Page 98 of Bad Men

“Hey, uh, Mr. Nero, sir?” The kid stepped forward, not exactly blocking Nero’s path, but definitely hindering his progress. “I’m Puke. I’m … I do … did some running for Joaquin … I mean, you, sir, and…” his brown eyes darted apprehensively to his friends who all watched him with trepidation and encouragement. “Sir, it’s just we…” He motioned to his crew who all immediately rocked their heads in denial. “I mean, I, sir, I was—”

“Stop calling me sir,” Nero murmured not unkindly. “It’s just Nero. Now, what do you need?”

Puke licked his lips nervously and shifted his weight, but he caught himself and straightened thin shoulders. He drew in a breath that lifted his chest and said in a single breath, “A job, si … Nero. Me and my crew, we’re hard workers. We know the streets and the people. We’d never give you any trouble.”

If Nero was surprised by the request, he never showed it. He studied the boy’s face, then the faces of the others behind Puke.

“How old are you Puke?” he asked at last.

“Eighteen … fifteen,” he confessed quietly when Nero arched a brow. “But I swear—”

“I do need some help, but it’s not going to be running. You’ll get paid by the hour, minimum wage. When you’ve proven yourself, you’ll get a bump after six months. Sound good?”

Puke’s face brightened. “For real?”

Nero nodded. “Do you think your crew is up for the task?”

“Yeah … I mean, yes, s … Nero.”

To my surprise, Nero broke into an amused grin. “We’ll work on that. Do you know where my apartment is?” At Puke’s enthusiastic nod, he continued, “I expect you and your crew to be there at six sharp tomorrow morning. Understood?”

Leaving them cheering and murmuring excitedly, Nero started up the steps to the door. I followed.

“He’s in room four-twelve,” Puke called after us.

“What are you going to do with a pack of fifteen-year-olds?” I asked once we were embroiled in the scent of unwashed bodies, excrements, vomit, and something familiar and sickly sweet.

Nero exhaled loudly and started up the first flight of stairs. “I have no fucking idea, but I have until tomorrow morning to figure it out.”

“You could always get them to scrub all those windows,” I offered. “I think I saw a spot on one of them that might interfere with the flow of light.”

“Will you stop with the windows?” he grumbled over his shoulder. “Never met anyone who hated sunlight so much.”

“I don’t hate sunlight,” I protested. “I hate it in my living space.”

I didn’t see it, but I knew he’d rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get them to clean your closet.”

“I will pee in your shoes!”

Nero burst out laughing, which made me snicker and momentarily forget all our outside problems. It didn’t last when the wail of a baby splintered the silence. It carried from somewhere far below. It went on and on with no response from anyone. The sound had my hands clenching at my sides. My jaw gritted with the sheer force of my willpower.

“Don’t,” Nero murmured quietly.

I said nothing, but I knew he was right. This wasn’t us anymore. It hadn’t been since we were old enough to run. It wasn’t us huddled in a dark, moldy corner, diapers drooping and soggy, and no one caring. It wasn’t us with our belly’s empty, begging anyone passing by to please spare a bite. This shithole wasn’t us. Not anymore.

“Dav.” Nero had set a hand on my shoulder. I had no memory of turning, but I was facing the wrong way.

“We can’t leave it,” I growled through creaking teeth. “What if…?”

I couldn’t voice the rest. I couldn’t bring up the possibility that the parent might be too stoned or high to notice the crying. I didn’t bring up that that baby had once been me and him. I didn’t remind him that people could have stepped in, could have stopped the nightmare, could have saved us but chose not to. Those were the realities of our world. You couldn’t save everyone, but goddamn it, I couldn’t just walk away.

“Okay,” he murmured quietly.

Without waiting for me, he stumbled back the way we’d come. His feet thundered all the way to the dark, basement floor and a fresh wave of horror.

Shit smeared the walls. Holes were punched into plaster, doors were knocked in, something furry and dead rotted in a corner. The smell jumped eight levels of foul and I couldn’t see past the hazy mist that made my eyes water and my stomach retch. Nero pulled out his gun with one hand and his phone with the other. The flashlight app was switched on. The halo of light only illuminated the hell we were stepping into. It amplified the human bodies slumped half in and half out of doorways, the upended toy truck piled high with discarded needles, the tiny, brown handprint stamped into the wall. A faint whimper came from one of the rooms we passed, but we kept going, following the wails to the very end.

The door was open, the room void of furniture, except a lumpy, moldy sofa at the center of the room. Glass lay strewn across the rotting hardwood, a spray from the shattered window above it. Garbage lay strewn everywhere else. I kicked an empty soda cup aside, wondering if the baby was somewhere under all the trash.

---