The Child Thief

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-

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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?”

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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

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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.”