Author’s note: This was the original opening, but my editor, Caprice Hokstad, recommended a rewrite. The published chapter one is much stronger, but this was a good chapter (just not the best) and thought I’d share it with you.
Chapter 1
Eighteen-year-old Andre Collinger ripped open the thick plastic bag and jerked it open, ignoring the brittle wind slicing through the dim alley. The wind whipped his long, blonde hair around and he quickly pulled it up with a hair band kept around his wrist. He felt feverish, the shaking in his hands reminding him that food wouldn’t solve this problem. The trash can came from a small deli and he rifled through the discarded inhabitants, finding a half of sandwich only missing one bite. He scarfed it down and looked for the next course.
A half-eaten bag of chips would do for later so he shoved them in his jeans pocket and continued to dig. Crushed chips were just as good as fresh and whole. Coming across another piece of sandwich, he pulled it out. A whining next to his leg caught his attention. A very thin dog, other than her hanging teats, whimpered. Single mom with kids to feed. He knew too many of them. Most of the women he worked next to on the street shared that story.
“Here,” he said softly and offered her the sandwich. She wagged her thin tail, grateful for the meal. The dog ate hungrily and Andre turned back to the garbage can to find them both food. An entire six inch sub. Payday at last.
He broke part of it off and tossed it to the dog before staring at the other half. His stomach didn’t care that he had no idea what meat or extras rested between the two halves of the hoagie roll. Bringing the sandwich up he started to take a bite, wondering how he’d get his next hit.
“What are you doing, boy?” a deep voice plied him from his thoughts and sandwich.
“Visiting the Recycled Buffet,” Andre answered, studying the stranger with a weary eye. Dumpster diving wasn’t a crime and this guy didn’t look like a cop. Andre shuddered. He could be looking for action. He held up the sandwich. “Want some?”
“Man, I lived off Army rations, that’s the only garbage for me,” he said with a dry smile and chuckle. The man approached and Andre sized him up. Big, mean looking but Andre didn’t get those vibes off of this guy. He could probably outrun him, but he couldn’t take him. Andre didn’t make a habit of wrestling with bulls. Bald, except a beanie on and he seemed comfortable on the streets. He’d probably make an offer. Not wanting to work might be a moot point as he watched storm clouds move in, bringing dropping temperatures with it, he may not survive tonight if he didn’t.
But the man’s eyes were filled with compassion. At least he thought it was compassion. Andre wasn’t familiar with that trait in the people he met. He didn’t trust it. Maybe he should run, this was too complicated to figure out.
“When was the last time you ate?”
Nor did he keep track of his meals. They were so few and far between that keeping track didn’t serve a purpose other than reminding him that he hadn’t eaten. Andre shrugged. “Two days ago, maybe three.”
Maybe five. He really had no idea.
“I know you probably like fine dining outside average delis, but let me buy you something hot, some real food.”
“I don’t take handouts.” Taking food was also accepting an offer. Nor did he feel like earning a meal. He’d earn some feel-good, but food? Not worth it.
“Not a handout and I’m not looking for anything. . .illicit. I wanna talk to you. Your job is to listen.”
Was he legit? He’d been asked to do worse. So he nodded and tossed the sandwich to the dog.
“Name’s Leo,” the guy said, offering his hand.
The trembling started in his stomach and he eyed the thick, outstretched hand like it was a lethal weapon. No one offered a handshake to kids on the street, unless they were on the take. The cruelest johns came across as friendly in the beginning.
“Andre,” he said softly.
“Nice to meet you, Andre.”
Leo gestured to a beat up work truck. Every fiber in his being told him to run, but he shivered, the chill getting deep into his bones. Thankfully, Leo had to heat cranked up and Andre rubbed his arms, trying to move the warmth quicker through his body. Tonight would be miserable. But, Leo could be a serial killer.
Andre dismissed the thought. There were no current rumors on who to stay away from on the street.
What if he a new one? And Andre his first victim?
“S’posed to be below freezing and raining tonight. Where you sleep?”
“I would say any place the cops won’t pick me up, but I may have to check into the Sheriff’s bed and breakfast tonight.”
Petty theft wouldn’t be too hard of a hit. He could also fake drunk and disorderly for a few hours in the drunk tank. It would beat the night on the streets. Being Serial Killer Leo’s first victim sounded like the best option. He’d screwed up his first nineteen years and the thought of living this life. . .
Leo parked in the lot for an all-night diner and they walked in, Andre following behind him, scoping out everything. Lightly populated. Old, but not shabby. He didn’t dive their dumpsters because the food wasn’t wrapped, just scrapped into the garbage bins. Those qualified under last ditch efforts.
“Leo!” one of the waitresses hollered. She was bleach blonde with bright red lipstick. Crow’s feet crept out from her eyes when she smiled. Hard life reflected in her leathery skin. She had a few decades on her but looked happy.
“Margo, you looking good, young lady. Where’s your section?”
She gestured toward the corner and Leo led the way to a back booth. As they walked, Leo looked at Margo. “Two coffees, please.”
Margo brought two coffees and set them down in front of the men. Andre gave her a small smile and a quiet thanks before looking back at the window. She looked older up close. His stomach growled and he looked at the large platters — steaks, eggs, bacon. . .his mind struggled to determine how much he was willing to pay. No doubt, Leo would provide the cash, but Andre would pay. Was it worth sex? Blow-job? Passed around like a the cheap whore he was? He just didn’t feel like doing that stuff tonight, not unless he got a hit or two out of it.
Margo waited patiently.
“I’ll take a grilled cheese,” Andre said softly. The cheapest on the menu and he’d be justified refusing most sexual request. If this guy was going to beat the snot out of him for not bending over for a two-dollar grilled cheese, then. . .maybe he could get checked into the hospital and score both a warm place and opioids.
Leo’s intense dark brown eyes burrowed into the top of his head. The top because Andre was shivering and looking down.
“Son, you just told me you haven’t eaten in two days and you gonna order a grill cheese? Margo, make it two grilled cheeses and the largest chili you got.”
That upped the anty. No. No, No, He just couldn’t tonight. “No, I really don’t-”
“Honey,” Margo said. “You don’t argue with Leo. Let him feed you. There no strings attached whether you get the grilled cheese or the steak.”
It was a quick order and Andre, once he caught whiff of the food, couldn’t hold back. He polished off one sandwich in four bites, then dug into the chili, eating spoonfuls, then dipping the other sandwich into the bowl. His heart was rumbling more than his stomach and he felt trapped. Closing his eyes tight, he tried to force the uneasiness back. He’d have to score soon. Maybe this Leo would spot him twenty. He’d earn it if needed.
“What’s your poison?”
His belly was feeling tight, full, so Andre put his spoon down, glancing at Leo’s reflection in the window beside them.
“Heroin.”
Leo nodded, no expression on his dead-pan face. “When was your last hit?”
“Last night, or early this morning.”
Heroin was worth the whole she-bang. Was Leo going to make an offer? A hit for…?
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