by Ginger Booth
A teenager up the street ran through them. The men yelled at him, and a couple grabbed. He shoved them off, and kicked one. Nice kick! This kid had training maybe. He made it through the gauntlet. One of the men sighted on his rifle, but others persuaded him to stand down.
Ava pointed to one of the kids to take over for her here, and jogged to meet the incoming kid. “Nice moves! I’m Panic.”
“Butch,” the other replied – not a guy after all, though as unfeminine as she could manage with an alto voice. Maybe 16, she wore one side of her head shaved and the rest in a mop falling across her face to the other jaw. “They got three times as many, forming up inside the buildings. Getting ready to storm you. You’re sitting ducks out here.”
“Quack. Decoys. You got some moves. Wanna play on our side?” Ava pointed up the buildings. No guns stuck out the open windows. Yet.
Butch studied the windows, and a slow grin blossomed. “I don’t have a gun. Can’t shoot.”
Ava explained her incendiary supplies, but admitted she was mostly here to welcome newcomers and supervise the children. “Consider yourself welcome, big-time. Find Kat later. She bosses the older girls.”
Butch hitched up her too-large pants. “Rather fight with the guys.”
“Me, too, but that’s for Kat to say. Any idea when they’re going to come at us?”
“Any minute.” Butch laughed. “The kid screen is a good deterrent. Half of them are arguing there’s no excuse. They won’t shoot at you. But the rest will. They know the real threat is hiding behind you.”
“Sort of. I hope to be a threat myself.”
“Yeah? Any chance you’re gay?”
“Girlfriend to the gang leader, Frosty.”
“And he put you out here? Your taste in men sucks.”
Ava chuckled, as the first shot rang out. She crouched, and called to the few kids frozen in mid-street. “Helter-skelter!” The children stared like deer caught in headlights. Without Ava’s bidding, Butch ran out and shooed them inside. Ava took Candy’s place and sent the girl to update Maz with Butch’s news on the size of the planned attack.
“You said gas?” Butch prompted, with a grin of challenge.
Well, Ava couldn’t very well be a wuss in front of a newcomer, could she? She collected the gas tank and her bag of glass bottles, and hunkered down to craft some bombs next to her car’s front tire. Butch ran along the car-barricade to rejoin her, apparently crazy enough to find this fun. Ava handed her a half-full bottle, and let her arrange a rag wick. She glanced around, guiltily recalling her charges, and spied Germy and Switch lurking in a storefront to watch. She shot Germy a duck-billed frown. He grinned and shrugged unrepentant.
“Just one each,” Butch suggested. “They’re halfway here.” The sickly adults broke into a half-trot.
A window opened on the third floor, in the building beyond the barricade. Ava cringed, but the new player shot into the opposition, not her position. Frosty! Several adults went down, and the others slowed. Several slipped on black ice, now camouflaged by a thin coating of the falling snow.
Butch hustled to the car arrow-tip. Ava stowed her supplies in an entryway first, then ran to join her. After a brief and giggly consultation, they admitted neither of them could throw worth a damn. Ava decided they’d toss the gas anyway, to add a fire hazard to spook the grown-ups. She lit her bottle, hustled between the cars, and tossed it all of 10 feet or so. But the gas and fire spread in a most satisfying way. Butch made her throw from the other end of the car. She also caught her hair on fire, but Ava patted that out with the arm of her nylon jacket.
“Girls, you’re fucking insane!” Hotwire advised from the second floor. He didn’t dwell on his thesis though, instead returning to picking off adults coming at them.
Ava yelled back, “You say that like it’s a bad thing!”
Ava and Butch were too busy laughing on each other to take offense. “We could light the cars on fire!” Butch suggested.
“No,” Ava ruled. “We need to move them tomorrow before we take the next buildings.”
“You’re really going for the whole block?”
“We need to steal their food before they eat it all.”
“Hot damn.” That comment set them giggling again, crouched behind a tire in the path of an incoming platoon of sick and starving men. No matter. The enemy would be fools to run into a puddle of burning gasoline.
At last Jake and a few others with rifles trotted out to shoot from the barricade, and sent the girls packing toward the dojo.
They won that day, and injured or killed maybe a dozen of the opposition. This was day one of a campaign that lasted a week. By halfway, the 7W end of the block erupted into street firefights as well. None of them had much choice. The White Tigers swelled to over 300 members. Everyone desired to eat, to live, the adult gangs no less so than the kids.
Butch made an awesome new girl captain for Kat. Ava’s forces, such as they were, grew more crafty all the time in their support role.
16
January 28, E-day plus 51.
Frosty’s heart sank as Germy stepped forward, towing a younger boy called Tommo. He was holding court tonight, settling disputes. He presided sitting cross-legged on a folding banquet table in front of the punching dummies. His lieutenants and squad leaders stood arrayed before him, plus a full house of complainants, coughing and sneezing.
A blizzard dumped several feet of snow on them a few days ago, a mixed blessing. The turf wars ground to a halt because it was hard to move, easy to track. They had plenty of snow to melt, in deep drifts like chocolate swirl ice cream, colored by heavy Dust Bowl dirt in some squalls but not others. But now everyone was cooped up indoors with cold wet feet, hungry and getting on each other’s nerves. Time for good king Frosty to dispense justice on some of the simmering scores.
Panic hadn’t given him a heads-up about a kids’ complaint, though. He shot her a dirty look. She was supposed to handle issues between the little kids, not bring them here. She’d also tried her umpteenth attempt to feed him undercooked beans. And he’d been hungry enough to eat her ground bean paste. His gut was in agony today.
But he wouldn’t take that out on his people. He hoped.
“Germy,” Frosty acknowledged. He narrowed his eyes at Tommo in question.
Germy straightened to attention. His belly was starting to protrude. “I call out Pistol.”
Oh. Panic froze, lurking to Frosty’s left at the end of the table. If the kids had a gripe against the older gang members, that did merit Frosty’s attention. But normally they were still supposed to go through Panic, then she’d come to Frosty if she couldn’t resolve the conflict.
“Pistol, come forward. Germy, did you check with Panic first?”
“No, Frosty. It’s not my grudge. It’s Tommo’s.”
Pistol shoved his way to the front, glaring at Tommo. He was one of the beefy fighters, around Frosty’s age. His linebacker bulk had sloughed off by now, but he was over 6 feet, broad-shouldered, and tough. Tommo half-hid behind the bigger Germy.
“Eyes forward, Pistol,” Frosty instructed dispassionately. “Are you threatening that little kid?”
“No, sir!” Furious eyes locked onto one of the punching dummies behind Frosty.
Neither Pistol nor Tommo seemed inclined to speak another word so long as they lived. Frosty selected Germy with a sigh. “What is this?”
Germy pushed Tommo forward, hands on his shoulders. “Pistol is forcing Tommo to, you know, with no pay.”
“That’s a lie!” Pistol boomed. “I paid him a can of potatoes!”
“Once!” Tommo denied. “But he picks on me over and over!”
“Silence!” Maz hollered. He dropped a six-foot flag pole in front of the complainants like a railway boom at waist height. The flag itself was a Yankees pennant on a stick, but it got the point across – back off the boss. Maz greatly enjoyed his chosen role as Frosty’s enforcer.
Frosty sighed, and the indigestible bea
ns spoke loudly in turn. No one smiled at the digestive faux pas. Several gang members had died of gut ailments by now. A fart wasn’t funny. “Tommo, into the tack room.”
“Hey!” Pistol objected.
Maz poked his flag-pole playfully along the floor by his feet to remind him to shut up.
Frosty hopped off the table and drew Tommo into the other room. With the older kids, he’d stare them in the eye. But he didn’t want to overpower this young boy. So he lay on a changing bench and pulled one knee after the other to his chest, to relieve the gas. “Tell me.”
“He paid me, the first time,” Tommo admitted. “But only once. And then he wanted me to do it over and over. He threatened to beat me up.”
Frosty pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated the words, but how else? “He asked you to suck his dick?” Yes. “Anything else?” No. “And you offered? The first time.”
“I was hungry.” Tommo gulped. He knew it was wrong.
Frosty understood hunger. He’d do it too for a meal, if he was desperate. Compared to killing someone for food, this was nothing. “This happen a lot? Other kids? Other guys?”
“Everybody does it.”
Frosty nodded. Figures. “How many times did Pistol force you? After the one time he paid.” Frosty sat up and tried other stretches to coax out more of the excruciating gas, like a hot poker driven into his solar plexus.
“Just once.”
“And you refused? Or?”
“I said no! But then I did it. Because I was scared! So I didn’t argue with him.”
Dammit. Frosty carefully avoid the child’s eye for his next question. “Did you tell Panic?”
“No. I told Germy.”
A few further monosyllabic exchanges persuaded Frosty he was talking to the wrong person on that score. “OK, Tommo. I want you to go back to your crib now. Stay safe tonight. For three days, you stay away from Pistol. Don’t look at him, don’t talk to him, find somewhere else to be. And you never work for him again. OK?”
Frosty steered him to the doorway to the main room and squeezed his shoulder with an encouraging smile. Then he pointed to the street door to remind him to leave, before calling out, “Germy! Come here.”
“What did that little shit tell you?” Pistol demanded.
Maz poked him with the flag-pole, then wandered to stand in front of him, arms crossed. Frosty ignored them. Germy ducked into the changing room first. The gang ruler waited for Tommo to vanish before joining him.
“Sit. Talk to me.” Frosty and Germy’s friendship spanned his whole high school career, despite the age difference. This child he looked in the eye. “Why me instead of Panic?”
Germy dropped his gaze and fidgeted with his sneaker. “Panic’s good. I know you love her and stuff.” The boy was of an age to think less of him for liking a girl.
“Not what I asked. Why not tell Panic? It’s her job.”
The younger boy evaded a little longer, but then caved. “She’d make too big a deal of it, Frosty. Say it couldn’t happen again, no big boys around the younger boys, stuff like that. But we’re hungry. And they’ll pay. And I don’t know how to fix it. They’re too big for us to fight.”
“But you still want them to pay you. Are you doing this too, Germy?”
“No! I’d tell you, Frosty. Ask for some work to earn food. And you’d never ask me to do that!”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“No, you got Panic.”
Frosty rubbed his forehead. “That’s not why. I wouldn’t ask because it’s wrong, on my end. Never mind. You do what you need to do. And you think Panic might make it worse.”
“Yeah. I mean, I like Panic, but.”
“Got it. Thanks. You can go.”
Frosty tried the knee-to-nose stretches again. What’s next, a baby and a sword? He hated court nights. None of them were wrong, really. Pistol was gross. Tommo was dumb. Germy’s offense was being right. Panic’s tendency to see things in black and white was awkward. His efforts were at last rewarded with a large belch, relieving the agony in his diaphragm.
Panic he could deal with at home. There were other arguments to hear tonight first.
He strode to his banquet table throne to deliver his verdict. “Pistol. Tommo said no. He’s off limits. Touch him again and it’s rape. Understood? Pay each time. Every time. Now go. Next!”
“The hell you say!” Panic exploded. “That’s it? You’re just going to let him walk?”
“Later, Panic. I said next!” Naturally the next contestant hesitated to step forward.
Panic marched around the table to get in his face. “You should exile him!” Maz poked her with the flag-pole. She swatted it away. “Do you protect the kids or not? Fat lot of protection that was! You flaming asshole!”
Frosty clambered off the table. Don’t do this, Panic. “Final warning.”
“My final warning of what! Huh? What?” She took a horse stance and pranced before him, mocking him with speed-bag rotating fists. “You gonna hit me? For protecting kids against child molesters? What is your mental malfunction, Frosty! You fucking coward!”
He punched her straight to the mouth, hard enough to send her flying into the audience. She hadn’t even thrown up an arm to block, dammit! She just froze before his fist connected, astonished. What kind of black belt did that! Several of the girls – not the nicer ones – pushed her back at him for another swing.
Fortunately Maz intervened bodily instead. “Out, Panic.”
She wiped blood from her mouth, and gaped at him in wide-eyed shock.
Good queen Kat hauled her away, thank God.
17
January 28, E-day plus 51.
“Anyone else want a ruling tonight?” Frosty didn’t pause to allow an answer. “No? Good. Get out.”
Jake stepped forward. “I do. I have an issue with you, Frosty.”
“How perfectly marvelous.” Frosty vaulted back to his cross-legged perch on the banquet table throne. “Everyone else, good-bye.”
“I want them to hear –”
The gang king cut him off. “Do I look like I give a rat’s ass? I SAID OUT! Good King Frosty is in a very pissy mood.” He caught the glance of a vicious girl, one of the group who tossed Panic back at him to hit again. “You don’t want my verdict tonight. Do you?”
She fled. They all did. And as the room emptied, Frosty’s gaze fell on Jake in disfavor. The other karate black belt tried to speak a couple times, but Maz rammed a fist into his gut each time until the onlookers were gone.
Frosty began. “So Panic challenged me in public, so I had to hit her. What exactly about this suggests to your pea brain that you do it too? Was I unclear about the purpose of court this evening? Were you and Panic working together to undermine me? Seems to me we held a counsel meeting earlier. Neither of you were in my face then. Now was not the time.”
“No! This has nothing to do with your girlfriend. I want to challenge you. For leadership of the gang! A fight!”
Maz slipped in front of Jake and bared his teeth. “No one fights Frosty until they beat me first.”
Jake worried his lip. Frosty had lost more weight. Jake encouraged his fighters to eat as much as they could, and demanded an unfairly large share for them. They needed muscle and stamina to win. Maz was a fighter, too, and obeyed Jake’s directives. But Frosty was conflicted eating more while the little kids starved. He considered himself more leader than fighter. Part of that leadership was to set an example of altruism for the community. Jake probably thought he’d weakened himself enough that the less talented karateka now had a shot.
You’re wrong. “No one is fighting anyone yet. Why are you challenging me, Jake?”
Jake stood straight and stared him in the eye. “I don’t agree with the way you’re running the gang. We said we’d be selective. We cannot feed all these people. Dammit, Frosty, we’re up to 350 kids now. Half of them don’t fight. I say we cut them loose.”
“And who do you think will follow you?”
“Jake, if you fight me and win, what happens next? You seem to think you’ll be the new champion, and automatically hailed as our new king. That’s a fantasy. I didn’t beat anyone up to sit here. I made friends with them. Not all of them, not anymore. A few I haven’t even spoken to yet.”
“Not many.” Maz relented and perched on the table beside his best friend.
“Jake, they follow me because they believe I care about them. They want to live. I want to give them every chance to make that happen. That’s the truth. And if you killed me right now? They’d tear you limb from limb.”
“My fighters would follow me! And leave the weaklings behind!”
“Not after you’re dead,” Maz stated.
Frosty nodded. “Jake, I value your skills. Your opinion. Your work on the gang’s behalf. But if you don’t understand this, you’re no leader. Do I need to replace you? With someone who gives a damn whether his people live or die? They used to call it patriotism for a soldier. I call it loyalty, and honor. Are you an honorable man?”
“Of course I am!”
“Yet you would kick out a child and steal his food? Fight one of your best friends to the death for power? Explain this to me, Jake.” Frosty forced his voice quiet, sincere. “What does honor mean to you? I really need to know.”
Maz opened his mouth. Frosty lightly backhanded him to shut up. No hints.
Jake blew out. “I want to fight for the greater good. I want as many of us as possible to survive. That’s strategic. Frosty, only the strongest will make it out of this alive!”
