Chasing the Bear Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  PHILOMEL BOOKS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group.

  Published by The Penguin Group.

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  Copyright © 2009 by Robert B. Parker. All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Philomel

  Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY

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  Published simultaneously in Canada. .

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Parker, Robert B., 1932-

  Chasing the bear : a young Spenser novel / Robert B. Parker. p. cm.

  Summary: Spenser reflects back to when he was fourteen years old and how he

  helped his best friend Jeannie when she was abducted by her abusive father.

  [1. Kidnapping—Fiction. 2. Child abuse—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction.

  4. Bullies—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.P2346Ch 2009 [Fic]—dc22

  2008052725

  eISBN : 978-1-101-03283-1

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Joanie: The One

  Chapter 1

  I was sitting with the girl of my dreams on a bench in the Boston Public Garden watching the swan boats circle the little lagoon. Tourists fed the ducks peanuts from the boats and the ducks followed them.

  “It’s a nice place,” Susan said, “isn’t it, to sit and do nothing.”

  “I’m not doing nothing,” I said. “I’m being with you.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  The swan boats were propelled by young men and women who sat in the back of the boat and pedaled. The exact appeal of the swan boats had always escaped me, though I too felt it and had, upon occasion, gone for a ride with Susan.

  We were quiet and I could feel her looking at me.

  “What?” I said.

  She smiled.

  “I was just thinking how well I know you, and how close we are, and yet there are parts of you, parts of your life, that I know nothing about.”

  “Like?” I said.

  “Like what you were like as a kid; it’s hard to imagine you as a kid.”

  “Even though you have often suggested that I am still a kid, albeit overgrown?”

  “That’s different,” Susan said.

  “Oh?”

  “I simply can’t picture you growing up out there in East Flub-a-dub.”

  “Your geography has never been good,” I said.

  “Where was it?” Susan said.

  “West Flub-a-dub,” I said.

  “I stand corrected,” she said. “What was life like in West Flub-a-dub?”

  “Where should I start, Doctor?”

  “I know your mother died right before you were born by cesarean section. And I know you were raised by your father and your mother’s two brothers.”

  “We had a dog too,” I said.

  “I think I knew that as well,” Susan said. “Her name was Pearl, was it not, which is why we’ve named our dogs Pearl?”

  “German shorthairs should be named Pearl,” I said. “So what else would you like to know?”

  “There must be more you can tell me than that,” Susan said.

  “You think?” I said.

  “I think,” Susan said. “Talk about yourself.”

  “My favorite topic,” I said. “Anything special?”

  “Tell me about what comes to your mind,” she said. “That will sort of tell us what you think is important.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Being in love with a shrink is not easy.”

  “But well worth the effort,” Susan said.

  “Well,” I said.

  Susan leaned back on the bench and waited.

  Chapter 2

  My father and my uncles were carpenters and shared a house. They all dated a lot, but my father never remarried, and my uncles didn’t get married until I left the house. So for me growing up it was an all-male household except for a female pointer named Pearl.

  Parents’ Day at school was a sight. They’d come, the three of them, all over six feet, all more than two hundred pounds, all of them hard as an axe handle. They never said a word. Just sat there in the back of the room, with their arms folded. But they always came. All three.

  My father boxed and so did my uncles. They’d pick up extra money boxing at county fairs and smokers. They began to teach me as soon as I could walk. And until I could take care of myself, they took care of me . . . pretty good.

  Once when I was ten, I went to the store for milk and coming home, I passed a saloon named The Dry Gulch. Couple of drunks were drinking beer on the sidewalk. They said something, and I gave them a wise guy answer, so they took my milk away and emptied it out. One of them gave me a kick in the butt an
d told me to get on home.

  When I got home, I told my uncle Cash, who was the only one there. One of them was always there. Cash asked me if I was all right. And I said I was. He asked me if I might have been a little mouthy. I said I might have been. Cash grinned.

  “I’m amazed to hear that,” Cash said.

  “But I didn’t say anything real bad.”

  “Course you didn’t,” Cash said.

  “One of them kicked me,” I said.

  Cash nodded.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “And when Patrick and your father come home, we’ll straighten things out.”

  Chapter 3

  When they got home, Cash and I told them about what happened. Patrick and my father and Cash all exchanged a look, and my father nodded.

  Patrick said, “If you saw him again, could you point out the guy who kicked you?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Let’s go down and take a look,” my father said.

  So all of us, including the dog, went down to The Dry Gulch and walked in.

  “Sorry, pal,” the bartender said to my father. “Can’t bring that dog in here.”

  My father said to me, “See any of the people that gave you trouble?”

  I nodded.

  “Which ones?” my father said.

  “You hear me?” the bartender said. “No dogs.”

  There were six guys drinking beer together at a big round table. I pointed out two of them. My father nodded and picked me up and sat me on the bar.

  “Which one kicked you?” he said.

  “The one in the red plaid shirt,” I said.

  My father looked at Patrick.

  “You want him?” my father said.

  “I do,” Patrick said.

  “Yours,” my father said.

  “Mister,” the bartender said. “Maybe you don’t hear me. Get that dog out of here . . . and get the damn kid off the bar.”

  Without even looking at him, my father said, “Shut up.”

  Pearl sat down in front of the bar near my feet. All the men at the round table were staring at us. My two uncles walked over and leaned against the wall, near the round table. Patrick was looking at the man in the red plaid shirt.

  My father walked over to the round table.

  “You,” he said to one of the men. “Step out here.”

  “What’s your problem?” the man said.

  “I don’t have a problem,” my father said, “you do, and it’s me.”

  “That kid been crybabying about me?” the man said.

  “That kid is my son,” my father said. “The gentlemen leaning on the wall are his uncles. We’re here to kick your ass.”

  The man looked at his five friends and stood up.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  They all stood up. My father hit the man and the fight started. Pearl and I stayed quiet, watching. Behind me, I heard the bartender calling the police.

  By the time the cops arrived, both the men who had teased me were out cold on the floor. The man in the red plaid shirt was lying outside on the sidewalk. I don’t quite know how that happened, except that my uncle Patrick had something to do with it. The other three guys were sitting on the floor looking woozy.

  The cop in charge, a sergeant named Travers, knew my father.

  “Sam,” he said. “You mind telling me what you boys’re doing?”

  “They harassed my kid on the street, Cecil,” my father said. “Stole his milk.”

  Travers nodded and looked at the bartender.

  “I believe I been telling you, Tate,” he said, “to keep the drunks inside the saloon.”

  “They got no call to come in here and beat up my customers,” the bartender said.

  “Well,” Travers said. “They got some call. Your kid gets bothered by a couple drunks, you got some call.”

  He looked around the room and then at my father.

  “Maybe not this much call,” he said. “Probably gonna get fined, Sam.”

  “Worth the money,” my father said.

  Travers smiled.

  “Known it was you three,” he said, “I’d have brought more backup.”

  “Ain’t supposed to bring no dog in here either,” the bartender said. “Board of Health rule.”

  “We’ll go hard on them ’bout that,” Travers said.

  My father came over and took me off the bar.

  “Probably have to appear in court to pay the fine,” Travers said.

  “Lemme know,” my father said.

  He walked toward the door. Pearl and I followed him. My uncles closed in behind us.

  And we left.

  Chapter 4

  “How come he didn’t arrest you?” I said to my father when we got home.

  “Known Cecil most of my life,” my father said.

  “But wasn’t it against the law?” I said. “What you did?”

  “There’s legal,” my father said, “and there’s right. Cecil knows the difference.”

  “And what you did was right,” I said.

  “Yep. Cecil would have done it too.”

  “How you supposed to know that what you’re doing is right?” I said.

  “Ain’t all that hard,” my uncle Patrick said. “Most people know what’s right. Sometimes they can’t do it.”

  “Or don’t want to,” Cash said.

  “But how do you know?” I said.

  My father sat back and thought a minute.

  “You can’t know,” he said. “But you think about it before you do it, if you got time, and then you trust yourself.”

  “How ’bout if you don’t have time to think and you done it and it was wrong?” I said.

  “Did it,” my father corrected me.

  He was a bear for me saying things right. Even when he didn’t always say it right himself. When he wasn’t around, I talked like all the other kids talked, and I think my father knew that. As long as I knew how to talk right, then I could choose.

  “Sometimes you make a mistake,” he said. “Everybody does.”

  “It sounds too hard,” I said. “How do I know I can trust myself?”

  “It’ll be pretty much instinct,” my father said. “If you been raised right.”

  “How do I know I’m being raised right?” I said.

  My father looked at my uncles. All three of them smiled.

  “None of us knows that,” my father said.

  I nodded. It was a lot to think about.

  “How ’bout, what’s right is what feels good afterwards,” my father said. “It’s in a book, by a famous writer.”

  My father wasn’t educated. Neither were my uncles. And they didn’t know what they were supposed to read. So they read everything. Not long after I was born, my father bought a secondhand set of great books, bound in red leather, and he and Patrick and Cash used to take turns reading to me every night before bed. None of them had any idea what was considered appropriate for a little kid. They just took turns plowing on through the classics of Western literature in half-hour chunks every night. I didn’t understand most of it, and I was bored with a lot of it. But I loved my father and my uncles, and I liked getting their full attention.

  Chapter 5

  “Were you scared?” Susan said. “After the fight in the barroom?”

  “No,” I said. “I was never scared with them.”

  “And you felt important to them,” Susan said.

  “Very.”

  The swan boats, escorted by ducks, moved slowly around the small lagoon, under the small bridge, around the other small lagoon, and back.

  “Much of what you know,” Susan said, “you learned at home.”

  I nodded.

  “Where you felt safe.”

  “Sure.”

  “With people who loved you,” Susan said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And they took turns,” Susan said. “Reading to you and all.”

  “They took turns with everything,” I said.
“So none of them got ground down, so to speak, by being the only parent.”

  “And all of them trusted each other to look out for you,” Susan said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you like the books they read to you?” Susan asked.

  “I guess,” I said. “Sometimes I remember something and understand it in retrospect.”

  “Probably better than you would if it had been taught to you in school.”

  “Remember the Paul Simon song?” I said.

  Susan smiled and sang. Badly.

  “ ‘When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it’s a wonder I can think at all.’ ”

  “How come someone as perfect as you can’t sing a lick?” I said.

  “It’s the flaw that highlights perfection,” Susan said.

  “Like a beauty mark,” I said.

  “Exactly,” she said.

  A squirrel darted toward us and stopped hopefully.

  “Do you have anything to give him?” Susan said.

  “No.”

  “Sorry,” Susan said.

  The squirrel lingered until it was clear we were a waste of time. Then he darted off.

  “So it wasn’t all about being tough guys,” Susan said to me.

  “It was never all about being tough guys,” I said. “It was more about knowing what to do. They were big on knowing how to do what you needed to do. Read, fish, hunt, fight, carpenter, cook.”

  “Better to know than not know,” Susan said.

  I grinned. “They taught me about sex, quite early too.”

  “And well,” Susan said.

  Chapter 6

  They’d read to me after supper.

  Before supper, every other day, one of them boxed with me. They would put on the mitts and let me hammer away with one of them, my father or one of my uncles, calling out the punches.

  “Left jab, jab, right cross, left jab. Jab. Jab. Left hook to the head . . . left hook to the body . . . right uppercut . . . hammer punch off the uppercut . . . right back fist.”

  The workout was exhausting, but it got me in shape pretty quick.

  “Too many bullies in the world,” Patrick used to say. “It’s good to know what you’re doing.”

  I liked the boxing. I was an energetic kid and they were all careful not to hurt me. And I liked the feeling that I might win a fight if I had one.