Jack looked at him coldly. "Fifteen, man! Like it's your problem! You get it!"
"This gets to sound like blackmail!" Don said, screwing up his courage to say it.
The pusher glanced toward the nearest building, drawing Don's eyes there, as he said, "Well, look at that!"
Don was sucked into the ploy. His eyes swiveled to look where Jack had indicated. Off guard, he was totally unprepared for the hard, swinging blow to his gut. As he bent over with the sudden, nauseous pain of it, a steel-shod toe booted him, painfully, in the buttocks. He sprawled writhing in pain to the ground. Instinctively, he balled himself, as from the other side another boot caught him in the ribs. Several more such blows were rained on him, all accurately placed in his body so they wouldn't show. His arms, legs, groin and face were scrupulously avoided, as the beating was administered, quickly, soundlessly… and with professional elan. It was over in a matter of seconds. As the three hoodlums walked away, Jack said, curtly, "Tonight!"
Don Scott was almost seventeen. It had been a long time since he had cried real tears, but he did now. He sat on the curb and bawled. He hurt all over, and he cried with the hurt, the fear… and the humiliation.
Finally, after long minutes, he crawled onto his motorbike, painfully, and headed for home. On the way, he passed his sister, Charity. She waved at him, flashing him a smile as he went by, but he did not stop to pick her up. He didn't want her to know what had happened to him. Actually, he couldn't tell anyone. It was a burden he would have to bear alone. Christ! I am in it now! Where in hell can I get fifteen dollars?
He was almost home when it hit him. The idea was monstrous! He had never considered anything like it before, and he wondered whether or not he could do it. Hell, if I don't pay off… those goons are liable to cut me up next time!
Shuddering, he visualized how he would look after having been beaten with bicycle chains, iron bars and brass knuckles. It was too horrible to think about. The beating administered to him was just a warning. He knew that. He could do nothing now but pay off! He had to have money! He had to have it fast!
His mind was made up. He would do it. Don Scott was going to steal a twenty-dollar bill from the money his mother kept in her dresser drawer! He did it before Charity got home.
CHAPTER THREE
Charity walked home in the midst of a group of chattering, giggling girls of her acquaintance; her head was in the clouds, and she was in contact with reality only intermittently as she talked excitedly with them hardly believing that it was true.
She had stayed after school for the auditions for the annual school musical production. Her singing and acting had been outstanding, and she had been selected to sing the leading female role. She couldn't believe her ears when the final announcement had been made just a few minutes before as she sat in the auditorium surrounded by several of the other girls who were trying out for parts. There had been screams of excitement and general confusion after the announcements. Needless to say, she was elated. Getting the leading role in the musical was one of the things she had dreamed about, but she had worked, too. She had worked hard at her music and dramatics. It was the hard work that had paid off for her.
The drama teacher had talked with her, briefly, after the auditions, questioning her concerning her plans for further education and suggesting that she consider applying for various scholarships.
"They've an excellent Drama Department at Redfern College, and I'd be willing to recommend you… Charity," he told her.
"My folks don't have much money… It'd be…" she began.
"Scholarships go begging every year… I'll help you get started, and the earlier the better!" She was still walking on air after her talk with the drama coach, her mind filled, now, with impossible dreams.
One sad note entered her thoughts. She hoped and prayed that this year her parents would attend the musical production. The year before, as a high school junior, she had sung an important supporting role in the musical. She had been happy and elated with her accomplishment, and had looked forward to the night when her parents would be in the audience. On the night of the performance, however, her mother had had to go to work at the last moment to replace a waitress who had called in saying she was sick and couldn't work. Charity had been disappointed. Her mother had said, "Charity… you understand, don't you… we need the money, and my boss isn't able to get anyone else, just now."
Charity had understood with her mind. Yes, it was true they needed the money, but she needed something money couldn't buy… she needed her father and mother in that audience watching her and listening to her… she needed their moral support to complete the reason for her effort. It was not too much she was asking: three hours of her parents' time, spent in the darkened auditorium enjoying the world of make-believe she was helping to create on the stage.
Well, even if both her parents couldn't be there, her father would be, she told herself, but in this hope, she was disappointed, too. Her world had been shattered when he didn't show up. He had gotten drunk with some of his cronies, forgetting all about his daughter's great performance. An evening that should have been a high point in her life had turned sour, and she cried herself to sleep that night in her loneliness.
Charity was walking alone, now, along the avenue. She heard the roar of her brother's motorcycle as he overtook her and passed her. She flashed a smile at him, but he didn't stop. It wasn't unusual; it was only occasionally that he would stop to give her a ride home, but today, especially, she had wanted to talk to Donnie. She wanted to tell him about her having won the leading role in the musical. She had to tell him, because Mom would be at work and Dad was probably out somewhere drinking. Even if he were home, he'd probably be half-soused, she decided. Anyway, there was no talking to Dad. He talked to everybody except his family. She knew of her father's reputation as a talker; it was an embarrassment to her to know that he was one of the town drunks, a character known as Gabby Scott. His loud-mouth ways, quick temper and ready fists had landed him in jail for short stretches on more than one occasion. And Mom…? She wouldn't be able to see her until morning… that is if she hadn't had to work overtime and was sleeping later than usual.
She let herself into the house. Donnie's cycle was parked in the drive, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was surprised not to find him in the kitchen gobbling down a snack. Her father, also, was apparently not at home. She headed for her own room, but on impulse, she went on through the kitchen to the back porch and knocked, softly, on his bedroom door.
"Donnie…?" she called.
"Yeah…" His voice a croak.
"I wanted to tell you something…"
"Flake off!" he grunted.
"I got the lead… in the musical… And…" she faltered, feeling his rebuff.
"Big deal!"
She recognized, then, that something was wrong. "Are you all right… Donnie…?" she queried.
"Get the hell out of here!" he roared. "Get off my back… just get the hell off my back… damn you!"
Charity turned from his door, not understanding, a tear welling into each eye to run down her cheeks, and went into her own room. Dear God what's happening to us… to our family?
For the second time, the thought worked to the surface of her conscious mind. I'd be better off… if. I didn't live here! I feel like I could run away… maybe run away with Donnie! He said he felt the same way… and was going to do it pretty soon. I wonder if… he'd take me with him…? We could go on the street together… and help each other… and look out for each other. It would be just the two of us… the two of us… against the world…!
She realized that something must be bothering her brother. He was sometimes moody and treated her badly, but he always came around. Later, he would rap with her about the musical and tell her how glad he was that she had gotten the part.