Brom - The Child Thief

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, as 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.”