"Less chance of their noticing us," Malone explained, and started forward.
They tiptoed up the stairs and got behind a pile of crates in the shadows, while invectives roared around them. This floor was lit by a single small bulb hanging from a socket in the ceiling. The windows were hung with heavy blankets to keep the light from shining out.
The kids didn't notice anything except each other. Malone took a couple of deep breaths and began to look around.
All things considered, he thought, the kids had fixed the place up pretty nicely. The unused warehouse had practically been made over into an apartment. There were chairs, beds, tables and everything else in the line of furnishings for which the kids could conceivably have any use. There were even some floor lamps scattered around, but they weren't plugged in. Malone guessed that a job would have to be done on the warehouse wiring to get the floor lamps in operation, and the kids just hadn't got around to it yet.
By now, the boys were practically standing toe to toe, ripping air-bluing epithets out at each other. Not a single hand was lifted.
Malone stared at them for a second, then turned to Dorothea. "We'll wait till they calm down a little," he whispered. "Then you go out and talk to them. Tell them we won't hurt them or lock them up or anything. All we want to do is talk to them for a while."
"All right," she whispered back.
"They can vanish any time they want to," Malone said, "so there's no reason for them not to listen to—"
He stopped suddenly, listening. Over the shouting, screaming and cursing of the kids, he heard motion on the floor below.
Cops?