Making a Friend
A small red-haired boy sits in a dark alley crying. He has been this way for a while now. He had run from the police station early yesterday morning, thinking his sister was following him. Instead he found himself lost and alone. All that on top of the fact that he had watched his father kill his mother the night before, for a six year old child he was taking it quite well. Although his sobs are heard by a passing stranger.
"Are you okay, kid?" came a voice. The child wiped his blue eyes, which were now a tint of red, from crying. "You got a name?"
"Remy," came a strained voice.
"Ok, Remy, what is the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Where do you live?" He didn't know how to answer. "Well?" Still no answer. "You can't live out here."
"Why not?" the Remy questioned defiantly. The older boy chuckled.
"Ya don't got the attitude. I'll find your parents, then you can go home." The older boy grabbed into the shadows and ahold of Remy's arm. As he pulled Remy out of the alley he noticed the blood on the boy's clothes, hand, and face. Before he could say anything or release the struggling boy he felt a small set of teeth rap around his arm. "Shit." He watched the child run back into the alley. "Hey kid, I didn't mean to scare you. What's the matter?" The older boy stepped closer.
"I don't want to go home!"
"Why?" he inched closer, so he could see the boy's face. There was fear in the little boy's eyes. "Hey, don't worry. Ya not afraid of me are you?" He shook his head. "Good, I wouldn't make you go home if you don't want to. It doesn't matter to me either way. But if you need a place to stay you can come with me and some other kids. We live down by the bayou." He looked down at his arm, it was bleeding pretty good. "You know you got a pretty good bit there," he smile at Remy.
"Really?" Remy got up.
"Yeah, so you coming or not?" Remy nodded. "Then we better get moving. It's almost light."
"First of all I'm going to get you out of those bloody clothes," he looked down at the younger boy. They walked into an old abandon fishing shack. The smell of tobacco was thick and smoke filled the air. There was a sheet hanging from the ceiling on the other side of the room. Two hammocks hung from the ceiling to the left of them and one to the right. The one to the left was set up like a bunk. The one to the right had a space under it were another could sleep. The blanket had been rolled up neatly and set in the corner. The shack was small, but had two bunks on each side following the hammocks. At the time only three people besides them occupied the space. The three boys were playing a game a poker. The blonde haired one throw his cards down in frustration, as the Afro-American one laid down a royal flush. The third just sighed hopelessly and leaned back against the wall.
"Hey, Jude," the third player greeted him. "Who's the kid?" He took a drag on his cigarette.
"Name's Remy, I found him in an alley. He's going be stay here."
"That's cool," he turned back to the poker game. As the other two looked at Remy, not bothering to say anything.
"Come on, kid. I'll get you some better clothes," he started walking toward the sheet. Remy followed Jude as he went behind it. "Here," he throw Remy a pair of old clothing. "The others will be back in a bit, the crowd should be dying down in the next half hour. They'll being back some food. But I want you to understand something first." Remy nodded. "You're going to have to work to say here."
"How?"
"Pick-pocketing."