Love You to Death (2 page)

I eased out of my huddle, slung my pack over
my shoulder, and made my way toward the street. That’s when I
spotted another frayed backpack leaning against the dirty wall. A
street kid never left their pack. It contained their whole life. A
child’s plastic Batman mask, complete with the pointy ears, was
sticking out of the unzipped top. That was Stewie’s bag. I cursed
under my breath.

Living on the street you had to learn fast to
divest yourself of a conscience. It was always best to mind your
own business. Never get involved. Stay away to stay alive. But
Stewie was different. He was special. Not the special as in child
prodigy, but special as in he was a twenty-two- year-old beefy boy
of six feet, with the mind of a nine year old.

His parents had abandoned him when he was
little, leaving his grandpa to raise him. Gramps kicked the bucket
last year, and the landlord gave Stewie the boot. Now he was just
another statistic.

I cursed my bad luck again and turned around.
I couldn’t let Stewie get mugged. I had no idea what the heck my
scrawny butt was going to be able to do, but I had to try
something. Looking around the trash-filled alley, there wasn’t much
to choose from. I found a broken down skid and grabbed a splintered
piece of wood.

I sprinted down to the end where the alley
branched off to the right. I paused at the corner and listened.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back here,
retard?” a man’s voice asked.

Stewie was crying. I could hear his plaintive
little whimpers. He made these weird, high-pitched whiny sounds
when he was scared.

“When I tell you to do something, I expect
you to do it,” the man continued, “stupid tard... Get up.” There
was a scuffing noise and a groan from Stewie.

“Now listen to me very carefully. I want you
to get your mentally incompetent butt back up over to Greene
Street, and do what I told you to do. If I see you around here
again I’m gonna stick my foot so far up your butt you’ll be able to
taste the shoe leather. Got it?”

Stewie must’ve nodded because I heard the
voice say, “Good boy.”

Against my better judgment, I peeked around
the corner. The man behind the voice was an inch or two shorter
than Stewie, and about thirty pounds lighter.

I really didn’t like bullies. I didn’t care
if they were big or small, fat or thin. I didn’t discriminate. I
hated them all.

This bully, however, had the face of an
angel. Chiseled features with the prettiest powder blue eyes I’d
ever seen. His collar length blond hair was styled in a sexy bed
head way that was currently popular. He was a regular Brad
Pitt.

Since it looked like everything was okay and
Stewie wasn’t hurt too bad, I decided to leave it alone and meet up
with Stewie later to get to the bottom of this.

But it was at this particular moment that
Stewie nervously looked up, and caught my eye, before I was able to
retract my head back into the shadows.

“Cherry!” he called. His excitement over
seeing me spurred him into motion. He scampered, dragging his feet,
in my direction. “Cherry, how come you’re hidin’?”

Great, that’s what I get for stickin’ my
nose where it didn’t belong.
I stepped away from the wall, but
not any closer into the mouth of the dead end. Stewie towered over
me, a fresh cut above his left brow. Anger boiled in my chest.

“Stewie, go get your bag,” I smiled at
him.

“Cherry, don’t be mad, okay?” He rocked back
and forth on his heels.

“I’m not mad at you. Just go get your bag.
I’ll meet you up the street, okay?”

He gave me a toothy grin and hurried to do as
he was told. I never took my eyes off the bully. I knew the exact
minute he decided to charm me. He was like all the other men. They
only saw what was on the outside. They never bothered to open the
package to see what was inside.

We stood there, sizing each other up. Finally
he spoke.

“Hello,” he said, giving me what I assumed
was his brightest smile.

“Stay away from him,” I said. The steady tone
of my voice was ice cold, but my insides were vibrating like a
tuning fork over the ocean.

He leaned back on his right leg, shoved his
hands in his pants pockets, and pursed his pouty lips. His cool
blue eyes inspected me slowly head to toe before settling on my
face.

“Cherry, is it?” He smiled confidently. I
didn’t answer him. I tightened my grip on the piece of wood, and
waited. The thought of running bounced around in my head. I
considered my weakened state, comparing it to this man’s athletic
body. He watched me, chuckling softly.

“Yeah, you could make a run for it,” he said,
reading my mind. “But you’ve pricked my curiosity, and I’m a little
quicker than you think.” He cocked his head, telling me this as if
he was letting me in on a secret.

I licked my lips, a nervous tic of mine. I
watched his eyes flare, and for a split second I saw the familiar
burn of desire.

“Is Cherry your real name or your street
name?” he asked, taking a step closer. I stepped back, raising the
hunk of wood in front of me. He stopped, eyed the wood, and
withdrew his hands from his pockets, holding them up in front of
him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m leaving, and I’m taking Stewie with me.
Got that, you mentally incompetent jerk?” His eyes flickered with
something altogether different. I knew I shouldn’t stir the pot,
but I was still pretty pissed about Stewie.

“You’re kinda spunky. I like that.” He nodded
for emphasis. “I’m going to give you a free piece of advice,” he
paused, letting me wait for the warning. “Don’t start something you
can’t finish.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I murmured acidly. His eyes
narrowed ever so slightly at the dig. I thought he was going to
tear into me, but he surprised me by shaking his head and
chuckling.

“Spunky,” he repeated. He put his hands on
his hips and jerked his chin forward, motioning me to get lost.
“Beat it, kid, before I change my mind.”

I was still holding the wood defensively as I
carefully backed my way through the narrow alley. When I made it
safely to the stoop, and Angel Face wasn’t following, I dropped the
wood and ran.

Stewie was waiting for me on the corner, a
block away. I grabbed his arm and pulled him behind me for two more
blocks. When I was sure we weren’t being chased, I slowed down.
There was a free clinic beside Holy Spirit. I decided to take
Stewie to get checked out.

“Who the hell was that guy?” I asked him.

“Don’t be mad, Cherry,” he said, worry
creasing his forehead.

“I’m not mad at you, Stewie.” I drew a deep
breath. He could be a little frustrating to talk to. “I’m mad at
the jerk that beat you up.”

“He’s okay, Cherry. Don’t be mad.” He
shuffled along beside me. “It was my fault. I didn’t do what he
told me. I’m a dumb tard.”

“You’re not a tard, Stewie.” I cursed,
kicking an empty paper coffee cup, pretending it was Angel Face.
“What did I tell you about that?”

“Stewie is special,” he said slowly.

“And...” I prompted.

“I’m not a retard.” He smiled, showing me all
his teeth again.

“You got it, big guy. Remember that.”

As we approached the street that led to South
Charles, and the free clinic, I knew what to expect. When Stewie
was afraid, he strapped on his disguise, assuming the badass alter
ego of Bruce Wayne. Stewie stopped to reach into his bag. I
patiently waited for him. He pulled out the Batman mask and snapped
it around his head.

“Let’s go get you patched up, Batman.” I took
his hand, coaxing him forward.

“Batman isn’t afraid of the doctor,” he said,
taking on a deep baritone.

I gave him a much-needed reassuring smile.
The twists and turns of my life had led me where I never thought
possible. But even in the midst of all my woe, I could still find
things to be grateful for. Looking at Stewie—wearing a child’s
mask—I added a few more.

Chapter
Two

I managed to keep an eye on Stewie for about
six weeks. Then one Tuesday I woke up from my afternoon nap—fresh
and clean once again—to find the cot beside me empty and Stewie
nowhere to be found. Miss Vinnie couldn’t help me much. She said
she’d seen him talking to a guy at the entrance about an hour ago
but had to get the dinner line started. She didn’t see which way
he’d gone.

“What’d the guy look like?” I asked. I had a
bad feeling.

“Oh, baby girl, he was fine lookin’. Flashed
them baby blues and just about had Miss Vinnie in a swoon,” she
cackled.

“Blond, well dressed, about yea tall?” I
raised my arm six inches above my head.

“Yes, honey, that’s the one.” She turned
serious. “I take it he ain’t a friend?”

“Nope.” I licked my lips. I had to think.
What was the street he wanted Stewie to stay on?

“I’ll ask one of the guys out front if they
saw Stewie.” She wobbled away, her plump backside jiggling from the
quick mincing steps.

I grabbed my pack, a newly acquired jacket,
and followed after her. The hot weather was long gone, and the
street people, more comfortable in the autumn chill, gathered
outside the shelters in small groups to pass the time. I skipped
down the stairs and searched for a familiar face.

“Hey, Buck Rogers...” I called out.

A painfully thin man raised his head. If
Ichabod Crane had been a black man, Buck Rogers would’ve been him.
He was black as pitch with short, almost shaved, hair that was
peppered with gray. He’d claimed to have worked for NASA somewhere
down in Laurel, that’s how he got his street name, Buck Rogers, the
space man. That was his previous life. But he lost his job, then
his family, and finally his home, to the battle with the
bottle.

“Hey, how ya doin’ Cherry?” He grinned,
waving me over. I was pleased to see his dark eyes were clear and
focused. He was sober.

“Hey, have you seen Stewie?”

“Yeah, yeah. I saw him walk up the street
with some pretty white boy. They drove off in a Porsche.” He
squinted, giving me the once over. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, not me.” Bless his heart. He had taken a
shine to me, for whatever reason I couldn’t figure out. Buck Rogers
was a father figure for me. He actually cared about what happened
to me. When he was sober.

“I knew that guy was trouble. I should have
stopped him.” He shook his head, looking very sad.

“Nah, it’s all good. Don’t worry.” I had to
be careful with Buck Rogers. Any little fault he found with himself
was a binge waiting to happen. “He’s a friend. I just wanted to
talk to him, that’s all.” I lied. I was good at it too.

“Oh, alright, if I see him again I’ll tell
him.” Buck Rogers smiled at me, happy again.

“Thanks,” I said, patting his bony shoulder.
I walked up the street, where Buck Rogers had pointed. The bad
feeling was swimming in my stomach. Angel Face went to the trouble
of finding Stewie. That didn’t sit well with me. What the hell was
the name of that street?

I kept walking, totally unsure of whether or
not I was heading in the right direction. I was calling myself all
kinds of stupid when the number three bus roared by. The
advertisement on its side read, ‘Public Transportation... Go
Green!’

“Yes!” I whirled around and ran the opposite
way I’d been going. Greene Street was four blocks away. I weaved in
and around the various people walking.

Hang on Stewie, I’m coming!

* * * *

I was out of breath, and more than a little
light headed, by the time I reached Greene Street. Now, all I had
to do was look for a Porsche. Shouldn’t be too hard, even if I
didn’t know the color. How many could there be?

There were four. The first two were red, both
parked in the private spaces of a dentist office. The next car was
white. It had a pair of pink furry handcuffs hanging from the
rearview mirror. I had trouble picturing Angel Face driving around
with those dangling in front him. The last car was black.

It figures. Murphy’s Law stated that when you
were looking for something it would always be in the last place you
looked for it.

I saw Angel Face leaning casually alongside
the entrance to a three-story brick building. A slow, easy grin
spread across his face when he saw me.

“Well, look who it is,” he drawled, pushing
off from the wall. “Are you following me, Cherry?”

“Where is he?” I didn’t bother with niceties.
I knew this guy’s type. I didn’t want to give him any
ammunition.

“Spunky as ever,” he drew a deep breath,
letting it out slow, all the while staring me down with his sharp
eyes. “He’s fine. He’s inside, doing me a favor.”

“Look, I don’t know what your game is, but
Stewie isn’t your personal hockey puck.” I was scared of Angel
Face, but I was more upset for Stewie. Otherwise, I’d be beating a
path as far away as I could from this man and his dangerous
vibes.

“Simmer down, sweetheart. Stewie’s just
fine,” he assured me. I knew he wasn’t lying, but I also knew he
wasn’t giving me the whole truth.

As if he’d summoned him out of thin air,
Stewie, wearing his Batman mask and sucking on a lollipop, emerged
with a slight limp from the glass doors of the entrance.

“Cherry? What’re you doing here? Are you
going to get a shot too?” He shuffled his feet, hurrying to my
side. He wasn’t acting like he was afraid, but he reached out and
took my hand, a gesture of comfort. I gave his fingers a light
squeeze.

Without looking at Angel Face, I turned
Stewie around and walked us down the street. I planned to come back
here, when I found a safe place to stash Stewie, and find out what
the hell they were doing to him. I seriously doubted they were
giving him a flu vaccination.

* * * *