by Skinzz
Breezy smiled and her eyes brightened.
"Are you serious?"
"Yup. I'm serious. We should hook up."
She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.
"You mean date seriously or just hook up?"
Jason took a silver flask from his jacket pocket. He winked at Breezy, uncapped the flask and took a long swig of vodka to wash the taste of the hamburger from his mouth. He swished it around like mouthwash. He'd stolen both the vodka and the flask itself from his stepfather before he left the house that morning. He reached out and grabbed Breezy by the back of her head, snaring his fingers in her dreadlocks, pulling her closer to him and kissing her. After a moment, she returned the kiss, running her fingers through his freshly washed mane of black hair. When they parted, Jason grinned at her and winked again. This time Breezy returned the smile.
"I mean we should date seriously," Jason said.
Breezy kissed him again.
"Okay."
"Good. It's about time."
Breezy looked down at her feet, once again blushing like a school girl.
"Yeah. It's about time."
"I'll see you tonight?" Jason asked.
"I get off at six."
"I'll be here."
Jason wiped his face with his napkin and took another swig from the flask before tucking it back into his jacket. He waved at Breezy as he stepped outside into the chill morning air. He felt good. Breezy did look good and she had a job and a car. Life was looking better already.
There were a few shoppers on the street, braving the thirteen degree temperature. Jason didn't think it was that cold. It had dropped as low as four degrees earlier this week. In comparison, today felt like a trip to the tropics.
A few high school kids and some kids from the College of Performing Arts wandered the streets dressed all in black, wearing black lipstick and nail polish.
"Fucking art fags," Jason whispered to himself. Then he saw the skinheads.
There were only two of them, one big, one small. The big one had a black eye and a busted lip that somehow made him look even scarier. The little one was thick and muscular with a bulging neck. He was unmarred and looked like one of those wannabe badasses with a Napoleon complex...like Jason. He wore a wool cap over his bald head and a red scarf around his neck. They both wore navy green bomber jackets and black Doc Martens. The guys from The Unrest usually wore oxblood combat boots. But Unrest or not, they were looking directly at him and grinning like hyenas closing in on a lion cub. They knew who he was and were looking to score some points by taking him down. Jason reached in his jacket for the bike chain. He pulled it out and began wrapping it around his knuckles as they approached.
The two skinheads walked up to Jason, heedless of the bike chain in his hand. One of them had a small pipe wrapped in duct tape. The other was wearing "sap gloves" with powdered lead or steel shot sewn into the knuckles. Jason knew that one shot with either the gloves or the pipe would have rendered him unconscious and helpless. A few more strikes and he'd be brain damaged or dead. This shit was getting serious.
"Recognize us, you piece of shit?"
They were two of the guys he and Mack had fought the other day. The short muscular kid was the one who got away. The big guy hadn't been as lucky.
"We're looking for Mack."
"Never heard of him."
"Bullshit! You were with him! You're that kid they call Demon aren't you? There's a price on your head. You and that nigger of yours."
For a second, Jason considered lying. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fight with two armed skinheads by himself. But hearing these racist assholes call Mack a nigger raised his blood pressure to boil. Mack would have never let anyone insult Jason. What kind of friend would he be if he let an insult like that go unpunished?
Fuck it. No guts. No glory.
"Yeah, I'm Demon. Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Sam and this is Ken. We own South Street," the smaller kid said.
Jason smirked. His legs were shaking but he tried to hide it by smiling even wider. He looked up and down the street, hoping to see someone he knew. Hoping to see Mack running to his rescue. But the streets remained nearly deserted except for the art students and high school kids and none of them looked like they would or could fight.
"You own South Street? That's funny. I thought we did."
"Who's we?" the larger skinhead, Ken, asked. "You and Mack?"
"Who's we? You mean you don't know?" Jason felt the adrenaline spike as his body prepared to act. It felt good. Lately, he'd grown addicted to the sensation.
"Don't fuck with me. Who's we? You and who?"
The big guy stepped up and poked Jason in the chest. Jason's smirk widened into a malevolent grin. He bounced from one foot to the next and once again scanned the street. This time he was looking for cops.
"We is me and Slash."
"Who's Slash?"
"You've never met Slash? Well, let me introduce you!"
Jason whipped the chain across the larger skinhead's face, ripping a huge gash from the left side of his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, to his right cheek. Blood exploded from the guy's face like he'd been shot.
"ARRRRRGHHHH! FUUUCK! MY EYE!!!"
Again, Jason whipped the chain through the air as the smaller skinhead charged forward with the pipe. The chain cracked across his knuckles causing Sammy to yell and jump back, cursing and swearing, but he still held the pipe.
"Sonuvabitch! You're dead you filthy piece of shit!"
"You want some more?" Jason stepped forward and whipped the chain through the air again. It whistled past Sammy's face, forcing the skinhead to take a few more steps back to avoid getting his face slashed. The little Nazi still brandished the sawed-off hunk of pipe, ready to use it at the first opportunity. Jason knew he had to hurt the guy in order to get away uninjured himself, but Sammy continued to keep his distance.
Ken, the bigger guy, was still holding his bleeding face with both hands and yelling like someone had raped his mother. He pulled one hand away from his eye, revealing a bleeding hole where his baby blue should have been. Stringy optical nerves dangled down his cheek like long dripping red eyelashes. Jason looked down at his chain and there was a bleeding lump attached to the end of it that he could only assume was part of the guy's missing eye.
"YOU RIPPED OUT MY FUCKING EYE! I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"
Jason whipped the chain again lashing Ken's neck and raising a livid red welt around the big skinhead's throat. Sammy raised his pipe and charged at him. Jason backed up a few steps, whipping the chain once more.
"Leave him the fuck alone!" Breezy yelled from the open takeout window of the burger store. The two skinheads turned and yelled at her.
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM! HE PUT OUT MY FUCKING EYE!!!" Ken roared.
"Bitch, stay out of this!" Sammy yelled at her, not taking his eyes off of Jason.
Jason turned and ran. Most of the snow that had been on the ground two days ago had melted away or turned to slush. Still, Jason's combat boots slipped and slid as he tried to flee the two skinheads. He glanced behind him and was pleased to see the two skinheads having just as much trouble staying upright. The big bastard with the missing eye went down hard on the concrete and didn't get up. He sat there in the slush with one hand over the ragged orifice where his eye once was. The other one, Sammy, kept coming and he was getting closer.
There were three choices left. Jason could duck into Zipperheads, the punkrock clothing store on the next block, and maybe one of the older punks who worked there would jump in and defend him or he could try to make it to Chris's comic book store four blocks away and hope that the skinhead didn't catch him before he got there or he could try to make it to The Gathering Space which was only two blocks away. He just didn't know if Padre would be much of a deterrent. He'd heard that most skins were religious but who knew how much respect they'd have for a priest who worked out of a storefront, ministering to runaways
and drug addicts. Still, it was his best bet. He just hoped that Padre was in.
He kicked it into high gear, sprinting the last block despite the threat of a debilitating fall followed by an even more debilitating beatdown. Jason arrived at The Gathering Space completely exhausted and unable to catch his breath. He would have never made it all the way to the comic store. Too many cigarettes.
He slammed through the metal-framed glass door of The Gathering Space, flinging the door wide so hard it hit the wall with a loud bang and shook like it was about to unhinge. Surprisingly, the glass did not break. There was a meeting of some kind going on. Thirteen or fourteen sad-faced adults of various ages sat in a semi-circle facing Father Antonio. They all jumped to their feet except for one woman who covered her head and drew her knees up to her chest.
"Jason! What are you—"
The priest's words were cut short by another loud bang as the door was once again shoved open. This time, with even greater force. The glass shattered but the safety coating held all the broken shards in place so that it looked like an intricate spiderweb.
"You're dead!" the skinhead said, stomping toward Jason with a snarl on his face. His finger jabbed the air like a weapon. In his other hand, he still held the pipe. Jason wielded his chain, ready to swing.
Father Antonio hurried to insert himself between the two teenagers.
"Hold on! What's going on here?"
"This guy and his partner attacked me!" Jason yelled.
"He put my friend's eye out with that chain!"
The skinhead was out of breath as well and yelling only made it worse. He leaned against the wall, struggling to suck air into his overtaxed lungs. Jason stepped forward with the chain but Father Antonio pushed him back.
"No fighting in here or I swear I'll call the cops!"
A couple of the sad sacks of shit who'd been pouring out their souls to the young priest had found their nuts and were now backing him up.
"Yeah, get out of here!"
"I'm not going anywhere! I came to see Padre...I mean, Father Antonio. I always come here. He's the sonuvabitch that don't belong here!"
"Everyone is welcome here. If he wants to stay, he can stay. But no fighting in here and you'll both have to give up your weapons."
The young priest folded his arms then held out his hand for the skinhead's pipe. The skinhead looked at him and snorted then spat on the floor.
"I ain't givin' you shit!" He pointed at Jason. "I'll be waiting for you, outside."
"You'd better see to your friend. He didn't look so good."
The skinhead jabbed his finger at Jason again and raised the pipe. "Fuck you!"
"Fuck you!"
Jason held up the chain. It was still wet with blood. There was a long stalemate. Finally, the skinhead flipped both middle fingers at Jason then turned and opened the door.
"I'll see you again. Bet on that!" He spit on the floor again before walking out and slamming the door behind him, causing it to crack even more.
"Sorry about that, Padre," Jason said. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
"You want me to call the police? Did he hurt you?"
"No. I'm fine and I'd prefer you didn't call the cops. I've got warrants...uh...some unpaid speeding tickets."
"You don't even own a car."
Jason smirked.
"Let's just call them traffic tickets, okay?"
He walked over to the coffee machine and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up while he poured himself a cup. Everyone else walked back to their seats.
"You're welcome to join us if you like."
Jason frowned.
"What is it?"
"Alcoholics Anonymous."
Jason shook his head.
"I'm not an alcoholic."
There were a few chuckles and scoffs. Padre nodded, trying his best to look understanding and suppress the knowing grin spreading across his face.
"Okay, then just listen. Alright?"
Jason looked at the front door. That skinhead might still be out there waiting for him. He walked over and took a seat with the others.
"Fine. I can listen."
Chapter 20
Mack's house 1:05 pm
"I know I just postponed my admission until the fall, but I changed my mind. I would really like to come earlier if that's at all possible. I know, but I need to get out of Philly now. No, I'm not in any legal trouble. There's just a lot violence going on in my neighborhood and I'm afraid that if I don't get out now I'll never get out. Yes, ma'am. If you could mail them to me. I'll sign all my financial aid papers as soon as I get them. Yes, the address is the same. Thank you so much. How soon can I come? Okay, I'll see you then and thanks again."
Mack's mother sat beside him with her hands clasped in prayer. When he hung up the phone, she turned toward him with one eyebrow raised.
"So?"
"They said I can come in two weeks as long as I get all my financial aid papers signed and returned by then."
His mother smiled and stared up at the ceiling, spreading her arms wide like she was hugging the air.
"Oh, thank you, Jesus!" she said, once more clasping her hands in front of her and bowing her head.
"Now, I want you to stay right here, in this house until you leave for college. No more going down to South Street."
"I can't. Not yet anyway. There's people down there that depend on me."
"Those crazy white kids you hang out with? They'll be fine."
Mack shook his head.
"I can't, Mom. I'm sorry. I can't. Just a few more days. I need a few days to wrap some things up."
His mother looked at him again. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I don't want to lose you. You're my only son and you're about to become the first member of our family to go to college...ever. Do you know how special that is? Your whole world is about to change. Your entire future is ahead of you and it could be something really incredible. You can do incredible things with your life but not if you stay here on these streets. Not if you get arrested and thrown in prison over some dumb shit. Stay here. Don't go down there again. Do it for me. Do it for your old momma."
Mack nodded.
"Just this one last time. I have to go tonight but that's it. I'll stay here 'til I leave for college, okay? But I have to go out tonight. I need to say goodbye to everyone."
Mack picked up his leather coat and sat down on the couch to pull his boots back on.
"Where are you going now?"
"I have to go see Miranda. She's still in the hospital. I need to tell her I'm going."
The stairs squeaked. Mack and his mother both turned to see Jonas coming down the stairs. Jonas was eight years older than Mack's mother and his neatly trimmed beard was almost white. He had crow's feet in the corner of each eye. His pupils were gray like a wolf. He was a large man with a wide chest, broad shoulders, and a huge belly that hung over his belt. He looked like a cross between Paul Bunyon and Santa Claus.
He stepped between Mack and his mother.
"Florence, let me talk to him."
Mack rolled his eyes. He knew the man meant well. Jonas had a good heart. But he hated when Jonas tried to be some kind of male role model or father-figure to Mack. It made him want to knock Jonas' teeth down his throat.
"Christ! When did he get here?"
"He came back this morning, when you were still sleeping."
"Let's talk, Mack, man to man."
Jonas wrapped an arm around Mack's shoulders but Mack shrugged it off.
"Jonas. Don't."
"Mack, I know I'm not your father..."
"Jonas, seriously man, don't."
"Your mom is worried about you and so am I."
Mack cupped his face in his hands, sliding both hands down his cheeks. He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.
"Jonas, man, this ain't none of your business."
"You're going to get yourself killed out there or wind up in prison. You still carrying that knif
e?"
"Of course."
"What do you need that for as big as you are?"
"Because some people carry guns and you only got one shot if someone pulls a gun on you."
"Why would you hang out somewhere where someone might pull a gun on you? Come on. You don't need that. You're just going to wind up getting arrested."
"Better tried by twelve than carried by six."
Jonas wrinkled his brow.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that I'd rather be in jail than dead."
"Why go places where you have to make that choice?"
Mack looked at him like he had lost his mind.
"Where can I go in Philly where I won't have to make that choice? Have you seen this neighborhood? You walk from the front door to the car and back, so you never see what I see. Every time I walk out that door I might have to make that choice. You don't have a clue. I've got to go."
"Mack..."
Jonas reached out for Mack's arm but Mack shrugged him off.
"I said I'm out of here. I'll be back tomorrow night." Mack stood up and walked to the front door. He paused and kissed his mother goodbye.
"I love you, Mom. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay." She held out a scarf and Mack knelt and allowed her to tie it around his neck.
"You should be wearing a hat too. You'll freeze to death out there."
"I'm okay, Mom. Thanks."
She grabbed him and hugged him tight. It felt like more than a goodbye hug. It felt like she was saying goodbye forever. He heard her sob against his chest and something inside him wrenched. He never could stand the thought of hurting her. Even as a young child his mother never had to hit him or yell at him. Just letting him know he'd disappointed her, he'd upset her, had been enough. Things hadn't changed much.
"You come back home, Mack. Do you hear me? No matter what, you come back home."
Mack nodded. He let her go and wiped a tear from her eye with his thumb.
"I will, Mom. I promise. I'll come home. No matter what, I'll be back."
"Mack, wait. I want to give you something."
Jonas reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and fished out two hundred dollar bills and a fifty. He handed them to Mack. Mack looked at the money like it was something that had floated up from a toilet.
