>Chapter 1 >Chapter 2a >Chapter 2b
27 years earlier
The street light at the end of the alleyway flickered unevenly. The access panel at the base had been turned into a stash spot at some point in the past and consistent use took its toll on the wiring. It was the same case for all the street lamps within a mile radius. Being so close to The Bronx County courthouse, with its constant ring of police cars, should have offered some sort of protection from this type of atmosphere, but they didn’t care about protecting anyone other than the people who worked in the ornate government buildings. Doris, however, welcomed their indifference. It provided an unfettered canvas for her nocturnal pursuits.
As she rounded the corner, a black Maserati, its windows tinted like polished obsidian, sat at an angle across from the entrance to the basement apartment. It was too nice of a car to be a detective vehicle. The gleaming chrome rims, lack of a front plate, and confidence parking in this area so late at night screamed "drug lord.” Still, caution was her middle name. Sliding into the shadows, she pressed her back against the rough brick wall, listening for any tell-tale sounds from the car or apartment door. The only thing she heard was the hum of distant conversations. Time to go to work.
Standing, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small pencil case. Unzipping it, she grabbed a small silver tension wrench and a dirty lock pick. She’d made both items herself using the thin wire bristles that the street cleaner would lose as it went by in the mornings. It took her about a minute to fight the deadbolt open, and less than 15 seconds to open the doorknob lock. She opened the door an inch and placed her ear against the slit. Silence. She slipped in, closing the door carefully behind herself.
Manuel had watched the entire scene from the driver's seat of the dark car. He hadn’t been sure what the girl was up to, but once she pulled out the picks, she’d grabbed his full attention. She got inside fast. He had a few guys that could do it fast, but her look made her perfect. Unassuming, innocent, almost sweet-looking, but with a hard-earned street-wise sense underneath it all. The way she slid into the apartment was smooth. Silky smooth. This gave him an idea.
Just over five minutes later, Doris emerged from the door. She had a freshly made sandwich clutched in one hand, and a can of Coke in the other. Concealed in her pocket was a total of 258 dollars and a man’s watch. She didn’t know if it was worth anything, but it had what looked like a diamond mounted to its face so she figured it was worth giving it a shot. She took a bite of the sandwich and started towards the opposite end of the alley when the car window rolled down with a soft whir.
“Don’t run,” Manuel said, his voice firm but calm.
Surprised, Doris dropped the can of soda and almost disobeyed his order. Fear, sharp and cold, planted her feet into the ground. In this moment of being caught, she looked more childlike than she had in her burglar act.
"Come over here. I'm not going to get out of the car. I won't hurt you. I just want to talk for a second," he said.
She shuffled forward, stopping a few feet from the driver-side window. Far enough that he couldn't grab her if he lunged, close enough to hear him.
"What's your name?"
"Doris."
"How old are you, Doris?"
"12."
"Late for you to be out by yourself. Where'd you learn how to do that?"
"My uncle is a locksmith. I sometimes stay with him in his shop. He taught me. I didn't steal anything, just wanted to make myself some food," she lied, her free hand subconsciously brushing past the loot in her pocket.
Manuel noticed the hand. He was good at noticing these things. People often told the truth with their bodies when their mouths chose to lie. It was a form of balance. The universe sought out honesty, he believed. He didn't blame her for the lie because he felt the rest of her statement was the truth and probably hid a more uncomfortable one.
"That's a skill that can get you a lot more than food. You ever heard of me?"
She laughed, mostly out of discomfort. Unfortunately, she was all too used to older men making her feel uncomfortable. This was different, though. He didn’t feel like the normal creep trying to get her into his car, but she still felt like he was a dog waiting to pounce.
“You didn’t even tell me your name. You’re some shady old guy in his car in the middle of the night talking to a little girl.” She said, her voice low but steady. A flicker of something unreadable crossed Manuel’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
This time Manuel laughed. She’d finally found her confidence. He liked that. He could use that.
"Not old," he countered a hint of amusement in his voice. "And the name's Mutt. Look, Doris," he continued, leaning forward slightly, "I'm trying to make things better around here. Make it safer. Put food on people's tables. You're good, kid. Real good. Smoother than silk the way you got into that apartment."
He held 5 crisp hundred-dollar bills out to her, his arm fully extended from the car so she could keep maximum distance.
“You come and work for me. Open some doors. Get me some things. I’ll make sure you’re eating better than shitty sandwiches.”
Doris stared at the money, the temptation a tangible weight in her hand. This wasn't some creepy old man; this was an opportunity – a chance to not just survive, but maybe even thrive. But a tiny voice inside her screamed a warning.
She looked up, meeting Mutt's gaze. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was a glint of benevolence in them as well. Hesitation warred with hunger in her gut.
"I'll... I'll think about it," she finally said. Without waiting for another word, she tucked the money into her pocket and slipped away from the car, further into the shadows of the alley.