Page 24 of Stabby Little

7

OLLIE

Saturday, May 9th

“Are you going through with it?”

I button the top of the onesie I borrowed from Finn and settle into the stuffy pit. We're at a place called Little Land in Manhattan. Three days ago, Finn found a wealthy Daddy who had a monthly pass.

Truth be told, it's not my scene. I discovered I was a Little in the warehouse basement, but not of the fluffy stuffed animal variety.

I'm more of ablack heart plushie with devil hornskind of boy. I was cuddly when I was younger, but my captors squashed that part of me.

“I'm not sure yet.” Picking up a raccoon stuffy, I give it a once over before setting it aside. It's cute if you're into that sort of thing. After the shit I've seen, I want something darker. “It'll give me quick cash. But I'm not sure it'll provide the stability I need.”

My friends and I are discussing my upcoming stint at the Little Bunny Club. I sent in my online application and was surprised to hear back from the club's manager, Valentin. He said I was what the patrons were looking for—whatever that means.

I was stoked to learn that the payment was substantial. But I'm still questioning the arrangement. I'm leery of it turning into a bad situation which I want to avoid at all costs.

I barely got out of Rock without the bartender stopping me last week. Even with my disguise, I wasn't careful enough.

And I’ll need to wear the same disguise at the Little Bunny Club. Blond hair. Wayfarer frames. I’m pretending to be Kobe, after all. I just pray Valentin doesn’t look too closely at Kobe’s ID—he’ll ask why my eyes are blue instead of hazel.

“Stability is overrated.” Finn picks up a puppy stuffy and tosses it in the air. He catches it and sets it down. “We didn't have stability in the warehouse and look how we turned out. Well-adjusted and fine.”

“Define well-adjusted.” Sparrow can't resist the urge to toss a barb Finn's way. “If your definition includesmurder, I'll concur.”

“You're not helpful.”

“I'm saying what's on everybody's mind.” Sparrow shrugs nonchalantly. “We're fucked up and we know it.”

“Guys.” I gesture to our surroundings. “This is a playroom. Not an empty alley where we can discuss my killing sprees at 2 AM.”

“Better keep your voice down.” Finn picks up a juice box and jabs the recyclable straw through the top. “Ollie's fine with stealing his victims' body parts—even after we tell him to stop—but speaking about his crimes in public is a step too far.”

I did it again. After I killed Xavier, I sliced his hand off and stuck it down my pants.

Imagine my friends' surprise when they cracked open the freezer and saw not one, but two hands shrouded in plastic wrap.

If I didn't want them to think I was a budding serial killer before, that blew my case.

Oh well. I get shit done even if I'm not great at impulse control. If I want my victim's hand, I'm taking it.

“You act like Xavier's missing hand will lead the Diavolos to me.” I shake my head in disapproval. “The Diavolos have millions of enemies in this city.”

“The point, please.”

“They've trafficked countless boys in their warehouse and they all escaped when the Ferrari brothers and their associates freed them. Rival crime families in Yonkers likely have hits on them, as well. Anyone could've chopped off Gordon and Xavier's hands. Hell, the same person wouldn't even have needed to take both.”

“You think the Diavolos would believe two separate people killed their underlings and jacked their hands?” Finn asks. “You're not just impulsive, you're delusional.”

“Ollie's not delusional.” Sparrow wraps his right arm around my shoulder. “He simply has a unique way of viewing the world.”

“Yeah. One that borders on delusion.”

Is this boy serious?

Someone give me a paddle, because he needs a smack.

---