Mean Little People

by Dearth, Paige

  “My father is a prick.”

  “Shh,” she hissed, putting her finger to her lips. “I don’t need Ruth talkin’ trash.”

  “Sorry. My real father don’t want me.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She can’t do nothin’ ’bout it. I have a little sister that she’s gotta worry about.”

  Donata’s face turned ashen. “That’s a load of crap,” she said, seething. “Your mother needs to step up and be a real woman. Tell that husband of hers how things are gonna work.”

  “She can’t, Donata. My father, well, he whacks my ma around. He ain’t a nice guy and gets drunk a lot too.”

  Donata was seeing the whole picture now. “So how did ya end up with Erikson?”

  Tony told Donata the story about what had happened, leaving out the part about the guards in juvie.

  “Somethin’ happened to ya in that kid prison?”

  Tony stared at the women. It was as though she had a window into his brain.

  “Why ya askin’ that?”

  “’Cause ya got untamed fire in those eyes of yours—the kinda fire that tells me that ya ain’t had it easy. What did they do to ya?”

  Tony stared at the woman. She gently put her hand over his, silently urging him to talk, letting him know that it was safe.

  “The guards did bad things to me. They did sex stuff to me.”

  Donata didn’t budge. Her expression remained unchanged. She had suspected something bad but wouldn’t have thought that the boy had been raped. She pushed herself to carry on the conversation even though her guts felt like someone was flushing them with drain cleaner.

  “Can ya tell me about it? Have ya ever told anyone?”

  Tony shook his head. “I have a friend that knows it happened, but I ain’t never told nobody the things they did to me.”

  “Do you wanna tell me about it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Ya know, Tony, here’s the thing. Real bad stuff happens to people. What cha gotta remember is that if ya ain’t done nothin’, and someone hurts ya, it’s because they’re screwed up in their head, not you. What cha gotta understand is that ya didn’t do nothin’ to provoke what happened to ya. It’s sorta like your ma—does she do things to make your father hit her?”

  “No. She does everything he wants, but he still likes to punch her around.”

  “See what I mean? So these guards, they did things to ya that they shouldn’t. Do ya understand what I’m tryin’ to tell ya?”

  Tony lowered his head. “I guess. See, I don’t know how a girl is ever gonna like me if they know what I did.”

  “First off,” Donata snapped, “you’re too young to be thinkin’ ’bout girls. Second, when ya find the right girl, she’ll understand what happened to ya. If she don’t, then she ain’t the right girl for ya. Besides, just ’cause ya meet a girl don’t mean ya gotta tell her your whole life story. Ya only tell the girl you wanna be wit’ for the rest of your life.”

  “How will I know I wanna be wit’ someone the rest of my life? That’s a real long time.”

  “You’ll know. When ya meet that person, it’ll make ya feel whole. You’ll feel like ya found your home, the place where you’re free to be yourself.”

  Tony smiled at the woman’s passion, but then the corners of his mouth bent into a frown.

  “Those guards…they put their things up my butt.”

  Donata hoped that Tony didn’t see her cringe. She nodded at him, but it was more to distract herself from losing her lunch. It took several moments before she could speak.

  “Those bastards are gonna burn in the fiery depths of hell, Tony,” she stated with certainty.

  “They made me do stuff to them too,” Tony paused, looking for the repulsion in Donata’s face, but all he could see there was compassion and understanding. “They made me, ya know, blow them.”

  Donata sucked in a silent breath. She wanted to drive to the juvenile detention center and rip the guards to shreds.

  “How many times did this happen to ya?”

  “Every day that I was there.”

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God. What has this world come to?”

  Donata put her face in her hands and wept. She cried for the loss of Tony’s innocence. She cried at the thought of Ruth having horrible things happen to her. Pulling herself together, she straightened up on her chair and looked at the boy. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin that was lying on the table.

  “I’m sorry that I upset you,” Tony said.

  “No, ya ain’t ever gotta be sorry ’bout tellin’ the truth. I’m the one who’s sorry that ya got violated in a place that’s supposed to protect ya from the bad guys. I need ya to draw on that strength ya had in prison. Ya have great perseverance, the most I’ve ever seen in a person. Ya know what that means?”

  “No.”

  “It means that ya can manage your way through the worst things that life throws at ya. Tony, ya got real stayin’ power. Ain’t nothin’ gonna throw ya off of what cha want outta life. Ya find your purpose and see it through to the end. In a nutshell, ya got some big balls.”

  Donata gave Tony a smile that let him feel like he would be OK—that no matter what life tested him with, it would all work out because he had that perseverance gene.

  Donata shook her head wildly, as if she was clearing cobwebs from her brain.

  “Let’s go see what Ruth is up to. I can let ya stay here for a couple of days, until Erikson is better. I wish I could let ya stay longer, but money is tight, and I gotta make sure that Ruth has everything she needs.”

  Donata was plagued with guilt, but she wanted to be honest with Tony. The last thing he needed was another person betraying his trust.

  Tony beamed at her. “You’re a real nice lady. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Tony followed Donata into the living room and sat on the sofa. Ruth got up from the floor and moved onto the sofa next to him. She leaned against Tony, and the two of them laughed at the sitcom playing on the television.

  Donata grabbed her knitting and relaxed in the chair next to the sofa. Then she glanced over at Tony and watched him laugh, easing the pain. Knowing him better now, and all that the boy had been through, Donata had a better appreciation for Tony’s ability to adapt and overcome. Even if he didn’t see himself as strong or a survivor, she knew better.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Four days later, after the streets had been plowed and the temperature had risen above freezing, Tony looked out the window of the bakery and knew it was time for him to leave. He wanted nothing more than to stay, but he knew that Donata couldn’t afford another mouth to feed.

  “I’m gonna head out after I’m done working,” he stated casually.

  “Where are ya gonna go?” Donata asked, conflicted by worry and relief.

  “Oh, ya don’t gotta worry. I can go to my friend’s house till me and Erikson find a better place to live. It ain’t no big deal.”

  Ruth was pouting. “But I want you to stay here,” she whined.

  Tony bent down and pulled Ruth into a hug. “I know, but I gotta go. I’ll be back, though, I still gotta do my job—right, Donata?”

  “That’s right, Tony.”

  Now that the holidays were over, and business had slowed down, it would be harder for Donata to keep Tony on the payroll, even if it was only ten hours a week.

  At the end of Tony’s workday, he announced that he was leaving.

  “Hold on; I got some things for ya,” Donata said.

  She handed Tony a warm winter jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves.

  “Where did ya get these?”

  “They belonged to my husband. They might be a little big on ya now, but you’ll grow into ’em. Besides, they’ll keep ya warmer than that coat ya came in wit’. I also put some boxers and socks in this bag, so ya can change. It’s important to keep your feet and privates clean.”

  Tony had lost the small amount of clothes he
owned when the cops raided the abandoned building. He was thankful that he kept the knife that Erikson had given him strapped to his leg; otherwise, he would have lost that too. He set out that day with the clothes he was wearing and the few extras that Donata had provided to him.

  Tony didn’t know where he was going. The sun was still up, and the temperature was a balmy forty-two degrees, but he knew as night fell upon him it would be cold again, and he needed to find shelter. Tony walked toward Center City, hoping to get a bed in one of the homeless shelters where Erikson had taken him for holiday meals.

  That first night Tony was lucky. He ran into one of Erikson’s old friends whom he knew, and, feeling sorry for Tony, the guy brought him into the shelter that night, pretending Tony was his son. That’s when Tony realized that he couldn’t go into the shelters on his own. If he did, the people running the place would question his age, and he’d end up in a youth facility. The next morning he had an idea about where to go. Tony walked to the fast-food restaurant where he’d first met Blast, one of the members of the Slayers gang.

  Tony stood on the sidewalk all day, waiting, searching for Blast, but he never came. That night, Tony found two Dumpsters outside of a restaurant. He sat between them and placed newspaper overtop of himself. He spent the night between exhaustion, light sleep, and shivering. In the morning, he knew he needed to spend the nights inside, or he’d freeze to death.

  On the second day, Tony once again stood on the sidewalk of the fast-food restaurant, hoping that Blast would come back. Again, Blast never showed up, and not knowing where else he could go, Tony got onto a bus headed to North Philadelphia.

  Tony watched out of the window. He was keeping an eye on the landmarks, looking for familiar places and things he’d seen when he’d gone into North Philadelphia with Blast months prior. Dusks eerie glow blanketed the city and the streets looked older and more threatening. The aged, unattended row homes appeared as though they were all haunted. Tony stared out the window as the bus passed the small structures. The few homes dimly lit on the inside seemed depressed and forgotten, as if the buildings yearned to escape from the neighborhood.

  Tony knew that wasn’t true, though. Looks were deceiving. He remembered again that the worst humans were inside the walls of juvenile detention, where children were supposed to repent for their sins under the watchful, but helpful eye of the law. The contrast untwisted Tony’s guts, and he felt a strong surge of fearlessness pump through his bloodstream. He noted the familiar looking place where he believed that Blast had gotten off of the bus. He didn’t get off at the stop. That night he rode the bus back into Center City, sleeping as much as he could. When he got off of the bus just before two o’clock in the morning, he wandered the streets. Tony walked block after block so he wouldn’t freeze to death, stopping only to rest for short periods of time. He had a plan, and the next day he would follow through with it.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Tony stood outside the fast-food restaurant the next day, but there was no sign of Blast. In the late afternoon, while the sun was still up, Tony got onto a bus to North Philadelphia. In the daylight, Tony recognized areas of the neighborhood as the bus drove deeper into the dregs of North Philly. Then, on the corner, he saw the burned, gutted car with the ripped American flag coming out of the center of the car hood. Even in the roughest of neighborhoods, people were proud of their country. In this neighborhood people lived in squalor and destroyed each other, and a host of elderly people were stuck in their homes as the neighborhood fell apart around them. There was an epidemic of drugs, gangs, and death. The good people who wanted to live normal lives were the casualties among the riffraff that had claimed the streets and turned them into what was known as the Badlands of Philadelphia.

  Tony got off of the bus on Somerset and traced the route he’d taken months ago. Ten minutes later he was standing outside of the row home used by the Slayers. Suddenly, he wondered what he was doing there. These kids could kill him. Tony took several deep breaths and knocked on the door.

  A tall man opened the door. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and his thick arms and biceps were crossed over his chest. Tony looked into the man’s closely set black eyes. Tony swallowed hard as he read the tattoo across his forehead: Snake Eyes.

  “Ya fuckin’ lost, asshole, or ya lookin’ to get killed?”

  Tony held his head high. He knew the only way to be respected was to demand it. “Nah, man. I’m lookin’ for Blast. He here?”

  Snake Eyes turned into the house. “Blast? Your girlfriend is here to see ya.”

  Tony’s blood pressure skyrocketed; he didn’t like being demeaned by a low-life, scum-sucking pig. Before Tony could let Snake Eyes’s comment boil in his belly, Blast was standing at the door.

  “Hey, Tony, man, what are you doin’ here? You lookin’ to get killed?”

  Tony stood tall. “No, I’m lookin’ for a place to stay. With people I can call my own. I’ve been on the streets for a couple of days.”

  Blast looked behind him. All the gang members were listening, and he didn’t want them to see the empathy he had for Tony. That would be considered a sign of weakness. Gang members didn’t show weak emotions; they were programmed to feel loyalty, anger, and ruthlessness.

  “Yeah, so what cha want wit’ me?”

  “I thought maybe ya could help me out. Give me a place to stay for a while. It’s fuckin’ freezin’ out here.”

  Blast stepped aside and nodded for Tony to enter.

  Razor was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “What the fuck, Blast? Ya think we’re in the business of takin’ in stray cats now?”

  Blast turned and gave Razor a hard glare. “Nah, I don’t think that. But don’t forget he knows Dooley. I think we should let ’im in, ask ’im some questions. We are always lookin’ for new recruits.”

  “New recruits from the hood, not from South Philly, ya fuckin’ moron,” Razor snapped.

  Blast looked to his other brothers. “Come on. Razor’s in charge while Dooley’s in lock-down, but ya all know we have the right to vote.”

  “You fuckin’ defying me, boy?” Razor yelled and stepped closer to Blast.

  Blast stood his ground. All the gang members knew that Blast was the most deadly of them all. The only reason Dooley had left Razor in charge was because they were cousins. But it was Blast that led the fights. It was Blast they all leaned on to come up with a plan of action for dealing drugs and protecting their territory. Without Blast, they would flail around violently with no prospect for obtaining wealth and power.

  Snake Eyes glared at Tony. “I’m wit’ ya, Blast. We gotta have a vote that he can stay temporarily. Then, if we like ’im enough, we’ll see if he can make it through our initiation to stay for good.”

  Tony’s eyes were glued to Razor, who was glaring at Blast with his hands rolled into fists. Tony suspected that Razor didn’t like being challenged.

  A boy who looked about Blast’s age stood up from the chair in the corner. “I’m wit’ Blast and Snake Eyes. We give the kid a chance. Ain’t none of us would be here if we didn’t get a chance to prove ourselves.”

  Tony took a better look at the teen. He was strikingly handsome with a chin that had a prominent cleft, making it look a little like an ass. However, it didn’t take away from his good looks; it actually made him better looking.

  The room of people had gone silent to listen to the handsome kid. Then the male and female gang members talked among themselves.

  Tony leaned into Blast. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Chin Ass. He’s been my best friend since we were four years old.”

  “Oh yeah? I have a couple of good friends back in South Philly who I’ve been close wit’ since I was a kid. Ain’t nothin’ better than good friends,” Tony said, trying to make a deeper connection with Blast.

  The ten main Slayer members convened in one of the upstairs bedrooms. After a lot of heated debate and arguing, the members voted eight to two that Tony could
stay on. Razor was pissed, and his younger brother, Boner, who had voted against Tony staying with them, was equally annoyed that Razor was overruled.

  The gang members thudded down the worn wooden steps and into the living room. Tony stood from the folding chair he had been sitting on and faced them.

  Blast went up to Tony. “We voted that ya can stay for now. That means we see how ya do, and if ya live up to what we expect, then we vote again to initiate ya.”

  A small smile formed on Tony’s face until Blast hauled off and punched him in the arm. Tony withstood the punch—it hurt, but he barely lost any ground. Then each of the other nine main members waited their turn to punch Tony in the same arm. Razor and Boner waited until last. Boner drew back his body, like a baseball pitcher, and put all of his weight behind the powerful punch. Tony’s arm was already throbbing, and now he wondered if he’d be able to lift it. The pain was intense, and he still had Razor left.

  Tony looked into Razor’s eyes. The gangster smiled at him wickedly and looked down at his own hand. Tony followed his gaze to a hand with large, bulky rings on every finger. Tony braced himself as Razor’s face crunched up, like an angry toad whose face was covered in warts. Nothing could have prepared Tony, though, for the pain that shot through him when Razor made contact. He thought that his shoulder broke on impact, but Tony would have died on the spot before he gave Razor the pleasure of seeing the agony he was in.

  When the members had finished, Blast stood beside Tony and handed him a shot of cheap tequila. Tony threw it back, hoping to ease the pain.

  “You’ll be fine in a day or two,” Blast whispered. “Don’t rub it in front of everyone. Wait a little while; then go upstairs into the bathroom. Lock the door, and do what cha gotta do to get the feeling back in your arm.”

  A little later, when the members were back to partying, Tony went up to the second floor and stripped off his shirt. Above the sink was a cracked mirror. Tony studied his reflection, feeling as though the broken little boy was staring back at him. His arm and shoulder were throbbing when he tried to lift his arm away from his body. A fiery pain sliced through his shoulder; he couldn’t move his arm more than an inch or two from his waist. He turned sideways in front of the mirror to get a good look at the damage. His entire shoulder was covered with deep-red, irate blotches from the blood trapped just beneath the skin’s surface.