“Can’t. Already spent it.”
“So, you see, this is payback,” the guy who was punching him says. He’s sporting a backwards baseball cap and has tanned skin and a thick gold chain around his neck. He’s about to lay into the redhead again when I step forward and grab his arm.
“Stop,” I say. “Look, whatever he stole I’ll repay you.”
All four of the guys’ eyes widen, but especially the redhead’s.
“You got two hundred dollars on you, old man?” Backwards Cap says.
I sigh. Barely. I pull out my wallet and thumb through it, grabbing a handful of twenties and a one hundred dollar bill.
“Let him go first,” I say, and they exchange glances before pulling Redhead away from the wall and shoving him forward so that he practically falls into my arms. He rights himself immediately and scowls at me before he hurries off. I rub my hand across my forehead and hand the money over. “Nice doing business with you, gramps.” Backwards Cap salutes me before he and his buddies wander off.
I step around the corner and start to make my way to my car when I hear, “I had it under control, you know?” I turn and see Redhead leaning against the front of the bar I just stepped out of. Now that he’s in better lighting and I’m a little closer I realize just how young he is. He can’t be a day over nineteen. Blood has dripped onto his hoodie, his red hair is caked in dirt and grime, his hands are filthy, and the blood on his face is starting to dry. It’s obviously been a while since he showered or washed his clothes.
“You’re welcome,” I say, and he snorts.
“Never asked for your help.”
“Well, I’m nice like that.” I look him over once again and then ask, “Where are your parents? You live nearby? You in school somewhere?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.
“You got somewhere to sleep?”
His eyebrows furrow. “What is this?” he spits, “twenty questions?”
I ignore him. “Someone I can call? Anything? You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he retorts. “I’ll get on that.”
I sigh. “Come on.” I gesture with my head for him to follow me. He just stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Yeah, no thanks, gramps. I’m good. Got everything under control, like I said.”
“I’d hate to see what out of control looks like then.” He glares at me.
“Fuck off.”
I sigh. “Look, I’ve got a guest room in my house that no one's using, so you might as well come with me. You can shower, get some food, and I’ll get you some pain killers and some ice.” I’m making it sound like it’s only a one time thing I’m offering him, but I’m hoping if I can convince him to come with me, I can also convince him to stay. I hate the idea of him being out here alone and vulnerable. And I hate to think about what he’s probably had to subject himself to to survive out here. It makes me sick.
“I don’t take handouts,” he replies, and I’m beginning to think the scowl on his face is permanent.
“Fine. If you don’t want to come home with me, at least let me get you some stuff from the drug store.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”
“Because you're hurt and I don’t like the idea of you being in pain. Especially if you are sleeping god knows where. Those wounds could get infected if you aren’t careful and we both know you don’t have money for a doctor.”
He eyes me, the expression on his face softening for a brief second before it hardens again, the furrow in his eyebrows returning. “I just met you. Why the fuck do you give a crap about me?”
I don’t tell him the truth, the real reason why I’m doing this, why I feel so compelled to help him, because if I did there is no way he’d come with me.
“I just do,” I say. “Take it or leave it.”
To my relief he nods, but then he’s pointing a finger at me. “Touch me and I will jump out of the car while it’s still moving.”
I hold up my hands, indicating that I will not be laying a hand on him, and I hate that that’s something I have to assure him of, that it’s something he feels compelled to warn me about.
