The Outlaws of Sherwood Street: Giving to the Poor Read Free

of my arm.
    â€œNo, no,” I said, not offended, more like uncomfortable. And also a bit distracted: Mr. Nok’s first name was Nopadon? Nopadon Nok, all those
n
’s and
o
’s. It was like a tiny poem.
    â€œAnd I couldn’t help but also observe the good relationship that the two of you seem to have,” Dina went on. “Which is why I’m hoping you might be able to help me with a story I’m working on.”
    â€œUh, what story?” I said.
    â€œIt’s about the New Brooklyn Redevelopment Project,” she said.
    â€œI don’t know anything about that.”
    Dina smiled, like I’d just cracked a joke. “My mistake—I could have sworn I heard you and Mr. Nok discussing it.”
    â€œWell, I’ve heard of it,” I said. “I am a citizen of Brooklyn.”
    â€œNice,” she said. “Can I quote you? I’ll need your last name.” She took out a pen, flipped to a new page in her notebook.
    â€œQuote me?” Her pen hovered over the page, like a thin creature about to pounce.
    â€œYou’d prefer this to be off the record?”
    My true preference was for this to be all over right now. How to put that politely?
    â€œNo problem,” Dina said before an idea had come to me.
    She closed the notebook and tucked it away in her jacket, a very cool jacket, I noticed: rich red leather with a thick zipper and matte-finish studs. At that moment, for the first time, an answer to that annoying question kids often get—What do you want to be when you grow up?—hit me: a journalist!
    â€œBut,” Dina went on, “I’d be interested in what you know about the NBRP.”
    I shrugged my shoulders. I was wearing my somewhat puffy winter jacket with the white shoulder patches, a jacket I’d loved until a few seconds ago and was now starting to hate.
    â€œJust that they were raising rents and stuff,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you know about Sheldon Gunn?”
    â€œNever heard of him.”
    â€œNo?” Dina said. “He’s quite a prominent figure in New York. Owns
Boffo,
the biggest private yacht in the world. It’s often in the news.”
    â€œYeah?” I said. In fact, as I knew from research Ashanti and I had done,
Boffo
was only the second biggest yacht in the world. I also knew what it was like to sneak onboard in the middle of the night on the open sea and soon be facing a grim and violent death. “Never heard of it, either.”
    â€œWhat about that notice—the anonymous benefactor shoving cash through the mail slot?”
    â€œKind of amazing.”
    â€œAre you aware that similar money dumps took place in other parts of Brooklyn that same night?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œNo idea who the benefactor or benefactors might be?”
    â€œNo. This is all news to me.”
    Dina gave me one of her narrow-eyed looks, then handed me her card. “In case you do hear anything, please keep me in mind.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “But why would I be hearing anything?”
    â€œBecause you’re a kid,” Dina said. “And the rumor going around is that a band of kids is mixed up in all this, kind of modern-day Robin Hoods.”
    A jolt went through me, made my knees go weak and stopped my breathing. My world shrank down to that narrow-eyed look outside and the wild panic inside. “Oh?” I said, my voice quite a bit higher than usual, up there in six-year-old range. I forced myself to breathe again, tried to get my voice back under control. “Really?” Really: the puniest response there was.
    â€œThat’s the rumor.” Did Dina’s lips start curving up in that little smile? The nearest streetlight was out, so I couldn’t be sure. “But if true, I’d have a sympathetic reaction, if you see what I mean.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œMy coverage would be positive,” Dina said. “Here’s something you