Page 7 of Bear Strength

I want to smile, but I don’t. Either kid’s got balls or he has no idea where he is. Either way, he should be taught a lesson.

“What’s your name, kid?” I ask, eyeing him from head to toe.

Disheveled hair. T-shirt with Led Zeppelin on it. Pair of worn out jeans. Converse sneakers so old you’d think Chuck Taylor played basketball in those. I give him a second, but he doesn’t reply. So, Toke slaps him on the back of the head, and the kid almost flops forward, to the ground.

“Answer the question, you little shit!” Toke shouts.

“Why don’t you go check on Adrian?” I tell him.

He frowns. I guess he wants to see what I’d do with the kid, but I still don’t know that myself.

“Now, Toke,” I repeat.

“Sure,” he murmurs, then leaves.

“You wanna tell me your name now?” I ask the kid again.

“Dom,” he whispers. “Dominick.”

“Alright, Dom-Dominick,” I reply, and a few guys around me chuckle. “You wanna tell me why Toke was all pissed at you?”

Dominick lifts his head, and I notice blue on his forehead, too. So, he’s been busy. I wonder what that wall looks like. I just hope I don’t have a blue dick on my back wall.

“Actually, I have a better idea,” it hits me suddenly. “Why don’t you go show me what you did instead?”

Everyone’s face suddenly turns grave, and I know what they’re thinking. The boy obviously thinks it at the same time, as his face darkens and turns pale.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you and throw your body in a ditch somewhere,” I reply, laughing. “Well, actually, that depends on what you spray painted on my wall.”

I stare him down, and if he had any balls before, they are all gone now. He’s just a kid who wants to go home, to his mom and dad. A part of me wants to remember that feeling, but I can’t. Its tough when your dad was always gone, on some shady business, and your mom disappeared with the first guy who offered her a ride. Still, my dad did the best that he could, under the circumstances. That’s gotta count for something.

“Come on,” I tell him, as my hand gently falls on his shoulder.

We walk over to the back wall, and he stops first, his eyes looking down. The back wall’s always been shitty. Paint peeling everywhere, even rats started gnawing on the corners. You can never get fully rid of that vermin. I keep telling Wagner to get it in line, but I guess there’s always something more important to take care of.

I walk over to the wall, inspecting it. It’s not a dick. It’s not even some shitty graffiti writing, which no one can read. It’s a man’s face, with curly hair and a moustache, and there is a raven perched on his shoulder. I see he started writing something too, but I can read only the first word. Suddenly, I burst out into laughter. He looks up, surprised.

“I thought I’d see a dick,” I reply, still laughing. “But, this shit right here is art.”

“So, I’m off the hook?” Dominick replies, and I start laughing even more.

“Fat chance, kid,” I shake my head. “I just won’t kill you and throw your body in a ditch somewhere. But, I will talk to your parents.”

“Can’t I just pay you for the wall?” Dominick whined, his eyes ready to tear up. So, the punishment doesn’t scare him, but his parents do. That’s good to know. “Or paint it?” he adds.

“You know what?” I eye him. “That’s actually a great idea. I need this shit painted and I need it like yesterday. My boys have no time. So, you can do it for me. Think of it as payback.”

“And, you’ll keep my mom out of it?”

“You’re quite the joker, you know that?” I grin. “I’m taking you home.”

CHAPTER 4

I take a sip of my coffee, and enjoy the warmth as it slides down my throat. It’s that time of the month again. Even though I’ve done it so many times before, I still find it nerve-wrecking. I can barely type out the name I’m looking for, even though you’d think my fingers would get used to it by now. I guess they never will. It will always be a name connected with Hell.

The screen welcomes me cheerfully, as if what I’m doing is some happy affair. After I click enter, a sheet filled with basic information opens up. I don’t need to read that. I know all that by heart. It skips a beat every time I have to read that name, or see that photo that is etched inside my mind, as if branded with hot iron. I check the date. It’s still the same as before. I guess he wasn’t good enough, yet, at least. But, a part of me is always afraid that he’ll get out sooner and I won’t know. He’ll find me. He’ll find us.

I click on the little X in the upper right corner, and try to forget about it. But, it’s impossible. My wrist hasn’t healed well, and every once in a while makes a sort of a click sound, like an old, worn out cuckoo clock, which chimes in at its own accord, just to remind you that it’s still working. Not that I need reminders anyway.

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