Pick Up the Pieces Read online

  “Thirteen.” He leered at me. “I been thirteen for four years now.”

  “Huh?”

  He laughed, not a nice sound, and turned on the shower.

  “Uh… I’ll get you a towel.”

  “Sure. You do that.” He was in the tub when I got back. “Wanna join me?”

  “I already had a shower.”

  He laughed again. “You really ain’t bright.”

  I ran out of the bathroom. “Franky….” I found him in the bedroom. “He… Jaybird made a pass at me!”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah. I want you two together.”

  “But….”

  “Take your clothes off.”

  Automatically, I obeyed him. “Franky….”

  “You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but….”

  Jaybird walked in, drying himself off with the towel. “How do you want me?”

  “We’re gonna have us a sandwich. You’re the filling.”

  “But… but… Franky, you’re my boyfriend. How could you want to….”

  “I do what I want, and what I want right now is a change.” He rose from the bed, barely giving me a glance. “Now, lay down in the middle of the bed. No, the other way.”

  Numbly, I changed positions. In spite of the shower Jaybird had just taken, his dick smelled. For the first time in weeks, my gag reflex kicked in and I started retching.

  Jaybird pulled away from me. “You ain’t yakkin’ on my dick!”

  I scrambled to sit up, swallowing frantically so I wouldn’t puke.

  “Goddammit, I thought you were gonna be nice to him!” And then Franky hit me. He’d never hit me before. Even Poppa had never hit me in the face, not even when he’d found out I was gay.

  “But… but….” I held my hand to my nose. Blood dripped through my fingers onto my chest.

  “Get the fuck out of here! You can sleep on the sofa!” He turned to Jaybird. “C’mere.”

  Jaybird sent a triumphant sneer my way.

  I grabbed up my clothes and ran from the bedroom to the bathroom. It took a while for my nose to stop bleeding. It took a longer while for me to stop crying.

  I WAS making a pot of coffee when Franky came into the kitchen the next morning.

  He looked unhappy when he saw my swollen nose. “Ah, baby, I’m sorry.”

  I knew he hadn’t meant it! I rushed into his arms, and he held me and rocked me. Everything was going to be okay. He’d send Jaybird away, and it would be just the two of us, the way it should be.

  But then he said, “You like him, don’t you, Sweetcheeks?”

  I leaned back and stared into his eyes. He let me go, went to the cabinet, and took down a mug.

  “He’s okay, I guess,” I conceded reluctantly. I knew that was what he wanted me to say, but I couldn’t muster more enthusiasm than that.

  “He’s had a tough life, you know. He’s thirteen and—”

  “He’s seventeen.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “Motherfucking cocksucker.” He stalked out of the room, and after a minute, I heard the sound of a slap.

  “Ow! Hey! What the fuck….”

  “Lying little motherfucking prick.”

  The front door opened, slammed closed, and Jaybird was gone. I shouldn’t have, but I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Franky came back into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought he’d make a nice little brother for you.”

  “I don’t need a brother, Franky. You’re all I need.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re my good boy.”

  Relieved, I sighed and leaned into him. What had happened last night would never happen again.

  THE SECOND time Franky hit me, he cried and begged me to forgive him. “I’m just so stressed, baby. The landlord’s after me for the rent, and since you’ve come to stay with me, I have barely enough money for groceries. All the clothes I bought you, and there’s the electric bill…. You do like to play a lot of video games.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” I cradled him in my arms and stroked his hair. “What can I do to help?”

  “Ah, Sweetcheeks, you’d really help me?”

  “Franky, you know I’d do anything for you. I’ll stop watching TV and playing video games. I’ll get a job at McDonald’s. Or Arby’s. Or….”

  “Well… they really don’t pay too much.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “I’d need a diploma to get a better job, though. I could go back to school. Do you want me to go back to school?”

  He shook his head.

  “So there isn’t much else.”

  “There is one thing you could do. If you really want to help me, if you’re serious about it. And if you do this for me, I’ll never, ever—” He scattered kisses over my face. “—hit you again.”

  “You know I’ll do anything for you, Franky,” I said again.

  That night I turned my first trick.

  FRANKY LIED. He did beat me again, and I knew I had to work harder so he wouldn’t keep beating me. Only sometimes it seemed like nothing I did was enough. If I didn’t bring home enough money, if he found out I had my john use a condom…. After the first couple of times, when he slapped me when I said yes, I began to lie to him.

  The nice clothes he’d bought me were gone, and my motorcycle boots as well. I woke up one morning to find he’d pawned them. Not that I begrudged him the money he was able to get for them, although I did miss my boots. I just wished he’d used the money for something other than cocaine.

  He replaced what he’d pawned with sneakers that pinched my toes and clothes from Goodwill that were a size too small. “These are perfect. They’ll show your customers what you’ve got.”

  Sometimes I’d think of leaving him, but then he’d spend the day making sweet love to me, telling me what a good boy I was, how much he loved and needed me….

  And I’d stay.

  IT HAD been raining all day, and most johns seemed to have decided to stay at home with their families. I came home early that night to find Franky high as a kite on heroin. He smelled of sex and his lips were swollen.

  “Franky? Are you okay?”

  “Had a vis’tor.” He peered up at me, a weird look in his eyes. “What’re ya doin’ home so fuckin’ early? Never min’, don’t matter. Ya ain’t gonna be my worry no more.”

  “What are you talking about?” I’d never heard his speech so slurred.

  “I sol’ you.”

  “You what?”

  “I’m speakin’ English, ain’t I? I sol’ ya. To Haskell.”

  “No!” I felt myself turn cold. I’d been on the street long enough to have met some of Haskell’s boys. They were all crack-addicted, thanks to Haskell. He got them hooked, knowing that would make them so desperate for their next fix that they’d let man after man after man fuck them.

  “I treated ya too fuckin’ good. Let ya have my weed. Not the coke, though.” A furrow appeared between his brows. “Cos’ too mush ta share.”

  “Please… please, Franky. Call Haskell. Tell him it was a mistake. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t ask my johns to use a condom. Please….”

  “Ya will. Gonna fuck ya one las’ time….” He caught my chin and turned my face toward the light. “What the fuck did ya do to yourself?” I’d been punched by a john earlier, but if I told him that, I knew he’d hit me too. Franky threw me away from him. “Never min’.” He reached for the waistband of his jeans and slid the zipper down. He took his dick out, but it was limp, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it hard. “Suck me!”

  For the first time ever, I said no. I backed away from him.

  He stumbled to the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife. “Ya gonna learn who’s the boss ’round here! Gonna cut ya nose jus’ like Jack Nicholson’s in Chinatown! And then ya gettin’ the fuck outta here!”

&n
bsp; I didn’t know how it happened. One minute he was waving the knife in front of my face, and the next he was lying on the floor, the knife sticking out of his ribs and a pool of blood spreading out under him.

  I couldn’t stop shaking, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Haskell would be coming for me anytime now.

  There was no money in Franky’s pockets. He must have spent whatever Haskell had given him on the junk. Or maybe Haskell had paid him in drugs.

  I had twenty bucks, all I’d been able to earn that night—the john who’d hit me thought an extra ten would make up for it—but Franky kept some cash in the bedroom, and I’d seen where he hid it. If I was lucky, it would still be there.

  A minute later, I stared down at the five and three singles. “Son of a bitch.” I scooped up the bills, folded them, and stuffed them into my pocket.

  And then I ran.

  Chapter 2

  I’D KILLED a man.

  Were the cops looking for me? Did every cop car that went past have a picture of me on the dashboard? That was how it worked, at least according to all the cop shows on TV.

  All I knew was I had to get away, get out of Florida.

  I was afraid to turn any tricks in case I was recognized, and the twenty-eight dollars didn’t last very long. By the time I reached the truck stop off I-95 in Jacksonville later that week, I was down to a couple of bucks.

  I ordered a small bowl of soup, which was all I could afford, and as many packets of crackers as my puppy dog eyes and the sad story I’d spun about a sick grandma could persuade the waitress to give me. I was lucky there were thick pieces of ham in the soup.

  As I ate my soup, I kept my ears open and my mouth shut and listened while the truckers talked and joked. None of them were going in the right direction; they were either heading south or west across the Florida panhandle.

  A trucker walked in, and I paused in my eating and watched him. His walk was limber. He was good-looking, younger than Franky, and a little taller than average height. A baseball cap sat back on his dark hair, and work boots were on his feet.

  “Hey there, Shane.” The waitress grinned at him and sashayed to the table he’d taken, just across from me. “How you doing, sugar?”

  “Doing good, Belle.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She fluttered her lashes at him, but it was as if this was routine for them, nothing serious.

  “Where you headed this time, Shane?” one of the truckers asked, and I could have kissed him. It was what I wanted to know.

  “Up to DC.”

  “Another one of your mystery runs?”

  He grinned but didn’t answer.

  “What can I get for you, sugar? Some pea soup like this young man is having, or some pot roast like Abe, or….”

  “I’ve only got time for a cup of joe and a slice of your fabulous key lime pie, angel eyes. I need my thermos filled up too.” He handed it to her.

  “You got it, handsome.”

  “Belle, if you’re thinking Shane is handsome, you better get yourself some glasses, honey,” one of the other truckers called out. Everyone laughed, and again it was as if this was routine for them, as if they’d done it so often they could do it by rote.

  Shane snorted and started to say something to him. His gaze fell on me, and he saw me looking at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “No, sir.” I gave him a little smile, then dropped my eyes and went back to spooning the thick pea soup into my mouth. When I thought enough time had passed, I peeked at him from under my lashes.

  “You looking for a ride, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.” One thing I’d gotten good at was being able to tell if my advances would be accepted. That and being able to spot a cop at twenty paces.

  “Where’s your family?”

  “At home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Oh.” I waved my hand vaguely. “South.”

  “South, hmm? And what’re you doing here, all by yourself?”

  “I’m on my way north to see my granny.”

  “I suppose your granny is doing poorly, and that’s why you have to get to her.”

  “How did you know?” I gave him the big eyes that usually got me an extra ten bucks, especially if my lips were around some john’s dick when I gazed up at him. “She lives up in Philly.”

  I’d never been much good at geography, the extent of my knowledge being that New York City was north and Los Angeles was west and Las Vegas somewhere in between, but I’d heard one of the truckers talk about coming from Philadelphia on the run he was just finishing.

  “How do you expect to get there?”

  “I was supposed to take the bus, but I lost my money,” I lied easily. I’d gotten good at lying since I’d lived with Franky. “Poppa finally thought I was mature enough to go by myself, and if he finds out I was that careless, he won’t let me go again.”

  “Yeah?” He stared pointedly at the side of my face, which still bore a fading bruise, and then at the jacket sleeves that didn’t cover my wrists, which had been all I’d been able to scrounge in the used clothing bin. He lowered his voice. “I know a runaway when I see one. Your father do this to you?”

  “Oh, no! I swear Poppa never…. My father didn’t hit me.”

  “I’m not….” He fell silent when Belle brought him his pie and a big mug of coffee, then continued once she left. “I’m not supposed to pick up hitchhikers, you know. Especially not when I’m hauling…. Well, I’m not.”

  “No, sir.” It was the rainy season now, and if I didn’t cadge a ride from him, I could look forward to getting drenched.

  “I’m going to DC.”

  I nodded. “I could really use the ride.”

  “How do I know you wouldn’t stick a knife in my ribs?”

  I felt myself turn cold. It took me a moment to force an innocent smile to my lips. “You could search me if you like.”

  From his expression I could see we were imagining the same thing: him running his hands from my armpits down my sides, hips, legs, maybe gently cupping my crotch. At least I hoped it would be gently.

  “Well, unless you’ve got a knife up your ass, I’d say you weren’t carrying anything,” he’d say. His hand would still be on me, rubbing lightly….

  Color rose in his cheeks. He looked down at the pie, almost as if he was wondering how it had gotten there, then shook his head and began digging into it.

  “I’m not gay, boy,” he said, his voice very low. He meant it.

  “No, sir.” But I didn’t believe I’d been off in my reading of him.

  “Why did your family throw you out?”

  “They didn’t. I told you, I’m going up to Philadelphia to see my granny—”

  “Boy….”

  I bit my lip, then decided to take a chance. “I’m gay. But I’m still going to see my granny.”

  Shane’s mouth tightened, and I was afraid he was going to get up and hit me. The bruise he had seen hadn’t been from Franky, for a change, but from a john who hated the fact that he used male prostitutes. Shane glanced down at his hands and sighed.

  I sighed too and pushed away from my table.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s a long walk. I’d better get started.”

  “Hold on a minute. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll take you as far as I go.”

  Would that be far enough? I wasn’t going to question my good fortune. “Thank you.”

  Belle came over to us. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Just my thermos, Belle. It’s gonna be a long haul to DC. There’s a tropical depression out in the Atlantic, and they’ve predicted rain the whole way.”

  “Well, it’s only fair someone else gets some of what we’ve been having.” She put my check down on my table and handed another to Shane. “When’re you gonna take me away from
all this, sugar?”

  “Ah, honey, these good old boys’d have my hide if I tried to carry you off. You’re the best darned waitress this side of the Georgia border.”

  Again there was laughter. Belle went to the kitchen to get his thermos.

  “My rig is the black-and-red one out by the diesel pumps,” he said softly. “I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

  I stuffed the last two packets of crackers into my jacket pocket, got to my feet, and walked to the cash register. A bored cashier sat listening to the transistor radio on the counter behind her, next to bags of potato chips, pretzels, and Cheez Doodles.

  I handed her my last two dollars just as Belle came out of the kitchen with Shane’s thermos.

  She paused and asked, “How was your soup, sugar?”

  “It was very good, thank you.”

  “I’m real sorry to hear about your grandma, and I hope she gets better soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, you come and see us again on your way back home and let us know how she’s doing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I’d never be back this way again. “Thank you for being so kind to me.” I smiled and gave her the change as a tip.

  “Oh, baby….”

  Shane came up to pay his own check, and Belle forgot about me. I saw her nostrils twitch. He did smell good. She gave him the thermos.

  “Thanks, Belle.”

  I walked out, sure no one was paying much attention to me.

  I hovered in the shadows by the eighteen-wheeler, turning my collar up against the rain, but before I could start worrying that maybe Shane was calling the cops, he sauntered out of the restaurant holding his thermos and a bag of chips. He opened the cab’s passenger door.

  “In you go.”

  It was a big step up, and I made more out of it than it really was. As I’d hoped, he gave me a boost with one broad palm on my butt.

  He went around the front of the cab and climbed in, nodding in approval when he saw I’d already buckled my seat belt.

  “Two rules, boy.” He grimaced. “I can’t keep calling you ‘boy.’ It makes you sound like Tarzan’s kid.”

  “Frank.” I blurted out the first name I could think of. “My name’s Frank.”