ‘I got the fucking full-name treatment!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Odd replied. “You’re a lousy thief, mate.”

“That helps me now!” Orff complained.

“Over here!”

Both boys turned sharply to the left, where a third was waiting, waving them through an open door. “Thanks, Val!”

“Yeah, yeah, get your ass in here!” Val said bad-temperedly, slamming the door closed behind them. “No doubt they saw you duck in here, so we’ll have to use the back panel. This way!”

That was the way Davvy’s gang worked. They split up into three-man teams, did the task Davvy bade them, didn’t screw up, reported back to Davvy. Orff was part of the group nicknamed the Lost Boys. They were called that mainly because of Orff, who was, almost constantly, clueless. Odd, who had claimed Orff as, among other things, his sidekick, was often in dream-land, and simply not caring went on around him. It was Valenti who kept the group under control. He was never lost, and he thoroughly resented the way to other boys laughed at his title.

The Lost Boys hurried, single-file down a narrow stone hallway in the back-wall of the row. Most of the townhouses in Bonderie were built with that passage. There were staircases in the backs of the houses, but between the staircases and the actual wall of the house was a narrow passage, walled off from outside view and completely sound-proof, thanks to the thick bricks and liberally applied mortar. It was only the lower-class and lower-middle-class that lived in these houses, but there were so many of those classes that all of the houses were full, almost overflowing. The passage was rank, but secure.

The three boys used these tunnels, only lapsing into the sunshine for a few seconds at a time, until they reached their headquarters in the D-section. It was run-down old building, used to be a warehouse, then a homeless shelter, then a theatre, of all things. Now it belonged to Davvy. The Lost boys were greeted with a round of hoots and cackles from the other boys. “I tell you, Orff!” one of them laughed. “Your name’s so long, it looked like the news lady was about ready to die the fifth time she had to say it!”

“What, I made the news?” Orff asked nervously.

“Yeh,” said a different boy. “You is one lousy-ass thief, boy. You ain’t alone though. Bout seven other kids they listed, too. ‘Alleged gang members’ they said.”

“What the fuck ever,” Val barked. “Only ones that know Orff’s full name are himself, the man whore detective, and his dear deceased parents, God rest their souls!”

“Lay off,” Orff groaned quietly, so that no one could hear.

“What was that?” Valenti asked, leaning closer.

“’E says lay off!” Odd shouted, waving his arms around like a windmill. “He wants you to leave him alone, you git!”

The other boys dissolved into laughter, Odd included, as Orff blushed and Val frowned indignantly. “Okay, okay!” one of the boys chuckled. “Cool off, guys, here comes Davvy!”

And out Davvy came. No one ever saw Davvy. He was, presumably, sitting in a small wooden booth, with a thick black curtain in front of it. The booth was set on wheels, and dragged out by four strong-backed boys, Davvy’s personal guard. As this booth was pulled out, Valenti knelt before it while the other boys backed away. It was, after all, Valenti’s job to give the report for the Lost Boys.

Val hated this job. First, it was humiliating to kneel. Second, it was humiliating to represent a group known as the Lost Boys. Third, it was humiliating to be serving Davvy in the first place, but there weren’t any less humiliating options available, which was humiliating in itself. Fourth—does it matter? The whole job was humiliating, and Valenti hated it, which was why he resented everyone and everything having to do with the miserable city of Bonderie. As Odd put it, “He had a stick up his ass the size of the Eiffel Tower.”

“Rise and report,” said Davvy, his voice floating up from behind the curtain.

Valenti rose, frowning, and kept his eyes glaring viciously at the floor. “There was a minor incident involving Ozendorff’s return,” he said. Orff blushed from his place on top of a stack of tires. “The detective who’s been investigating him, Detective…..was it Calder, Orff?”

Orff jumped, caught off guard. “Um…..”

“Detective Calder,” Val said, plowing through. Orff climbed down inside the stack of tires. “He recognized Ozendorff just as he was leaving the house and gave chase. We were able to elude him, and no evidence fell into his hands.”

“Except for Orff’s face, you mean,” Davvy said crossly. Valenti opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Except for the fact that Orff was leaving the scene of a theft. That is evidence, Valenti, enough for a search and seizure, at which point we lose whatever stolen goods Orff’s carrying, and I’m sure there’s enough on him to convict him. Ozendorff! Get out form those tires and stand next to Valenti.”

Sheepishly, Orff climbed out and stood before the booth, looking ashamedly at the floor as Davvy gave him the once-over. “Everything you’re wearing is stolen. The clothes, the shoes, the jewelry. Hell, even your fucking backpack is stolen, not even mentioning full of stolen goods. You’re a walking shitload of evidence. Course, I don’t blame you. All the boys in here are, aren’t you, boys?” There were several whoops of agreement. Orff felt slightly sick as he watched Val’s hand curl into a fist. “We’ll take care of your Detective Calder. In the meantime, Ozendorff, keep your face covered when you’re working, and if you see the owner of anything you’re wearing, even your God damn underpants, I want you to turn around and bolt, understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Orff said quietly.

“What was that?”

“He says yes, sir!” Odd called out. “’E understands, don’t ye, Orffy?”

Orff nodded, his tongue too swollen with nerves for speech. “Fine,” said Davvy. “You can go now, Ozendorff.” Valenti nudged Orff hard in the side, and Orff stumbled slightly as he went back to sit in the shadows behind the tires.

“Sir, that was the only incident,” Val said quickly. He looked up from the floor, a look of earnesty painted on his features. “The only incident since the last, that is.”

“Indeed, it always is,” Davvy said wryly. “Well, since the last one was a whole entire month ago, I guess I’ll forgive you. Anything else to report?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Valenti gave a curt bow before marching toward Orff. “I need to talk to you,” he hissed as the smaller boy cringed cringed.

Orff had half a mind to pretend he hadn’t heard, but Odd took hold one sleeve and pulled him along after Val, who was practically steaming with anger. The three boys made it out side, and Val rounded on Orff with gritted teeth. “This is the fifth time!” he growled. “The fifth time! Would you like to explain to me what’s wrong with you?”

Orff looked down at his beat-up vans. “I don’t know,” he said lamely. “I guess I’m not so good a thief.”

“Oh, really?” Val barked. “I couldn’t have guessed! So bad you’ve got the fucking detective hanging off of you every time you go out in public! Won’t be long before he finds this here establishment, and THEN what are you going to say? Speak up, rat, I can’t hear you!”

“It’s not my fault!” Orff protested. “He—“ He stopped, looked down at his shoes again. “Nevermind.”

“Nevermind, nevermind, is that the best argument you’ve got?” Val demanded. “It’s pathetic! How the Hell do you expect that to hold up?”

“Lay off him, lad,” Odd said tranquilly. He rocked back and fourth on his toes, staring up at the sky and seemingly not even speaking to them. “The boy’s a lousy thief, aye, but where’d’ya expect him tae go? There’s no a house’ll take him in, no with the life ’e’s lived, aye, and his mum bein’ what she is. There’s no else e can do, nowhere else e can go. We’re stuck with him, so best make the best o’ it.”

Valenti glared at Odd. Odd was taller than Val, but no older, though he insisted on calling him ‘lad’. When Val had first seen Odd he had, as many others had, mistaken Odd for a girl, on account of his long, dark hair and too-thin body, long lashes and angular face. Odd was always off in a world of his own, not the slightest bit affected by Val’s rantings and frustrations. Valenti let out a sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “Whatever. Just keep your face covered, like the shitsucker said.” He strode past Orff and banged into the building, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Never mind him, laddie,” Odd said, patting Orff on the head as though he were a puppy. “He’s a stick up his ass the size o’ the Eiffel Tower. Though, iffin ya don’t mind my askin’, what is with your detective?”

Orff shrugged. “I dunno, Odd. He just randomly bought me a snow cone one day, and we got to talking, and then later he figured out I was a thief and then he made me his little project…..or something…..”

Odd shook his head and looked up at the sky up again. “Sun’s setting,” he said idly.

“You didn’t hear a single word I just said, did you?” Orff asked. Odd didn’t answer. “Yeah. Let’s go get something to eat.” He took hold of Odd’s sleeve and lead the taller, older, prettier boy towards the plaza.