Penance

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Lawrence Avenue was alive with rain-slicked excitement. Here, in Chicago’s uptown, royal blue, yellow, and green neon reflected off the pavement’s darkness. Cold night air. Steam rushing up through manhole covers. Christmas lights in neighborhood bar windows beckoned passersby with watery promises of “Christmas cheer.”

Jimmy Fels occupied his street corner. At thirteen, he already knew the poses. There was a casual defiance in the way he leaned against the storefront doorway, pelvis thrust out just enough to attract the interest of the cars cruising by more slowly than the others. He wore a faded jean jacket, Metallica T-shirt, pegged jeans, and Reebok Pumps. His ripped T-shirt deliberately exposed a n****e and a flash of smooth white stomach. The top of the T-shirt was cut away to reveal a gold rope chain, glinting in the glow of the streetlight above him.

Green eyes, wizened beyond their years, stared out of a pale face. He brought a cigarette to his full lips, lips almost too feminine and full for a boy, too ripe for anything clean. His hair, freshly washed, was still damp, looking darker than blond.

He tried not to appear too interested in the cars passing by, some slowing down to take a look at him. He knew it was bad to look too hungry. Make them think you’re doing them a favor…always keep the upper hand. Street knowledge passed on. Remember Gacy. Remember Larry Eyler and what he did to Danny Bridges, the boy who ended up chopped into pieces and thrown into a Dumpster. Get it over with as quickly as possible and keep moving. But he looked anyway, his eyes moving slowly, catching glances out of the corners, and saw the shadows of men leaning forward, their faces ghostly through car windows.

* * * *

Dwight Morris looked at himself in his bathroom mirror. Forty-two years old, he thought, forty-two years old and you can’t even tell. The Cubs baseball cap was positioned just so, with the bill facing backward. His acid-washed Levi’s jacket hung loosely on him, with the cuffs of the sleeves turned up. Under the jacket, he wore an old grey-hooded sweatshirt unzipped just enough to show the New Kids T-shirt underneath. The mirror didn’t reveal the pegged black jeans and the BK high tops.

Dwight smiled at himself, exposing the boyish gap in his teeth. The hint of rouge on his cheeks made him look flushed; a young boy.

I must look at least twenty-five years younger.

* * * *

Jimmy imagined their yearning.

He was cold, but didn’t want to warm himself. That would destroy the pose. The tough guy. So his arms remained at his sides, the cigarette an orange glow in one hand, held between thumb and forefinger. Too many suburban guys tucked at home with wife and kiddies, Indiana Jones on the VCR, lust for his little thirteen-year-old ass on their minds.

“Isn’t it a little cold out here for you, little boy?”

Jimmy jumped at the sound of a girl’s voice. He turned to his left and there she was. Miranda. Tonight she was wearing a black derby, a big black sweatshirt, urban camouflage pants, black leg warmers, army boots. Christ.

An amused grin played about her lips. “Shouldn’t you be home in bed, little boy? I think your mama has some cocoa and Oreos waiting.”

“Real funny, ‘Ran. C’mon, gimme a fuckin’ break. I’m workin’.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Slow night?” She took off the black derby she wore and ran her hand through her close-cropped red hair, making it stand on end.

“It is with you standin’ there blockin’ the fuckin’ view.”

Miranda shook her head. “I can see we’re in a mood tonight.” She started away from him, hips sashaying, swinging her bag.

“Hey.” Jimmy took a last drag off his cigarette, flicked it into the gutter.

Miranda stopped and turned, c****d her head. “Thought you didn’t want to be bothered.”

Jimmy raised his hands to her. “See ya later?”

Miranda shrugged. “Depends on how it goes.”

“Right. That’s cool.”

Jimmy watched her walking away. Who would she find tonight? Would she make enough to buy herself a bottle of Cisco?

“How you doin’, son?”

The man’s voice made Jimmy take his eyes away from Miranda. He pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it, cupping his hand to shield the flame, before he looked up.

It was the creep. At least that’s what Jimmy called him. Some f*****g preacher who lived around here. Tall, thin, pasty white with these little old-fashioned wire-rim glasses.

“Beat it. I ain’t interested.” Jimmy sucked in on the cigarette, blew the smoke toward the man.

The preacher made a gesture like a shrug, bringing his hands up, like I’m innocent.

Right. “Look, man, I’m okay. All right? See you later?”

Jimmy smirked as the preacher walked away, his hands dug deep in his pockets, head hunched down against the Chicago wind whistling down Lawrence, off the lake.

A Toyota pickup pulled over to the curb. Black with neon detailing. The truck had these squiggles of hot pink and turquoise. Jimmy pretended not to notice at first, then glanced in the direction of the truck. There was some young guy inside, wearing a baseball cap backward, leaning over and rolling down the window. Jimmy leaned over to get a better look at the face.

Wait a minute. Jimmy moved a little closer, trying to make it look like he’d just decided he wanted to cross the street or something. But he needed to get a better look.

This guy wasn’t so young. There were lines around his eyes, across his forehead. He had so much makeup on his cheeks he looked like fuckin’ Bozo the Clown.

It gave Jimmy the creeps. He liked the middle-aged guys. From the north shore, married, no strings. A quick blow and they’re outta here.

The man wore a slight smile on his lips to hide the fear.

The fear told Jimmy the guy was new to this; it would be easy for Jimmy to keep the upper hand. After a beat, Jimmy took a drag off his cigarette, stamped it out, and sauntered over to the truck. He placed his hand on its side; it was cold, but he wouldn’t let on. Jimmy took a look around the street, then leaned into the car.

What was with this guy? Jimmy didn’t know whether to laugh or turn tail and run. As he leaned in and got a better look, he saw that the guy was trying to dress like a kid. Jeans, sweatshirt, high tops (BK’s, no less). And the New Kids T-shirt. Christ, where was this character from? The moon?

The man sat back in the seat and licked his lips. Even though it was December, there was a line of sweat on his forehead. He played for a moment with the zipper on his sweatshirt, sliding it up and down. “How you doin’?” he asked. His voice came out high, a little shaky.

“Could be better,” Jimmy responded, deepening his voice. A tough guy.

“Yeah?” The man leaned closer to him. “How so?”

“I need a little spending money,” Jimmy said. He looked away for a moment, searching the street. “My ma’s sick and I need to get somethin’ to eat.”

“Well, maybe that could be arranged. Um…maybe you could earn it?”

Something began to gnaw at the inside of Jimmy’s stomach when he saw the man’s sickly grin, filled with hope. “How? You mean like a chore or somethin’?” The man’s predatory smile made him pretty sure the guy was genuine, but he could still be a cop.

“I don’t know. I could use a little company. Wanna hop in?

“Depends.”

“Well, just how much do you need?” the man asked, his voice still a little shaky. “I mean…to get something to eat.”

“I don’t know. I could use thirty.”

“That’s a lot for something to eat. Where did you want to go…Chez Paul?” The man gave this nervous laugh. He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. Jimmy noticed the receding hairline, the thin dark hair. When the man saw him looking, he quickly replaced the ball cap on his head.

Jimmy decided this one wasn’t worth it. You can’t be too fuckin’ careful, not these days. That’s a lesson you learn real fast. He began to back away from the truck.

“Hey! Where are you going?” The man craned his neck out the window.

“Got someplace I gotta be.”

“Wait. Come here.”

Jimmy leaned back into the window, blowing out a sigh. “What?”

“What’ll that thirty bucks buy?”

Jimmy stood up straighter, taking his head out of the truck. The guy’s a cop, gotta be. He wants me to say it and name a price. Bam. f**k him. “Listen: I gotta get movin’. It’s gettin’ late and my ma…”

“Would you let me blow you for that?”

“I…I don’t.” Jimmy looked around, then leaned back into the truck. The man unzipped his jeans and pulled out his d**k. This wasn’t a cop. Still, there was something here he didn’t like.

The man stroked it a couple times, then put it away. “I can give you forty, but you gotta make up your mind now, kid. I don’t have all night.”

The man’s nervousness seemed to disappear all at once and Jimmy felt like things were getting out of his control. Still…forty bucks…it’s cold…who knows…maybe this might be it for tonight.

Jimmy opened the door and hopped in. The truck smelled like stale cigarette smoke. There was a McDonald’s bag and a pink plastic hair barrette on the floor.

B-96 was blaring on the radio, the bass thumping. The man turned the volume up to deafening and then shouted over the noise, “You like rap, man?” He bobbed his head ridiculously to the beat.

“Yeah, sure,” Jimmy said, staring down at his hands, tightening them into fists, then relaxing, trying to stop them from shaking. What the f**k? he wondered.

The man pulled away.

Later, when they parked under a tree at Foster Avenue Beach, the man looked out the window and let his hand wander to Jimmy’s crotch. In the dark, the caress felt okay. Maybe if it could just end there. If just this once he didn’t have to go through with it. If just this once, the man would get the jitters, deciding not to finish this dance that had begun on the street corner. Jimmy just wanted to get it over with and get his money.

Jimmy stared into the darkness outside the windshield.

He felt the man begin to tug at the top of his jeans, fumbling with the buttons. Heard the breathing, coming heavier now. f**k it. I ain’t gonna help him. Finally, he got his jeans open. Jimmy heard him suck in his breath when he saw his d**k. They were always surprised when they saw a thirteen-year-old with such a big d**k. Jimmy grinned in the darkness and removed the man’s hand before it had a chance to make contact with his p***s.

“Problem?” the man grunted.

“Pay first. Okay?”

“Christ.” The man reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. He opened it, and even in the darkness, Jimmy could see the thick pad of green. Staring all the time out the window, Jimmy reached down and gripped the handle that would open the truck door. He lifted up on it slightly and with one swift motion snatched the wallet out of the man’s hand.

He was halfway out the door before the man grabbed hold of the back of his pants. Jimmy winced as the man’s nails slid across his lower back, scratching. He struggled to get free, a little cry escaping from him, his heart pounding, the tough guy gone for now.

“You little prick! Get in here and deliver!” The man pulled him into the pickup, didn’t bother closing the door. Jimmy sprawled across the seat and the man yanked at his jeans, scratching Jimmy, struggling to get his pants down. He’s strong, Jimmy realized, and his fear rose. He still had the wallet in one hand; with the other hand, he reached up, extending two fingers, and poked the man in the eyes.

“f**k!” the man screamed.

All at once, he slammed Jimmy against the seat and his hands were around Jimmy’s throat.

The man whispered under his breath as the pressure around Jimmy’s neck grew tighter and tighter. His voice came out in a whisper, quickly, bordering on rage. “Little cocksucker. You’ll get what you deserve. What right do you have to a decent life? Little cocksucking s**t…it’s all your fault. All your fault.”

Gasping, Jimmy dropped the wallet to the floor and groped for his sock, where his switchblade was concealed. If only he could reach…if only he could reach it.

“All your damn f*****g fault. I’m a decent guy.” The man’s grip loosened as he began to cry. The loosening was enough for Jimmy to grab the mother-of-pearl handle of the knife.

He brought it out.

Jimmy raised the knife, bringing his arm around the man’s back: a lover’s embrace. Just as he was about to plunge it into the man’s back, with all the strength and hatred he could muster, the man screamed.

In an instant the man’s hand came off his throat. His elbow cut into Jimmy’s arm, pinning it against the back of the seat. The knife plopped onto the man’s back as Jimmy lost his grip.

Eyes met eyes. And now Jimmy realized how deep his fear could go. The eyes he stared into weren’t normal. They were like an animal’s.

The man’s voice became deliberate. “Don’t ever think you can f**k with me, kid. I’ve seen too many of your kind. Don’t even think of fuckin’ with me. I’ll rip you a new asshole. Got that?” The man reached back and took the knife. He looked at it, sitting up and smiling. “Thanks.”

Quickly, he put the knife to Jimmy’s throat. “Now get your fuckin’ feet back in the cab and close the door. We’re goin’ for a ride.” He giggled. “I’m gonna take you someplace where we can take off our clothes and get comfortable.”

Jimmy stared at the dark water of Lake Michigan, the foam on the waves silver in the moonlight, as the man pulled out of the parking lot. He wondered if he’d ever see the lake again.

The truck moved faster and faster. Jimmy lowered himself down in the seat, drawing his legs up close.

He willed himself not to cry.