Read Lost Boy for Free Online Page B

big circular clock ticking on the wall.
    Doyle really tugged at his mustache now. “Well, I know that, sir, and she’s a fine woman, but she’s the exception. You gotta admit. I know, Chief. They got hold of me when I was a kid. The old man died and my mom went a little batty and . . .”
    â€œThings have changed immeasurably, Doyle.” The chief spoke through his teeth. “Now stop doing other people’s job and start doing yours .”
    â€œBut, Chief. We can save this woman’s life.” Doyle’s eyes began to swim. “I told Ryder here I’d do everything I could.”
    The chief’s face softened a bit as he glanced at Ryder, and some of the edge disappeared from his voice. “We can put in the paperwork tomorrow, Doyle, but it’ll take some time. There’s a lot of people that need saving. You know that.”
    â€œShe’s only got . . .” Doyle looked over at Ryder and swallowed. “The doctors said the next four weeks are pretty important, Chief, less even. Something about insurance, and the whole thing is a mess. Have you seen her?”
    Doyle fumbled with his phone, then held up the picture he’d taken of Ryder’s mom so the chief could see for himself that this was no ordinary woman.
    Ryder eagerly studied the chief’s expression.
    â€œWell, it’s a long shot, but we’ll do the right thing.” The chief’s eyes broke free from the photo and he looked Ryder’s way again, this time for more than a glance. “Of course we will. Got that, son? We’ll do our best.”
    The chief scowled back at Doyle McDonald. “Now, Doyle, you need to get this young man to his neighbor and then you need to get back to work. You’ve got an inspection first thing in the morning and you know the BITS guys are gonna have to talk with you.”
    â€œBITS?” Ryder wrinkled his brow.
    â€œBureau of Investigation and Trials.” Doyle stood up. “Don’t worry, buddy. Any time there’s an accident, this is what they do.”
    â€œIt’ll all work out.” The chief stood up and shook both their hands. “Now, I’m heading back home.”
    â€œSure, Chief.”
    â€œGood luck, young man.” The chief patted Ryder on the shoulder. “You and your mom.”
    Doyle and Ryder left without bothering to slide down the pole.

They returned to Ryder’s apartment building.
    â€œHey, don’t give me that look.” Doyle shook his head and stopped on the fourth-floor landing where the wallboard had been ripped away, leaving the bare ribs of wood and wires for all the world to see. “I don’t want to see that. You gotta think positive, remember? No one wants to see that face.”
    Ryder shrugged. The scent of mold and wet wood filled his nose. The stairs seemed to creak a little louder than usual and he marveled at the paint chips—big as his hands—peeling away like bark on the sycamore trees in Central Park. Suddenly the stairs seemed tiring and he took a deep breath to fuel his final climb up to the fifth floor.
    â€œIt’s a lot of money,” Doyle said, then quickly held up a finger. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t get it. When I get back I’ll get my inspection stuff finished then start work filling outwhatever it is I have to so I can get approvals first thing in the morning.”
    Doyle went to knock on Mr. Starr’s door but stopped, his hand in the air, to look at Ryder. “People talk about miracles happening, but I don’t believe that. Miracles are just things that happen right because people didn’t stop trying. You gotta try everything, and you gotta believe. Okay?”
    Ryder nodded and Doyle let his knuckles fall against the door.
    â€œWho is it!” Mr. Starr’s shriek cut through the wood door.
    â€œDoyle McDonald!” Doyle shouted right back. “I’ve got