by Brom
“Where you going, sweetheart?” the woman asked.
“You looking for something, kid?” the man said, climbing to unsteady feet. Other heads began to poke out from sleeping bags and boxes, dull, bleary eyes all on Nick.
“Of course he’s looking for something,” the woman said and smiled wickedly. “Ten bucks, sugar, and I’ll blow more than your mind. Got ten bucks?”
Nick stared at her, horrified.
The old man snorted and let loose a chuckle. “That’s a sweet deal, boy. Trust me. She’ll make you holler hi-de-ho.” Several of the other men nodded and laughed.
Nick shook his head rapidly back and forth, and tried to twist his arm free. But the woman held him tight.
“Five bucks, then,” she said. “Five bucks to blow your little rocket. What’d you say?”
Nick caught sight of two men moving around behind him; they looked hard and hungry, eyeing him like a free lunch.
“Let me go,” Nick pleaded, trying to peel away her fingers. “Please, lady. Please let me go.”
“You’re missing out,” she cooed and let go, causing him to stumble right into one of the men. The man snatched Nick by the hair and spun him around, got a hand on Nick’s pack. Nick cried out and twisted away, felt his hair tear loose in the man’s grip, but didn’t care so long as he still had his pack. The pack was all that mattered, all he had going for him now. He clutched it tightly to his chest, reeled, got his feet under him, and scrambled out of the ravine. He tore through the bushes and sprinted off, with their ghoulish laughter echoing after him. He didn’t stop until the ditch was well out of sight. He found a playground, collapsing against a big smiley-faced turtle, trying to catch his breath and get control of his nerves.
In a ditch, he thought. Is that where I’ll be sleeping tonight? And the next night, and the next? With creeps like that around.
He dropped his pack between his feet, heart still pumping. He searched the shadows, the trees, making sure no one was around or following him, before digging a wad of bills out of his pocket and quickly counting them. Fifty-six dollars. How far is that gonna get me? He hefted the pack. No, that’s not all. Just as soon as I find a dealer I’ll have all the money I need. Of course he hadn’t quite worked that part of the plan out: how a fourteen-year-old was supposed to go about arranging a major drug sale. I can handle it, he reassured himself. Just have to play it smart. I’ll take it down to…take it…take it where? “Fuck,” he said, then told himself that for now all that mattered was getting to the subway and getting the hell out of here. Then what? Well? He glanced at the bushes, realizing he didn’t even have a sleeping bag. It made him wonder if maybe his mother had been right. Maybe it would’ve been better to just stay out of Marko’s way. If he had, he’d at least still have a place to sleep, food to eat. He rolled his sleeve back and stared at the burn on his arm, and Marko’s hateful grin came back to him, his angry, bloodshot eyes. No, Nick thought. This was her fault. All of it. She’s the one that let those bloodsuckers into Grandma’s house in the first place. None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t been so selfish. He felt tears coming and wiped angrily at his eyes. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck.”
A thump came from back in the trees. Nick spun around expecting to see Marko, or maybe the ghoulish woman with the painted lips. But there was nothing there but the trees and the yellow lights. He glanced about. There was no sign of anyone; the park had become eerily quiet.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A boy-sized shadow climbed straight up a tree and disappeared into the branches. “What the hell?” Nick whispered, then decided he really didn’t want to know. He turned and sprinted toward the street.
NICK CAME OUT of the park just down from the subway station. He waited for traffic to clear, then started across the street. He made it about three strides, then stopped cold.
“Shit!” he said. Propped against the station stairs was Bennie, one of Marko’s boys, one of about a dozen kids that ran his junk for him. A chill slid up Nick’s spine. Does Bennie know what’s up? Bennie had his cell phone pressed up against his ear. Of course he knows.
A car horn blew, reminding Nick he was in the street. He spun and leaped back to the curb. He ducked his head down and kept going, heading back toward the park. Don’t run, he told himself. He didn’t see you. Just keep walking. Keep cool. He ventured a glance back as he entered the trees. Bennie was gone.
Nick knew if Bennie had seen him he’d call everyone, and then they’d all be looking for him. God, Nick thought, what am I gonna do? He pushed deeper into the park, keeping a sharp eye out behind him. Can’t stay in the park forever.
“Yo, cuzz. Whut up?”
Nick let loose a cry as someone came gliding up alongside of him on a tricked-out BMX bike, then wheeled the bike around and blocked Nick’s path.
The squinty-eyed boy looked to be a couple years older than Nick. He sported a puffy jacket at least two sizes too big for him and a pair of wide-legged pants with the waistband hanging low on his hips. His blond hair—braided into cornrows—sprouted out from beneath a Mets ball cap like electrified caterpillars.
The kid slouched back on his seat and let a sly smirk drift across his face.
Nick’s heart began to drum. Is he one of Marko’s boys? Sure looks like one of those assholes.
The kid with the caterpillar hair scratched at the pimples along his chin and leaned forward onto the handlebars. “Yo, dawg. Spot me a dollar?”
Nick relaxed a degree. This was just another prick trying to shake him down. Did he really believe every kid in the neighborhood was looking for him?
When Nick didn’t reply, caterpillar-head sighed, pulled a wad of gum from his mouth, and stuck it on his handlebars. He gave Nick a dark look, one that said let’s get down to business.
Nick dealt with assholes like this every day—a little humiliation, a little physical abuse at the expense of his self-respect—around here the fun never ended. But Nick didn’t have time to play the game right now. He needed to get out of here. Nick thought about just forking over the wad of bills, then maybe he’d get away with his backpack at least. But how far could he get without any cash?
“Yo, cuzz, I’m talking to you,” the teenager said in a tone clearly indicating that good ole Nicky boy was unduly trying his patience.
Nick wondered if this beaked-nose wannabe was going to work Yo, cuzz or dawg into every sentence.
“Yo, dawg,” the teenager said. “You deaf or sumptin?” He snapped his fingers right in front of Nick’s face. Nick flinched and fell back a step.
“Dawg, look at you getting all freaked and shit,” the kid said with a snort. “Chill, cuzz. I’m just fucking witchu.”
Nick managed a strained smile and forced a chuckle, and immediately hated himself for it. The only thing worse than getting dicked around was having to act like you were in on the joke. In this case, the laugh was the wrong move. Nick wasn’t at school. He was alone in the park, and that weak laugh told this kid that Nick wasn’t a fighter, that Nick was—prey.
The kid’s voice dropped, cold and serious. “How much money you got?”
The tone scared Nick; it sounded mean, like this kid just might go over the line and really hurt him.
“I’m here with my big brother,” Nick said, trying to sound cool, like he really did have a big brother looking out for him.
The kid didn’t even bother to glance around. He just sat there with his arms crossed over his chest with a don’t-give-me-that-shit look on his face.
“He just ducked in the trees over there,” Nick said, pointing into the dark woods. “To take a leak. He’ll be back any sec.”
There, of course, was no big brother relieving himself in those murky trees, but if either of the boys had looked, they might have seen a shadow with golden eyes inching toward them along the branch of the big oak.
The kid shook his head slowly back and forth. “Fuuuck.” Letting the expletive slide out like a long, disappointed sigh, a
s though asking Nick why he’d lie to a nice guy like him.
“Yo, what’s in the pack?”
Nick’s fingers tightened on the shoulder straps. He pushed his bangs out of his face and glanced about for a place to run.
“Hey,” the kid said. He squinted at Nick. “Don’t I know you?”
Nick’s blood went cold.
“Sure. You live at Marko’s place.”
Only it wasn’t Marko’s place, Nick wanted to shout. It was his grandmother’s house. Marko was supposed to be a tenant, but Marko and his pals had taken over and his mother, his goddamn mother, wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.
“Yeah,” the kid said. “You’re that weirdo that lives upstairs with his mommy, the one that never comes out of his room. Marko says you’re queer or something.”
If by weirdo he meant that Nick didn’t play grab-ass with the wannabes on the street corner, didn’t yank at his crotch and call girls bitches, didn’t wear oversized jerseys and pretend to be a gangsta all day, then yeah, Nick had to agree. But there was more to it and Nick knew it. Even back at Fort Bragg, before the move, he’d had trouble fitting in. But here in Brooklyn, where weirdo was a term of endearment compared to what most of the kids called him, he’d begun to feel like a leper, like he came from another planet. As of late, he’d given up on making friends altogether and probably did spend far too much time in his room reading, drawing, playing video games, and anything else he could come up with to avoid pricks like this jerk-off.
“Hey, you seen Bennie?”
“Who?” Nick said, as he eased back a step.
“What you mean who? Bennie. Dawg, he’s over yo place all the time. You seen him?”
Nick shook his head and took another step back but the kid rolled his bike forward.
“Look, I gotta go,” Nick said. “Umm…just a little favor for Marko. Y’know.”
“What? Marko? You’re running for Marko now? No way.”
“Nothing big,” Nick added quickly. “Just an errand.”
“Oh, yeah.” The kid’s voice was suddenly cordial, like he hadn’t just been about to slap Nick sideways and shake him down. “Bennie put in a word for me. Said Marko might be setting me up soon too.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Dawg, you know I was just fucking witchu, right? We all good, right?”
“Sure,” Nick said, and made himself smile, anything to get out of here already. “See ya then.” He started away toward the playground.
“Yo,” the kid called after him. “When you see Marko, give him a shout-out from his bro Jake.”
That’s exactly what I will do, Nick thought. While he’s burning my tongue with a hot wire, I’ll be sure to let him know his bro Jake said hi.
Jake’s phone came to life. Nick knew it was Bennie, knew it before Jake even answered it. Nick walked faster.
The kid dug out his phone and flipped it open. “Yo. What? Dawg, you said at the park. What—no way. He did that? No way. No fucking way.”
Nick caught the kid cutting his eyes toward him. “I can do you one better than that,” the kid said. “No man, I mean I got just what you’re looking for.”
Nick’s heart slammed against his chest.
“Yeah, that’s just what I mean. Okay, it’s cool. By the turtle. Y’know that fucking green climby thing at the playground.” He glanced at Nick again. “Don’t worry he’s not—”
Nick took off. If he could make it into the trees he might be able to lose himself in the bushes, might have a chance. He was running so hard he didn’t even hear the bike bearing down on him. The older boy kicked him as he flew by. Nick lost his footing and slid across the sidewalk, the concrete tearing into his palms. Nick let out a cry and tried to get up, but Jake was right there and kicked him back down.
“You ain’t gonna leave without yo big bro, are you?” Jake asked, then kicked him again.
Nick heard tennis shoes slapping the sidewalk and two boys came running up. “Yo! Yo! Jake!” one of them yelled. It was Bennie.
“Dawg, you see that kick?” Jake hollered, his voice pumped with excitement. “See that? I’m Steven-fucking-Seagal.” He tugged his crotch with one hand and made a rapid snapping gesture with his fingers, all while sucking his lower lip and bobbing his head. “You don’t want to be messing with Jake-the-Snake. What’d ya say, Bennie?” Jake stuck out a knuckle-fist. “Give it up, bro.”
Bennie gave Jake a look close to pity, left Jake’s knuckle-fist to hang, and turned cold eyes on Nick, eyes that said he wasn’t fucking around like this retard beside him.
Bennie was big. From what Nick had picked up, he’d been a defensive tackle over at Lincoln High before getting expelled for assaulting his math teacher—the word was he’d put the man’s eye out with a pencil. Bennie had thick, hard hands like tree roots, the kind of hands that could tear quarters in half, and one long, bushy brow overhanging small, squinty eyes. Those eyes were cold—not mean, just cold—like he didn’t feel.
Bennie stared at Nick, letting those empty eyes bore into him. Finally, he said, “Man, if I had to pick one person I’d least wanna be right now, it’d be you.”
“True dat!” Jake added, then turned to the third kid, a short, muscular boy with stumpy arms and slumping shoulders. “Yo, Freddie. Check out his shoes. Wouldn’t catch my ass dead in pussy shoes like that.”
“Fucken’ faggot shoes,” Freddie ordained, in a Brooklyn accent so thick it sounded like his mouth was full of marbles. He kicked the bottom of Nick’s shoe.
They were referring to Nick’s leprechaun-green Converse knockoffs. Nick didn’t even hold it against them—no one hated those shoes more than he did. They were the kind of shoes you find in a bin at the discount store, right below the dollar watch display. He’d outgrown his green Vans—best pair of skate-shoes he’d ever owned—shortly after the move. He’d asked his mother for a new pair and she’d come home with these wonders. When Nick asked how he was supposed to skate in those, if she expected him to actually wear them to school, and if she was the biggest cheap-ass in all of fucking New York, she’d called him a spoiled brat and left the room. Of course, his skateboard had disappeared shortly after Marko showed up, so that part didn’t really matter, but being ridiculed at school every day certainly hadn’t helped him fit in.
Bennie flipped open his cell phone and thumbed redial. He pushed the hood of his Knicks sweatshirt back and rubbed the dark fuzz atop his head. “Hey, Marko, who’s the man? That’s right. No, I ain’t shitting you. Of course I got him. Dumbass headed straight for the subway just like you said. We’re in the park. I dunno.” Bennie glanced around. “Over near the playground. No, not that one. The one with the stupid turtle. We’ll wait. Don’t worry, this little bitch ain’t going nowhere.”
Bennie slapped his phone shut. “Check his bag.”
Freddie grabbed the pack. Nick jerked it away and scrambled to his feet, but Freddie nabbed him before he made half a step, wrestling him into a painful armlock.
Bennie yanked the pack out of Nick’s hand.
“Wonder what’s in here?” he said sarcastically and unzipped the pack. He let loose a whistle and held it out for Jake and Freddie to see. Their eyes got big.
“Fuck! Must be a hundred gees worth,” Freddie said.
Jake looked at Nick in amazement. “Cuzz, Marko’s gonna cut you up and feed you to the fishies.”
Nick jerked an arm free and tried to twist away, started screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. Bennie hit him. It felt like a flare went off in his head. Nick started to yell again when Bennie drilled him in the stomach, doubling him over. Bennie snatched him up by the hair and leaned right into his face. “You wanna run?” Bennie grinned, then grabbed the sides of Nick’s pants, yanking them down to his ankles. “Go on. Run.”
Nick coughed and wheezed, trying to suck in a breath.
“Let ’im go,” Bennie said.
Freddie let go.
Nick clutched his stomach and almost fell over.
“C’mon puss
y,” Bennie said. “Whaddaya waiting for? Take off.”
Both Jake and Freddie let out a snort.
Bennie shoved Nick. Nick stumbled, did a duck-waddle, but managed to keep his feet despite his pants twisting around his ankles.
Freddie and Jake crowed with laughter.
Then Bennie hit Nick like a linebacker. Nick’s feet tangled and he slammed to the ground.
“Check his pants and underwear,” Bennie said. “Little queer probably stuffed the stash up his ass.”
Freddie patted Nick down. He shoved a hand in Nick’s pocket and pulled out the wad of bills. “Pay—day!”
“Give me that,” Bennie said, taking the bills. “That’s Marko’s money.”
Bennie leaned over to Nick, so close that Nick could see tomato sauce stains on the sides of his mouth. “Marko said he’s bringing his toolbox. Said it’s gonna be a real horror show. I love horror shows. Do you?”
The limb above them shook and a host of leaves rained down. There followed a soft thump. Nick and Freddie saw him first. When Bennie and Jake caught their faces, they both jerked around.
A boy, not much taller than Nick, stood on the pathway. He wore some sort of hand-stitched leather pants with pointy-toed boots sewn right into them. He also had on a raggedy tuxedo jacket, the old style, the kind with tails, with a black hoodie on underneath and a rawhide pack, almost a purse, strung across his chest. The boy pushed the hood back, revealing a tussle of reddish, shoulder-length hair littered with twigs and leaves. A sprinkle of freckles danced across his cheeks and nose. The boy’s ears were, well, kinda pointy, just like Spock’s, like one of Santa’s little helpers, but oddest of all, his eyes were bright gold.
The boy planted his hands on his hips and a broad smile lit his face. “My name’s Peter. Can I play too?”
THE CHILD THIEF studied the teenagers, making sure to keep up his smile, making sure to hide his disdain. Have to be wily, he thought. Don’t want to spoil the fun.