“What do I owe you?”
“What?”
I bring my foot down hard on his tailbone. His wail of pain echoes down the alley. “I said what the fuck do I owe you?”
“Nothing!” he cries. “You owe me nothing! You owe me noth—”
“Stop it, boy.”
I whip around, see a huge man standing there. Instantly my heart stops. I’ve been caught by an adult. The world drains away.
I’m in deep fucking shit, now.
Behind the man, I glimpse the door to the limousine standing open. He watched the whole thing.
He’s big, stocky, with a bald head and a glowing gold watch. He looks mean as hell, and when he smiles I see gold teeth.
“Give me the knife, boy,” he says.
I fold the knife slowly, give it to him. He takes it, holds it, tosses it to himself in one hand.
“It’s good, nice weight to it. Balanced.”
The man puts a hand on my shoulder, pushes me up against the brick wall of the alley. It’s wet, and my clothes are getting dirty, but I don’t dare say anything or push back.
You learn to tell who the mean fuckers are, the ones who are not afraid to beat up a kid… or worse. This guy is one of ’em. It’s in the eyes, the peeled and snarling lips.
Then he kneels down by Danny, feels around his shoulder. He grabs his wrist, wrenches the arm, pops the shoulder back into place.
Danny’s moan of pain is haunting.
“You better see a doctor,” he says to Danny. “If anybody asks, you slipped on ice. If not, I’m coming for you. Don’t think I don’t know you and your crew work the corner at Madison and Crow. You already got eyes on you boy, some of the bigger crews don’t like where you’ve set up shop, so if I were you, I’d relocate.”
Danny’s eyes fill with fear. He and I both come to the realization quickly that we’re dealing with a mobster, a proper big-time gangster.
“Ice,” Danny says, nodding quickly. “I slipped on ice!” He gets up, runs away, one hand clamped to his shoulder.
Ice… it hasn’t been that cold for weeks.
“You,” the man says, shifting his black eyes toward me. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” I say.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
I shrug. “I taught myself.”
“You knew that kid was going to try and hit you from behind. How?”
I shrug again. “I don’t know. Instinct.”
“Huh,” the man sounds. He grabs me by the back of my neck, yanks me toward him. “Take off your jacket.”
My eyes widen, and I tense up. “Uh-uh, you sick fucker,” I say. I turn to run, but he catches the collar of my jacket, jerks me toward him.
“Relax. It’s not like that.”
He rips my jacket from me, then starts feeling around my shoulders, hard presses of his thumb and forefinger.
“Good,” he says. “You wearing your pants low?”
“No,” I say. “On my hips.”
He seems to be measuring me up.
“Show me your hands.”
I put them out, and he takes them into his, turns them over. I notice his fingers are thick, rough, and his palms are calloused.
“You got good hands.”
“For what?”
“For fighting.”
He takes my arms, slaps them out. “Hold them straight out. Yes, like that.” He steps backward for a moment, considers me.
“Good stock,” he murmurs to himself. I don’t know what that means, or why he would be talking about soup.
He throws my jacket back at me, and as I put it on, he guides me into walking with him. “Come on, we’re going.”
“Where?”
“To start your fighting training.”
“Why should I come with you?”
“You want to be a pathetic drug dealer like Danny over there?” he asks me. “Or do you want to do something with your life? Be somebody?”
“I was never going to become a drug dealer,” I say, turning to the man. I shake his hand off my neck, stare up into his eyes.
The man regards me. “You like to fight?”
I think about it. “I’m good at it.”
“You want to make money fighting?”
I lick my lips. “I want to make money, period.”
“Then get in the fucking car, boy,” he says. “I’ll make you a fucking champion.”
I don’t hesitate.
I get into the limousine.
“Name’s Johnny Marino,” he says once he’s in, sticking out a hand. “But you can call me Glass.”
Chapter Five
I finish my slice of cake – black forest – and look longingly at the rest of it.
“Can I have another, Dad?”