I was sitting at the security desk one day with Shorty reading one of my two bit detective stories.
"Why be a detective in your mind when you can be a detective for real?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I see you reading those cheap detective stories all the time. If you want to know what it is really like being a detective, you should work as a detective. The guys that write those books don't know anything about it."
"Dashiel Hammet worked for Pinkerton's before he started writing," I offered in my defense.
Shorty ignored the remark and continued. "Intercontinental has some opening in the detective division. They're trainee positions so you'll have to work your way up. But the pay is a lot better than you're getting here. Besides, I think you should find out that most detective work ain't nearly as glamorous as those books make it out to be."
I thought about it for a moment. It sounded like a really great idea. "Why don't you apply Shorty? The pay is better and a guy as tough as you are would make a great detective."
"Naw," he said, "detective work isn't for me. I'm happy being a security guard. I spend a lot time just sitting at the desk. Occasionally, I have to roust a few troublemakers. I make all the money I need."
"But don't you aspire to anything?" I blurted out before I could catch myself.
Shorty looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ya know boy," he said. "You gotta find your place in the world. There's always more money more excitement and more challenge somewhere. Your place in the world is where you are happy with what you do and don't need more money, more excitement or more challenges. This is my place in the world. And, for the most part, I'm happy with it."
I thought about that while Shorty got the paperwork ready for the next round. I looked at him and thought what an amazing character he was, happy to sit at this desk and take a short walk every half-hour or so. I thought about my parents' death, the town that didn't want me, and Julie Fantod. Here I was with no place in the world. I relied on people like Shorty to make a place for me. I really wanted to apply for that detective trainee job, but I didn't know how I would get along without him.
Our trip to the next checkpoint was uneventful. It was about five minutes before closing and we were sitting at the North Entrance security desk waiting for the mall to clear out so we could do the final rounds. It was a slow day. Shorty had fallen asleep and was snoring. I was trying to read The Maltese Falcon, but his snoring was making too much noise. My mind drifted back to what Shorty had said about finding my place in the world. There is no place for me, I thought, there can never be a place. I felt myself starting to brood.
But my brooding was cut short when I saw two really unsavory looking characters approaching the entrance. Normally, I would just tell them that the mall is closing, but I thought I might need a little help with these two so I woke up Shorty.
"We've got company." I said shaking him awake.
The two guys came through the doors and walked quickly towards us. One was a wiry, mean looking middle-aged guy wearing khaki work cloths. The pants were baggy and his sleeves were rolled up tightly past his elbows. He was wearing white socks and shinny tassel loafers that looked completely out of place with his khaki pants. And he looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He walked with conviction and confidence straight toward the security desk. His partner was just a kid - pale, thin and about six inches taller than I. He was wearing very worn blue jeans and the oldest looking pair of sneakers that I had ever seen. Shorty got up and walked over to the older guy.
"I'm sorry sir, the mall is closed."
"I'll leave as soon as my business is done." Said the older guy and drew a pistol out of his pocket. "I'm looking for somebody. Maybe you can help me find them."
My heart leaped into my throat as the kid veered over and started walking towards me.
Shorty grabbed the older man's gun hand and twisted as he reached under his neck with the other hand. But the gun did not fall. I don't know if it was because Shorty was still half-asleep or the guy was just a lot tougher than he looked. The kid faced me but did not move any closer. Shorty and the old man wrestled. The old man still had the gun in his hand. Shorty was trying to twist it out with his left hand while lifting the man off the ground with his right. The gun went off. A red circle appeared just above Shorty's knee and he went down. He still had a grip on the old man's throat and pulled him down as he fell. As the old man fell his gun hand hit the floor and the gun went sliding.
The kid turned to me and pulled out a knife. I instinctively moved my hands out to my sides the way they always do on TV although I really had no idea what to do. I remembered a cop show I once saw where the good guy, in a similar situation, said, "That better be a sandwich in your hand, because you're going to eat it." Somehow, that seemed totally inappropriate at the moment. So I kept it to myself.
Shorty lost his grip on the old man who was struggling to get away. He scrambled up and headed toward the door, leaving the kid standing there still facing me with the knife. The kid looked scared and I sensed that neither of us really had any idea what to do next. Shorty was pulling his belt off.
As I watched Shorty out of the corner of my eye, the kid took a swipe at me with the knife. It didn't register right away but then I felt a shock like I had touched a car battery, then a burning feeling, then searing pain. I reacted without thinking. I reached out, grabbed the front of the kid's shirt and pulled him toward me, trapping his knife arm between us with the knife pointing out toward Shorty. I planted my left foot and brought my right knee hard up into his crotch hoping to hit something important. Apparently, I did because I heard a sickening gasp of air. I couldn't tell if he was inhaling or exhaling. As he doubled over in pain I planted my left foot again and brought my right knew up hard and connected with his nose. I heard a loud crunch. When I brought my knee down it was covered in blood. I grabbed the front of the kid's shirt and threw him as hard as I could into the wall. He hit the wall hard and the knife fell out of his hand.
Shorty had pulled his belt around his leg to slow the bleeding. He pulled himself over to the security desk and grabbed the phone.
"This is the North Entrance security desk. We need an ambulance and a patrol car."
He turned to me. "Good work, Thaddeus. If it weren't for you I might not have made it through this one."
A feeling of confidence came over me like I had never felt before. Maybe I could get along on my own. No longer would I be Thaddeus Wentworth, orphan, victim, looser. I was Thaddeus Wentworth, tough guy. I forgot all about my parents and the town that didn't want me. I forgot all about not having a place in the world. I had even completely forgotten about Julie Fantod. Well, maybe not completely.