Page 87 of The Cult

He wore sunglasses despite the late hour. What a tool. His arm was casually draped over the red cushioned seat of the booth we occupied. “Nah. We’re good,” he said, waving her off. It was hard to tell because of his shades, but I could sense that his eyes were directed at me. I’d seen this man a couple of times before, watching me from afar. He appeared a lot older than me, maybe in his mid-thirties. He was probably one of those gay men some of the guys on the block used to talk about. The ones who liked to watch young homeless men jack off. I was so fucking hungry when he approached me that I’d jack my meat for a chance to have something to fill my empty stomach. As long as he doesn’t touch me. I needed to be resourceful. I had to start somewhere, and tonight might be the night.

“Okay,” the waitress said, popping the chewing gum in her mouth. “Holla if you need anythin.’” She turned away, leaving me alone with the stranger and my hot meal.

I grabbed my food with my filthy hands and wasted no time in devouring the burger, relishing the juicy meat and crisp fries. Ketchup never tasted so good. I should’ve ordered a milkshake. Who knew when the next opportunity like this would come. Beggars (literally) can’t be choosers.

The man didn’t speak after the lady left, and I was one hundred fucking percent fine with that. He wasn’t here for a chit-chat, after all. He probably couldn’t wait until I was done eating so he could get the show he wanted. Would I be able to get my dick hard in front of a man? I guessed we would have to see.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

I eyed him warily, still unsure of his intentions. But hunger had a way of dulling my instincts. I shrugged, trying to play it cool. I didn’t want to appear desperate, although one glance at my sorry ass would reveal that I was. “A couple of days,” I lied and took another bite of my cheeseburger before chasing it with a handful of fries.

He nodded, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Well, you’re welcome to finish mine if you want,” he offered, pushing his plate toward me.

What was his endgame? I could be way off with my impression of him, but he didn’t appear to be the kind who wanted to see my cock, and that made me uneasy because what else could I offer him? I’m not worth anything. Was he a serial killer? I slurped a mouthful of soda after another bite, wondering what ulterior motives lay behind his seemingly generous offer. Living out here had taught me that no one did anything out of the kindness of their heart. It didn’t matter, I could leave this fool in the dust if I needed to. I’d outrun plenty of cops before. And with a full stomach, I’d be unstoppable.

“Thanks,” I said, sliding his food onto my plate. I would never say no to free food.

When we left the diner, I stayed six feet away from him as we walked, tightening my grip on my backpack. The crowd had thinned, and only an occasional car passed in the mostly empty street. I cornered an alley and dropped my bag on the ground. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, raising a hand to stop me.

“Isn’t this what you want?” I pointed to my crotch.

“I don’t wanna see your dick. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You don’t?” I looped my belt then reached for my bag. “What do you want from me, then?” I was embarrassed and a little pissed off. Did he think I wasn’t good enough?

“I want to talk to you and maybe offer you a job.” The guy pulled a small card from the pocket of his shirt and handed it to me.

“Oh,” I said, taking it. “What kind of job?” I didn’t have any skills, aside from fighting off gang members and guys who thought they could take advantage of me.

“I need you to be on my … security team,” he answered, taking off his sunglasses.

“I don’t know how to do shit.” I glanced at the white card. It had a set of numbers but no name. That was odd.

“You can call me El Jefe.” He extended his hand to shake mine.

I stared at his clean hand. It was the first time someone had treated me with respect since I left the orphanage.

“It’s okay, son. I don’t bite,” he added.

Son. It sounded right coming from him. It didn’t sound like he pitied me, like Father Nathaniel from the orphanage, nor did he mean the word to mock me, like my adoptive father. “Tobias,” I said, matching his strong grip. “Why me?” I was a master at reading people—a skill I’d sharpened living on the street—and my gut was telling me to trust El Jefe.

“Because I see potential in you. You don’t have to answer me now. But think about it,” he said before walking away.

“I’ve never had a job before,” I yelled.

He stopped walking but didn’t look back. “You can learn. I saw you fight those guys. You’ll be fine.”

Two days passed and I found myself staring at the card with El Jefe’s contact. What was the worst thing that could happen if I couldn’t do the job? He could fire me and I’d end up on the street again. I decided to take my chances with him. I fished my last two quarters from my tattered jeans and jogged to the last remaining working phone booth in the city square. This better work. I dropped the two coins in the slot and dialed the number.

“Tobias,” he greeted after a couple of rings.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I had a hunch, and I’ve always been a great judge of character.”

So, did he think I was good enough? My chest filled with warmth at the thought of someone recognizing that I was more than a street rat. “I thought about your offer …” I closed my eyes to keep my excitement at bay. This was my way out of homelessness. I envisioned my life ahead. I would save every penny so I could get a roof over my head. I’d go to school and maybe, just maybe, I could have a normal life. And if I was lucky, I could have a family of my own. I’d never abandon them the way everyone discarded me like I was nothing.

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