Brom: The Child Thief

Nick realized there were several sleeping bags scattered among the bushes, along with cardboard boxes, blue plastic tarps, and a shopping cart full of garbage bags.

“It’s just a boy,” the woman said. “A tender little thing.”

Nick rolled off of her, but when he tried to get up, she grabbed him, her hard, bony hands locking around his wrist. Nick let out a cry and tried to pull away.

“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 OUTof 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 .