The Other Side(53)

“He has a gun, Cliff. What the hell?” I’m panicked now. QuikMart Dick is sketchy at best, and seeing him wielding a gun brings me no comfort. “Give me the cigarettes,” I command.

“What?” Cliff puffs out. He’s fading, the kid isn’t built for physical activity.

“Give me the damn cigarettes,” I grit out. “Now,” I add because we don’t have much time.

I’m ahead of him, but he slips the pack out of his coat pocket and into my sweatshirt pocket with the precision of a seasoned pickpocket, and when it’s secure, I stop in my tracks and put my hands up over my head.

“What are you doing?” Cliff pants and stops a few strides past me, doubling over with his hands on his knees.

“Shut up, Cliff. For once in your life, just shut the fuck up.” I’m whispering, but he knows I’m seething and he’s never seen me like this, so he does.

QuikMart Dick is on us in no time. “I finally caught you, you little punk,” he says to Cliff. He’s waving the gun around like he’s qualified to do so. I know the QuikMart has been robbed several times and that’s why they have a gun, but that doesn’t mean that Dick knows how to handle it safely.

“Hey, Dirty Harry, you caught us. Now put the gun down.” I hate guns and the sight of it is making me nauseous.

He waves it around in my face and I have to close my eyes because my vision is starting to go black at the edges. “You steal from my store and you think you get to tell me what to do? You don’t. What you get to do is come with me back to the store while I call the police. And then you get a trip to the station.”

“Fine, let’s go. But put the gun down and let him go. He didn’t take anything, it was me,” I plead. My body is shaking, not from the fear of being caught with stolen goods, but from the horrific memories playing out on the back of my eyelids. It’s the nightmare that haunts me every night. I stick my hand in my pocket and pull out a pack of menthols. “See? Here. Let him go, he paid for all of his stuff.”

They’re ripped violently from my hand and my upper arm is locked down by his other hand, which tells me he’s stashed the gun, so I open my eyes. “I know it was your friend. You sure you want to take the rap for him? I don’t care which one of you I take with me.”

“It was me,” I repeat and my depression eggs me on. You’re nothing, Toby. No one will even miss you. Cliff has family. He’s young, he still has a chance.

“Toby—” Cliff starts, but I cut him off with a sharp, definitive, “Cliff. Go. Home.”

He drops his head and shakes it but turns and walks away slowly with his plastic bag of pizzas dangling from his hand.

Dick yells, “Don’t you ever think about stepping foot in the store again! You’re banned, you hear me?” after Cliff, and then happily strong-arms me back to the QuikMart. He seats me in a chair in the back office and hovers over me like I’m going to make a break for it while he calls the cops. He’s getting off on this little taste of authority, and it makes me wonder if he was the bully or the bullied before he dropped out of school. I’m guessing the bullied.

When the officer arrives, I know him. His name is Jefferies. Johnny knows him from way back; they went to high school together or something. Cliff’s taken several rides in his cruiser over the past year he’s lived with us. He asks for my ID and I give it to him. As he’s writing down my information and filling out the form, recognition dawns when he writes the address. “You’re Johnny Stockton’s kid, right?”

“He’s my guardian,” I answer. We don’t have that in writing; it’s not legally true, but we’ve resorted to using the title when I’m unable to forge my mom’s name on documents and a living, breathing person is required to make an appearance.

He nods. It’s not a disinterested gesture, but I can tell that QuikMart Dick isn’t impressed that Officer Jefferies’ level of enthusiasm doesn’t match his own.

The way Dick describes the theft you would think it was armed robbery. It’s very dramatic.

When Officer Jefferies asks me to describe the events, I simply say, “I pocketed a pack on the way out the door.”

He nods his unbiased nod again.

Which makes Dick fume. “He’s going to jail, right?”

Jefferies answers, “He’s a minor. I’m guessing this is his first offense. So, no. It will go on his record.” Jefferies calls the station and they run my name to see if I have any priors. I don’t. Then he asks me for my home phone number and calls Johnny while Dick goes out front to help a customer. I tune out their conversation, but it’s brief. When he hangs up, he asks me to stand and he cuffs me. They’re loose on my wrists. Gripping my upper arm for Dick’s benefit, he guides me out of the office and through the store. “I’m taking him down to the station to finish the paperwork and file charges. You can never come in this store again.” He looks at me and raises his eyebrows to make sure I understand I’m not welcome here anymore.

I nod. I understand, which sucks because it’s the only store like this for blocks.

Dick points his finger at me from behind the counter and parrots Jefferies’ words, but his version is much angrier. “You can never come in this store again!”

I nod again.