The Child Thief

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.”
Bennie slapped his phone shut. “Check his bag.”
Freddie grabbed the pack. Nick jerked it away and scrambled to his feet,
but Freddie nabbed him before he made half a step, wrestling him into a
painful armlock.
Bennie yanked the pack out of Nick’s hand.
“Wonder what’s in here?” he said sarcastically and unzipped the pack.
He let loose a whistle and held it out for Jake and Freddie to see. Their eyes
got big.
“Fuck! Must be a hundred gees worth,” Freddie said.
Jake looked at Nick in amazement. “Cuzz, Marko’s gonna cut you up
and feed you to the fishies.”
Nick jerked an arm free and tried to twist away, started screaming and
yelling at the top of his lungs. Bennie hit him. It felt like a flare went off in
his head. Nick started to yell again when Bennie drilled him in the stomach,
doubling him over. Bennie snatched him up by the hair and leaned right into
his face. “You wanna run?” Bennie grinned, then grabbed the sides of
Nick’s pants, yanking them down to his ankles. “Go on. Run.”
Nick coughed and wheezed, trying to suck in a breath.
“Let ’im go,” Bennie said.
Freddie let go.
Nick clutched his stomach and almost fell over.
“C’mon pussy,” Bennie said. “Whaddaya waiting for? Take off.”
Both Jake and Freddie let out a snort.

---

Bennie shoved Nick. Nick stumbled, did a duck-waddle, but managed
to keep his feet despite his pants twisting around his ankles.
Freddie and Jake crowed with laughter.
Then Bennie hit Nick like a linebacker. Nick’s feet tangled and he
slammed to the ground.
“Check his pants and underwear,” Bennie said. “Little queer probably
stuffed the stash up his ass.”
Freddie patted Nick down. He shoved a hand in Nick’s pocket and
pulled out the wad of bills. “Pay—day!”
“Give me that,” Bennie said, taking the bills. “That’s Marko’s money.”
Bennie leaned over to Nick, so close that Nick could see tomato sauce
stains on the sides of his mouth. “Marko said he’s bringing his toolbox. Said
it’s gonna be a real horror show. I love horror shows. Do you?”
The limb above them shook and a host of leaves rained down. There
followed a soft thump. Nick and Freddie saw him first. When Bennie and
Jake caught their faces, they both jerked around.
A boy, not much taller than Nick, stood on the pathway. He wore some
sort of hand-stitched leather pants with pointy-toed boots sewn right into
them. He also had on a raggedy tuxedo jacket, the old style, the kind with
tails, with a black hoodie on underneath and a rawhide pack, almost a purse,
strung across his chest. The boy pushed the hood back, revealing a tussle of
reddish, shoulder-length hair littered with twigs and leaves. A sprinkle of
freckles danced across his cheeks and nose. The boy’s ears were, well,
kinda pointy, just like Spock’s, like one of Santa’s little helpers, but oddest
of all, his eyes were bright gold.
The boy planted his hands on his hips and a broad smile lit his face.
“My name’s Peter. Can I play too?”