Page 12 of Feral

A few hours pass and I’m starting to feel antsy. Sitting on the couch has lost its luster, so I pull myself up, throw on my sneakers, and head outside for some fresh air and a little exercise. I jog down the street, dodging the people crowding the sidewalk, from kids standing around talking to moms carrying shopping bags and kids, and the occasional person walking a dog. On the corner, I pause, waiting for the light to change and deciding on a direction.

The next block over has a group of guys standing near the convenience store entrance. Since I moved here, they’ve given me a bad vibe, so I’ve avoided them so far. Are they gang members? Maybe, but not the kind my parents warned me about when I told them I was moving here. These guys are groomed well and dressed in sharp clothes. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re Italian or maybe even Greek based on their looks, but there’s something ominous about their presence.

When the light changes, I dart across the street and down the sidewalk away from the group. I’m strong enough to hold my own in a one-on-one fight, but I’m not interested in taking on five at once.

After a few miles, I come to a stop, bending over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. A hard sweat is always a good thing. Looking up, I realize I’ve gone down a street that’s seen better days. The stench of old trash and urine wafts from the alley next to me, turning my stomach. A sex worker leans against the stop sign at the corner, glancing around with a bored expression while she twists a lock of her red hair.

Before she can catch my eye, I turn in the other direction and jog back to the main street to relative safety, but run right into a scene that I’m pretty sure is a drug transaction. A guy with baggy jeans and a leather jacket leans into the passenger side window of a black sedan with tinted windows. He turns his head sharply to peer at me, but I avert my eyes, darting in the other direction.

Didn’t see a thing. That’s my motto.

With my pulse kicked up again, I keep running back to my place, but I catch the sound of a car slowing down beside me. Ignoring it, I maintain my pace, hoping to shake them off if it’s me they’re following.

“Hey.”

The voice sends a shiver of fear down my spine, but I don’t look in that direction.

“Yo. Dude.”

Fuck. It is me they’re following. Unsure what to do, I attempt to cross the street, but the car pulls directly in front of me, stopping me from going forward. The passenger rolls his window down the rest of the way, peering at me with narrowed eyes.

“You didn’t hear me?”

“Sorry. I was jogging.”

He nods, taking me in from head to toe. “You live around here?”

“Not this street. A few blocks away. I don’t want any trouble.”

He chuckles. “No? Maybe I want some.”

Dragging a hand through my hair, I scan my surroundings, looking for a way out of this.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asks.

“No. Should I?”

The driver makes a noise that sounds like he doesn’t believe me.

“I just moved here. I don’t know anything.”

“Hmm. That could be true. See here, this street, this whole neighborhood, it’s mine now. My name is Ricco Bianchi.”

The way he said his name makes me think I should know the significance of it, but I got nothing.

He sighs. “Bianchi?”

“Sorry. Like I said, I’m new here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well then let me educate you. You don’t want to fuck with the Bianchi family. If you’re a smart man, you’ll keep your eyes to yourself.”

I nod. “Yeah. Absolutely. I didn’t see nothing anyway.”

He studies my face, clearly sizing me up. “Yeah, okay, I believe you. Don’t know how a guy like you ended up in this neighborhood, but stay out of my business and we’ll be good.”

“You got it.”

Without another word he raises his window and the car backs out onto the street before taking off. The tires squeal on the asphalt and music blares from the speakers. Shaken, I hurry back to my building, taking the stairs two at a time to get back to the safety of my apartment.

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