Mean Little People

by Dearth, Paige

  Erikson regretted saying the words the minute they had left his mouth, but Tony looked at him confused.

  “What’s that like?”

  “Havin’ sex wit’ a woman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like the greatest thing you’ll ever feel—that is, if ya love her. Man, when ya make love to a woman ya love, it’s like…it’s like swimming in a pond filled with silk. It ain’t easy to describe, but someday when ya find a woman ya love, you’ll understand.”

  “Do ya think that what happened to me in juvie changed me?”

  “Changed ya how?”

  “Maybe I won’t be able to be in love wit’ a woman.”

  “That’s bullshit. I watched ya eyeing up those two girls in the park yesterday. They were cute, and you were watching them. How did that make ya feel?”

  Tony blushed. “They were hot. I don’t know—it made me feel like I wanted to talk to them.” Tony blushed deeper. “I thought about what it would be like to kiss the one wit’ the dark hair.”

  “Well, there ya have it. That proves that you’re into women. But ya know, even if ya were into men, it wouldn’t mean anythin’ is wrong wit’ cha. Those assholes in juvie are freaks; that’s all about bein’ into kids.”

  In his head, Tony agreed. “Ya want some olive bread?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “So guess what else? I got a job today too. I’m workin’ at one of the bakeries in the market. Donata is gonna pay me a dollar an hour for two hours a day, and she’s gonna give me some of the shit she bakes.”

  “Little dude! You’re awesome. Look at ya, one day out on your own and ya got a job and a steady stream of food. I told ya that you’ll be somethin’ great someday. Ever think ’bout what cha wanna be when ya grow up?”

  “I know I wanna go after bad guys,” Tony said with confidence.

  “Maybe you’ll be a cop.”

  “Nah. I wanna go after bad guys and teach ’em a lesson. Cops can’t teach ya a lesson; they can only send ya to prison.”

  “Maybe you’ll be a spy and give information to the government ’bout where the assholes live.”

  “I don’t wanna do that either.”

  “Well, then what?”

  “I wanna hurt bad people. I wanna make them suffer for making other people suffer.”

  “That sounds dangerous. Ya wanna be a vigilante.”

  “What’s a vig-a-an-tee?”

  Erikson laughed. “A vigilante. A person who takes the law into their own hands. Punishes people the way they decide they should be punished.”

  “Yeah, I wanna be somethin’ like that. I don’t know exactly what yet, but I wanna be able to do things my way. I’m already makin’ a list of people, and if you’re not nice to me, I’ll add your name to it,” Tony joked.

  Erikson put his hands up, palms facing Tony. “Hey, I don’t wanna be on nobody’s bad list. Especially not yours. That sizzle behind your eyes tells me that you’re gonna do what cha wanna do. I’ll stay on your good side, thank ya.”

  Erikson stood and brushed off his dirty clothes. “I’m headin’ out.”

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “I’m goin’ to find…” Erikson cut off his words.

  “You’re gonna go out and get high, right?”

  Erikson nodded, but he diverted his gaze, ashamed of his addiction.

  “Why don’t cha try and stop doin’ that stuff?”

  “I told ya—once ya start, it’s impossible to stop. That’s why ya never, ever, and I mean never, try drugs.”

  Tony put his hands over his ears and hummed as Erikson stared at him.

  “I heard ya the first time. I ain’t never gonna do drugs, OK?” Tony asserted.

  That night, as Tony lay on his bags of clothes, he thought about the people who had been murdered in apartment 3F and tried to imagine what they looked like. He realized it could have happened in the very spot where he was lying. His anger began as a slow simmer, and he wanted to find and kill the person who’d slaughtered those people who once lived in his only real home.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The next morning at the bakery, Donata brought Tony back into the kitchen. She led him over to a small table in the corner. Tony looked down and saw towels, soap, and shampoo.

  “Go through that door.” Donata pointed. “There’s a laundry basin back there where ya can get cleaned up. It’ll give ya some privacy. After you’re done washing up, then ya can get started on the dirty dishes.” She started to walk away, “Make sure ya leave the basin the way ya found it…clean.”

  Donata quickly went to the front of the store, and Tony moved toward the door carrying the supplies and towels. Tony shut and locked the door behind him and quickly took off his clothes. He washed his hair first, leaning over the tub like he had seen his mother do in the kitchen sink when she dyed her own hair. Lathering up the washcloth, he rubbed the soft fabric over his body. When he was finished, he felt as if twenty pounds of grime had been lifted from him. The only thing he regretted was he hadn’t brought his toothbrush with him, but when he opened the door, Ruth was standing outside. She looked up at him.

  “Grandma said you need these.”

  Tony took the toothbrush and toothpaste from Ruth and went back inside the small room. The toothpaste stung his gums, but it was a good burn, a burn of clean.

  Tony did his work with a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt cleaner, he had a place to live, and he had met some strangers who had a positive impact on him. When he was finished for the day, he headed back to the abandoned apartment building.

  “Tony!”

  Tony turned to see his mother on the sidewalk behind him and went to her.

  “Hi, Ma.”

  “Where are ya comin’ from?”

  Lifting the bag of pastries he said, “A bakery.”

  Teresa hugged Tony, and she could smell the sweet scent of the shampoo he had used. It gave her reassurance that her son was doing OK at his friend’s house.

  “That family you’re livin’ wit’ treatin’ ya good?”

  “Sure they are. They’re real nice. The dad talks to me a lot.”

  “That’s good. When am I gonna see ya?”

  “I’ll meet ya at the park next week like we always do.”

  “I worry about cha, Tony.”

  “Ya ain’t gotta worry. I’m doin’ fine. Better than fine.”

  “Your birthday is next week. I can’t believe you’re gonna be fourteen already. I’ll bring your present to the park wit’ me.”

  “That’ll be great,” Tony said, happy that his mother remembered his birthday.

  “I gotta go. I have to get dinner started before your father comes home,” Teresa said.

  “Maybe you can crush up some glass and stick it in his food,” Tony remarked.

  “Tony Bruno, don’t go talkin’ like that. Hurtin’ people ain’t the answer to nothin’. Your father will have to answer to God for all the things he does. So ya make sure that ya treat people good, ’cause someday you’ll have to answer to God too.”

  “When I get to heaven, I’m gonna have a lot of questions that I want God to answer,” he said defiantly.

  “God don’t need to answer to nobody. Ya gotta keep him in your heart and know that he makes everything happen for a reason. Things might not be the way ya want ’em right now, but God has a bigger plan for ya…for all of us.”

  Tony gave his mother a hug and said good-bye. There was no use in arguing with Teresa over her beliefs. It was her strong conviction she was living God’s plan by staying with Carmen. Tony thought the whole idea was ridiculous. Tony had decided in juvie that if there was a God, he didn’t keep watch over every single thing that happened to every person. Otherwise, why would he let those guards do those terrible things to him?

  It was later than normal when Tony arrived back at the apartment building. He had only been in apartment 3F for a few minutes when Erikson came in.

  “Hey, Tony, ya got any sweets?�
��

  Tony handed him the bag from the bakery.

  “There’s a party tonight at a friend’s house. Ya wanna come?”

  “Dunno. Is it all old people?”

  Erikson laughed. “You callin’ me old?”

  “Kinda,” Tony stated with a smirk.

  “It’ll be a mix. The guy who owns the place has a fifteen-year-old daughter. She parties, so he lets her and her friends hang out.”

  “Yeah, sure, I guess so.”

  Tony wasn’t in a partying mood. He was content sitting inside the dirty, cold walls of 3F. He had found comfort in the apartment where all the murders happened many years before. He pretended he was protecting the people who died there.

  “Good,” Erikson said. “I’m gonna take a little nap. When I wake up, we’ll head out.”

  It was almost eleven at night when Erikson and Tony left for the party. They arrived at a small row home. Tony took in everything around him as they walked into the living area. The furniture was old and worn. A long sofa was filled with people holding beer cans and smoking cigarettes. The table in front of them had a smattering of white powder and bags of pot.

  Erikson introduced Tony to some people, and within an hour of arriving, a drug dealer named Head approached him. Erikson had warned Tony that Head was trouble and that whenever the dealer met a new kid, either on the streets or at a party, he considered him or her new meat. Erikson had stressed that Head tried his best to hook the clean kids. Head always preached that hooked kids were future business.

  Head pushed a crack pipe toward Tony. “Here, take a hit. You’ll love this.”

  Tony shook his head. “No thanks, man. I don’t do that.”

  “How do ya know ya don’t do it? Have ya ever tried it?” Head said, pushing a small pipe closer to him.

  Tony put his hand up. “I said, I don’t do that.”

  “Just give it a try. It ain’t gonna cost ya nothin’,” Head insisted more aggressively.

  Tony stepped backward. “What the fuck is your problem, man? I don’t wanna smoke none of that shit. Why don’t cha just leave me alone?”

  Tony’s angry words drew the attention of the people around them. His face was colored by a rush of blood. Erikson was close by and saw what was happening. He rushed over to Tony’s side.

  “What the fuck is wit’ ya? Leave ’im alone, Head, or I swear I’ll…”

  “You’ll what, motherfucker? What are ya gonna do? Try to take me; I will fuckin’ crush you like an empty beer can.”

  Erikson grabbed Tony’s arm and turned to leave.

  Head curled up his hand, spun Erikson around, and, with high velocity, threw a punch into his stomach, just below the ribs. Erikson went to his knees; the pain was sharp.

  Tony’s anger boiled over and he threw a quick but powerful swing, connecting with Head’s jaw. Head flew backward onto the coffee table, smashing on top of beer bottles and dope. Then he lay motionless. At first, Tony was scared that he’d killed the asshole, but one guy on the sofa, who was so high his eyelids were barely opened, poured his open beer into Head’s face. When Tony saw Head start to move, he helped Erikson up off the floor and dragged him from the house. With Erikson’s arm slung over Tony’s shoulder, they walked two blocks in a hurried, awkward manner. Finally, Tony sat Erikson against the side of a building and let him rest.

  Erikson was focused on breathing. Between smoking crack and the punch to his stomach, he was having trouble getting his breath.

  “Shit, dude,” he finally said, “ya throw one helluva punch.”

  Tony stared down at his fist. “Yeah, I actually surprised myself.” He laughed.

  Tony had been so intimidated in juvenile detention he had been too scared to fight back. But when he watched Erikson—a man he’d come to care for over the past week—getting hit, Tony’s instincts overrode his raw fear.

  That night, back in apartment 3F, Tony lay on the floor next to Erikson. The weather had turned much colder; it would be Halloween in less than a week.

  “Hey, Erikson, I think we oughta get those boards up on the windows tomorra. It’s gettin’ cold, and the wind comin’ through the windows is makin’ it worse.”

  “You’re right, Tony. That’s what we’ll do tomorra, first thing.”

  “I gotta go to the bakery in the mornin’. How ’bout when I’m workin’ ya get the wood and black paint ya said we needed.”

  “I ain’t got no money to buy that shit,” Erikson rebutted.

  “How much will it cost?”

  “Well, I can use the closet doors for the wood. I guess it’ll cost about four bucks for a can of paint.”

  “I’ll give ya four bucks then.”

  Erikson curled up to fit his body under the short blanket that lay on top of him. “Yeah, it’s a good thing ya got that job. We’re gonna need some money come winter.”

  Tony propped himself up on his elbow. “Ya gotta get some work and earn some dough too. Ya can’t be thinkin’ we’re gonna make it all winter on the money I make.”

  Erikson nodded. “Sure, kid. I’ll get a job as soon as hell freezes over.”

  Tony lay flat on his back and stared into the darkness. He liked Erikson—the guy had helped him out—but he didn’t like that Erikson wasn’t willing to work. But that wasn’t Erikson’s thing. He glanced over at the man, who was already snoring.

  How am I going to make it out of here? Tony asked himself.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  On Tony’s fourteenth birthday, he met his mother in the park. She gave him a winter jacket she’d bought from the Salvation Army store. Tony knew the coat was secondhand because of the stain down the front, but that didn’t bother him. He was happy to have a warmer jacket that fit him with winter approaching fast.

  On his walk back to the abandoned building, Tony felt like the luckiest kid alive, with his new used winter coat. He realized then that people with nothing are grateful for everything, especially the small things in life, like satisfying basic human needs.

  In the late afternoon, when Tony got back to 3F, Erikson was waiting for him.

  “Hey. Happy birthday,” he said, pushing an object toward him that was wrapped in newspaper.

  “Ya got me a present?” Tony asked, touched by the gesture.

  “Sure, I did. Go on and open it.”

  Tony sat on the floor and unwrapped the newspaper. Inside was an eight-inch hunting knife nestled into a leather pouch. Tony unsnapped the leather strap and pulled out the knife.

  “Wow. This is really cool. Where did ya get it?”

  “Got it when I was in the marines. Let me show ya.”

  Erikson lifted the leg of Tony’s jeans and strapped the leather around his shin and calf.

  Tony waited until he was finished. “Ya were in the marines?”

  “Yeah. I was in for four years. Went in when I was twenty.”

  “Why are ya givin’ this to me? Don’t cha wanna keep it? It seems like somethin’ pretty special.”

  “It is special to me; that’s why I want ya to have it. Someday, ya might need it to protect yourself. If ya do, then you’ll have a good knife to help ya out.”

  “What about you? Don’t cha need to protect yourself too?”

  “Ah, it’s more likely that someone will give you shit ’cause you’re young. I mean, once in a while, some snot-nosed thugs bust my balls, but they see me as an old man. You, on the other hand, you’re a force to reckon wit’, so ya need to make sure ya can take care of yourself.”

  Tony leaned over and gave Erikson a quick hug. “Thanks, man. This means a lot to me. I ain’t never had nobody give me somethin’ that was special to them. I’ll always keep it wit’ me.”

  Erikson turned away before Tony noticed the tears welling in his eyes. He’d never had children of his own, and Tony had quickly become the kid he never had. “Yeah, sure, kid. Happy birthday.”

  Tony pulled the knife from its leather holder. He had a flashback of Salvatore plunging his own knife into Rex. That
night had changed Tony’s life, and he wondered what his life was about and the reason he’d lost his innocence to the twisted, perverted guards in juvie.

  “Why do ya look so serious?” Erikson said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “I was just thinkin’ ’bout some shit.”

  “Ya don’t think about stupid shit on your birthday. Here,” he said, pushing a bottle of cheap whiskey at him. “Take a swig.”

  Tony filled his mouth with the awful-smelling liquid. It felt as though he’d swallowed a fireball as it inched its way down his throat.

  “Ew, what the hell is that?”

  “Whiskey. Every fourteen-year-old boy should take a shot on their birthday.” Erikson offered Tony the bottle again, but he turned it down.

  “What are ya doin’ tonight for your birthday?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Aw, come on. Ya gotta do somethin’. It’s your birthday. How much money ya got?”

  “Thirteen dollars.”

  “That’s plenty. Let’s go get dinner at that local rat trap on Eighth Street, and then we can go buy some beer.”

  “I gotta save my money.”

  “For what?”

  “So I can get my own place someday. Where there are lights and water and heat.”

  “Kid, I hope someday ya do get outta here. Get a house and a car or whatever kinda shit ya want. But thirteen dollars ain’t gonna make that happen. Ya need to make a lot of money to free yourself from the kinda life we’re livin’.”

  “I don’t care what I gotta do; I’m not livin’ like this forever.”

  “Careful what cha wish for. People do really dumb things for money, Tony.”

  “Too late; I already wished for it, and ya know what? My wish is gonna come true ’cause I want it so bad.”

  “If ya say so, kid. Just remember, sometimes when we go after things that we want, the stuff that really matters disappears wit’out ya noticin’. Then one day ya stop and look around ya, and all ya want are those things ya used to have. Hang on to who ya are as ya go after what ya want and never forget about the shit ya love now. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

  “What is there to love now? My life sucks,” Tony grunted.