Street Thieves and Artful Dodgers

Here's an extract from a post-apocalyptic novel I'm restarting. It's a reimagining of Oliver Twist in a setting with a background similar to "Miami 2017" by Billy Joel.

13 June 2137

This book belong to me Jack Dawkins but people call me Dodger because I be really good at running away when I steal things. It’s just an old notebook with one of them covers and a label and loads of blank pages. Nothing special. Fagin ain’t gonna be saying nothing about it. I been nabbing things off him for years. Since he taught me to read and write and count. He say it helps you blend in when you need to pull a long con or other big job. Good thing Oliver the newest kid in our family, can read or he’d be useless. When he told me his name I knew he was an orphan. His name’s so funny.

It’s Oliver Twist. Who the hell calls a kid Oliver Twist? The folks running the poorhouse apparently. I laughed. When I asked him about it after his first day here when we was helping Fagin sort out the watches and the loot in the secret compartments in his desk where I found this book- there was staplers, pairs of scissors, more notebooks and pencil cases in the last normal compartment - he stared at me. I wanted to tell him it don’t matter but then he told me. There’s a list and they just name the kids off that. He heard the master talking to the matron of the orphanage he was at about it when he was little. He used to be in an orphanage before they took him back to the poorhouse. I ain’t never forgetting that. Jack Dawkins—at least it ain’t Jack Foundling or something. I’m supposed to show Oliver how to do stuff around here. So that’s why I’m keeping this journal.

Fagin just gonna give me a look when he pass me in the hallway. The kind that say "I know whatcha did. Don’t try an’ hide it from me." Then he gonna go back to melting down scrap we stole and found and then gets us to help with filing names off watches an’ unstitchin letters outta clothes. ‘Cept on Saturday. We don’t do no work then because he religious. Before sunset he lights candles and no-one gives him stolen goods or no stuff to hock (he locks the doors and closes down the shop) or even turns on the lights. We just sit around and talk.

There be lots of old toys he let the little kids have. I’m writing this on my bed looking at the lamp on the chest. Got a few minutes fore I go to bed. It be only the only thing in here other than a table, two cots a chest and a chair. You gotta open a door to get in my bed. The hook on my closet lock opens when you pull it in the middle. Charlie’s already asleep on . He snores but not as much as Fagin or Bill. Oliver’s asleep too. Looks like a baby when he sleeps. Everyone thinks he’s really cute.

edited 24th Dec '13 8:46:44 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

Any comments?

[DELETED]

edited 26th Nov '13 6:02:00 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

Sorry about that. Anyone want to give me a critique on this?

edited 26th Nov '13 6:01:28 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

page 2

“Shuddup. They hear us. Yeah. To make sure we ain’t getting caught.” I made my voice just a bit softer so he heard what I said. “Yuh run when I tells yuh to.” Lucky no-one be hearing us. The speakers on the ceiling send signals to the police. They can hear everythin you do even if you’re miles away. And see and smell it. They got locators like the ones on airships. ‘’Keep yuh voice down.”

After the train stopped us kids split off into pairs and threes like everyone else. Joel be a real good pickpocket. This lady in a dark red dress walk up to us and he went up and talk to her about everything- how he can slide down the banister and it be just like a real slide. He even sing this song that my mom Hannah be playin on the radio at home. That one bout not selling ackee in Linstead Market. Say it helps her remember her heritage, where she come from. “ Carry mi ackee go a Linstead Market, not a quattie wut sell. Carry mi ackee go a Linstead Market, not a quattie wut sell. Oh lord, what a night not a bite, what a Sattiday night. Oh lord, what a night not a bite, what a Sattiday night. ” He knows the whole thing now.

Everyone say Joel cute. He got black curly hair but not bad curly like mine. His hair be soft and mine be hard and his skin light. Some folks say he ain’t my brother cuz I be darker than him. But they wrong. He my foster brother. His mother jus lef him with Hannah when he was a baby and pay her and Fagin money to look after him. So now we helpin teach him to thief. Fagin don’t want to get charity or live in the poorhouse. He gets us to steal an’ find things he can sell so we can have food an’ ain’t need to be in the poorhouse. “I rather starve than depend on those putzes for a scrap and a drink of water. No freedom to do what you want. Ask permission to go anywhere, do anything…”

Joel slipped his hand in her dress pocket and pulled out something. His palm was glowing red from the implant. We all ran right after that with her yelling at us. “Where’s my— brats picked my pocket!’’ Finally we stopped around Broadway. I felt my pocket. Yep, watch was still there. There was an airship flying overhead. The sound was everywhere. Then it disappeared and I saw it touch down on a landing pad on top of a building. The words on the map at home said this was 431 Broadway. In the distance people was heading home or to work. The docks always full of people lookin for old parts in the water to sell. Once someone found a whole old TV. There’s heaps of water and lots of parts because of the weather changing a hundred years ago. That meant the sea rose and there been a lot more stuff from hurricanes.

Fagin’s be full of parts that folks dust off and try to use in computers and machines – old computer wheels and gears and cogs. They end up in automatons all over the country an’ no-one even knows they stolen because he fixes them up. My feet and legs felt like there was bugs in them and my eyes itched. I pulled my coat closer and stood in the middle between Charlie and Joel. “Hey, Dodge?... Dodger!” Charlie.

“Yeah?” I scratched under my shirt. The run made me sweat even though it was cold. There be a red sign on top of this other red one and a white one where we been. Or least that what it supposed to say but you can’t read it.

edited 12th Dec '13 2:12:08 AM by MorwenEdhelwen

Technically, I think you are supposed to be using the Constructive Criticism thread for something like this, but whatev.

"Yep, watch was still there. There was an airship flying overhead."

Seems a bit of an abrupt change. You bring the thieving action to some sort of narrative closure before changing the focus to the setting. Something about how the kids assess the value of what they have. You want to take the opportunity to communicate some emotion to the reader- exhileration or satisfaction or fear or something. Use two paragraphs if you need to. Then seque into the setting by building on the emotion. If the protag was excited by what they just accomplished, for example, then he would see he airship as something big and exciting. If he was afraid of getting caught, then the airship seems dark and threatening, something like that. You get the idea.

[DELETED]

edited 12th Dec '13 2:48:22 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

@demarquis: Thanks. BTW, any tips on how to make Oliver himself interesting?

?? Oliver isnt mentioned anywhere in your story as far as I can see.

I meant when he is mentioned...

edited 16th Dec '13 4:20:46 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

Ok, so, some thoughts trying to focus on the concerns you mentioned in the Constructive Crit. thread:

Unfortunately I can’t comment with any authority on how it works as a re imagining of Dickens’ novel since I haven’t actually read Oliver Twist, though I’m familiar with the basics of the story. However the sort of images your excerpts evoke certainly seem in line with my image of the story: the gritty nature of the city, the separation between the lives of the rich and the poor, the unofficial rules the orphans adopt in order to get by. The surveillance state and police presence almost seems more Orwellian than Dickensian though, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I imagine it comes with the futuristic city territory.

As for your characters, the only one who got much development in your excerpts was Dodger. Fagin was more distant, which is understandable as we hear about him second hand from Dodger. I got a sense of ambivalence about him from Dodger: I feel Fagin is this authority figure who Dodger has just learned not to fear, but still respects on some level. From what I can glean I guess I see him as a harried older man who doesn’t have time to really deal with all the kids under his care and saves his strength for the important stuff (like keeping his business running). The religion angle promises some interesting depth that isn’t explored yet.

Dodger himself strikes me as clever and observant, that much comes across in his writing and what he chooses to note in his journal. I see him as the ‘older brother’ of his group of kids, judging by his interactions with the others. It’s interesting that he never really writes out his emotions. He mentions lots of things he notices but never talks about how they make him feel, or what he actually wants, he’s just describing surface things. I see him as someone who is used to putting up a tough guy persona, and therefore expresses himself more subtly by what he chooses to detail in his journal. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

The setting, with images of airships patrolling the streets, poor people dealing in junk and garbage, overcrowded subways, etc, seemed very real and was easy for me to imagine. The implants were a bit of a mystery to me, I pictured them as just glowing lights under the surface of the skin. There were a few details that seemed a bit excessive -like the bit about staplers and scissors in the drawer with the notebook- for a journal entry. It wasn’t a huge problem in your excerpts, but it's something to keep in mind. The appearance of Oliver might actually be really useful here, as Dodger will have a reason to write about all the stuff he considers common knowledge when he's showing Oliver the ropes.

One thing that did kind of throw me off was his voice. It seemed more like a talking voice then a writing voice, and even then it was kind of distracting trying to imagine how someone like that would actually sound. It didn’t keep me from finishing it but it was distracting.

Overall I found the excerpts good at building a setting and portraying Dodger’s voice (even if he was distracting at times), but the flow of the story was choppy and hard to follow. The first time I read through I had difficulty understanding what was actually happening because Dodger kept interjecting random side thoughts. The second read-through was much more coherent, but that first time just felt like a series of unrelated observations. Like the bit where Dodger describes Joel, for example. It was well written but just put in a place where it disrupted the flow of the action. I suppose that’s an accurate depiction of how someone’s journal might actually read, but as a coherent story it is hard to follow.

edited 19th Dec '13 7:36:12 AM by LittleBillyHaggardy

@Billy: Thanks.

page 3

“See this.” Charlie took a punched card out of his pocket. “Stuck out just like that. Whaddya got in that bag?”

“Yuh is Fagin now?” I made my voice lower and put on a bit of a Jewish accent making my ws sound like vs. “So, kid, whaddya have? Our next meal depends on this. You want us in the poorhouse?” I held the brown bag against my hip. “Ain’t showin’ you what’s in this bag. I’m handing it in at home.”

He laughed like always. My impersonations was about as good as his was. “Wanna see what else I got?”

Joel laughed too. “Dodger?” I ain’t hear him.

Nothing on the street. Not even a steamhorse. I done step off the sidewalk and tried to stop thinking about what Fagin and Hannah’d say when we got home.

“Yeah?”

‘’What you got?”

I pulled a locket out.

His implants glowed. They’re black like his real eyes and glow when he looks at credit card numbers or other kinds of loot. All our implants do that. Fagin’s got connections.

“Wow. Awesome. Is Fagin really gon’ let me have some more gin?”

“Yeah. You got some great loot. Fagin don’t never break his promises.” He showed me that back when I been about four. Someone in a tenement near our pawnshop had their dad leave them and the kids had to go to the poorhouse. They was so thin cause they been starved. Sometimes we didn’t have nothing cept stale leftovers for a week.

“Oh, Dodger. Leave ya will I? No. That ain’t right. “ He stuck his fingers in my hair and stroked it. “I love ya—- I love all ya kids. Don’t tell the others but you’re my favorite. Ya got such light quick fingers. OK?” He looked at me for a long time.

“Course I am ya crazy old fence.”

Fagin tucked me in and kissed me on the cheek. He did it to Charlie too. “Goodnight, my dearest. Sleep well. Ya need to be out on the streets tomorrow. Look.” He reached into one of the pockets in his practice coat (he got this coat with pockets that he lets kids practice their stealing on) and pulled out a pillow and an old teddy bear that never been touched.“These are yours, my darling. I’ll get you some more toys if you bring me a good haul.” His deep voice was softer. He put out the lamp.

I slept with them and still have them in my bed. The last thing I heard fore he closed the door on us was his footsteps even though they be quiet enough you wouldn’t realize he been there. When Bill took me on a break-in and I come back with loads of cloth and good plates Fagin gave me more stuffed animals and some wooden dolls with a set of policemen and a train set. There was clothes with them too made of old scraps from clothes that ain’t been bought back or sold. I pretended we was like the rich folk and had our own carriage. We planned fake robberies with our toys.

When I been sick and my eyes hurt under the implants he’d sit up on the end of my bed and put wet cloths on my eyes and tell me stories about when he first figured out how to swipe people’s credit card details and how he got back to his old hideout (he paid a friend’s father to drive him to the Tombs in one of his carriages, drugged the guards checking he got there then rode off in the carriage).“When you need to escape, my dear, first rule is always check out the exits. Second rule, take an accomplice. Third rule, give ‘em what they ask for but not everything. If you don’t have enough time just ask for something simple. Fourth rule, don’t try to resist. Remember the rules and you can get away with a lot.”

edited 24th Dec '13 8:45:20 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

Second entry:

14 June 2137

After that conversation with Oliver about the synthers I finished up my dinner and gin and got up just as Fagin was headed downstairs and pulling his red headscarf back over his forehead. He always wears it. The taste of the gin stayed in my mouth.

“Now Dodger, clear up the plates and follow me. There, are, uh, some things you got ——“ He looked back at me from the landing. The lamp he was holding shone over the stairs and showed the black stains on the railings. I piled up the plates in the basins and took a tea towel and knife to clean and scrape them. My hands was so slippery that I had to press the towel so it wouldn’t fall on the floor. Then I walked across the floor and followed him downstairs to the room in the basement underneath the house. The room‘s filled with things no one claimed back waiting to be sold and things that just got hocked. The stolen goods was all piled on the table near the crucible and tripod. The first pile looked like

“What’ve you got for me?” Fagin looked at me closely. I dumped a bag on the table in front of him. “Let me see your hand, bubele.” He took my hand and turned on the computer and scanner with his left hand. My palm was hot from the implant. It was cooler under the scanner.

He typed up the information from the signals and let go of my hand then opened the bag and looked through it throwing stuff out. “Computer parts, eh? Good, Dodger. Good boy. Any other pickings, my artful one?”

I reached into my pocket and put a watch on the table. He walked over picked it up and pulled a magnifying glass off the shelf, turning the watch over in his hand. His eyes flickered as he stared at it. “Hot. Good to work with. I need only a bit of sandpaper and …” his voice trailed off.

He patted my shoulder. “Let’s go back down, my dear.”

Back upstairs Hannah checked some of the little kids and new kids’ stuff. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her look at Oliver’s watch then set it back down on the table. She touched a red oanga bag on her hip. It’s made of leather and smells of her special homemade gin. The smell’s about as bad as the taste. All the other kids moved to the wall so Fagin and me could get through. He walked through all of them and checked their palms for small items. Then he got to the end of the row. “Want to be bums do you?!” Fagin yelled at Sam and Jake, two of the little kids. His eyes moved up and down. “What did you two bring back? Nothing!” He dragged them out of the room. Jake screamed as Fagin held onto his arm. Fagin loosened “You’ll be sleeping in the basement. It’ll be locked so you can’t leave until you think about what you’ve done. “

He turned to Alex. She’s about the same age as Charlie and me but much taller. She’s tall for a girl. “What happened, girl? Tell me. Or feel this.” He touched a finger to the wooden stick on the fireplace. “Want a hiding? Was you just waitin’ for ‘em to see a good mark, then run? Why ain’t they got nothing, eh?” He glared at her.

She brushed her blonde hair off her face and looked him straight in the eye. “No I swear, Fagin! I was watchin’ ’em like a hawk! Sam got a purse an’ a hanky an’ Jake got a ring off the same lady —but there been a cop there just then and he nearly caught us. He nabbed Jake – an’ so we dropped ‘em! He let Jake go— we wasn’t about to be caught just for some loot and worry ya. We got here just in time.”

“Ahh.” Fagin’s expression changed. He smiled. “Alex, my dear, follow me downstairs. I want to see what you got.” The last thing I saw before they done gone down and Charlie, Oliver and me took out the Monopoly board was Fagin locking the little wood box where he keep some of the stuff he’ll sell. Oliver don’t even really know how to play. Still he’s pretty good for a beginner. He got a number of streets and houses (but I bought four of his houses and a bank off him). We played until Fagin told us to put the game away and get to bed.The living room has a huge cupboard full of chests of toys and old clothes for the little kids’ dress-up costumes—stuff people sold to Fagin or that he bought from the second-hand clothes store. Hannah agreed with him. One of the babies started crying so she ran upstairs with a bottle of milk and a sugar tit. The shelves in her and Fagin’s room is full of bottles labeled with dates and normally full of milk from the poorhouse.

This morning Fagin cooked us breakfast. Hannah was still looking after the little kids in the room next to where us older kids sleep. He already put some cheese in bagels poked them with his toasting fork and toasted them over the fire. He fried us some great beef sausages too. Oliver ate his bagel and sausage real slowly. He took a few bites stopped then took more bites til he was finished. He looked like a stray dog that ain’t been fed and his eyes went wide when Fagin ask him if he wanted some more. He did and finished his second sausage in three bites. He’s really polite. “Thanks, Mr. Fagin sir.”

“Just call me Fagin, Oliver. No “sir” or “mister”. You aren’t in the poorhouse now. We’re your family, my dear.”

Oliver nodded. “Thanks F—Fagin.”

“Good boy.”

Charlie laughed.“Can I clean your dog poo, sir?” “Sir” oh—— my—— owww.“

“You shut it and eat your breakfast, Charlie!” Fagin’s voice bounced off the walls. The plate at the edge of the sink shook. Fagin got up to stop it from breaking. Charlie stuck his fork into his sausage and bit into it.

edited 24th Dec '13 8:43:00 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

bump