Daylight
2 a.m. came and went. Then 3. 4 likewise. A compressor on the coolers whined, and Jerk pictured Tiny whining about repair bills soon enough. Kid hadn’t fallen asleep so much as capitulated to it. Jerk figured they’d wake up when he squeezed behind them to deal with the occasional straggler, but Kid’s soft snores never faltered.
You’d be surprised how readily customers accepted a reeking, sweat-soaked person blocking their view of Tiny’s collection of GLASS PIPES—FOR TOBACCO USE ONLY, but things were usually pretty weird downtown at those hours.
Some of the more dedicated regulars—the ones who felt personally invested in The News—wanted to ask. Jerk could tell. But he’d just gesture for silence, and they learned to live with the mystery.
It was 4:49 a.m. when the door banged loudly as the roach coach guy kicked it open with his heel while he was carrying a flat of breakfast sandwiches in his arms. A total breach of decorum.
“NO!” Kid awoke with a start, arms raised to protect their face. The stool tipped back, cracking their head on the wall. With pain came awareness. “Ow.” They rubbed their head.
“Whoa, sorry.” Jerk went to Academy with the guy. He was not sorry. Guy looked around. “Where’s Late?”
“Late.” Jerk was not unpacking it with this guy. Guy handed him the bill of sale to sign.
“So Roxy—” Roxy owned the roach coach service they used for breakfast sandwiches. “She says that she can get you flats of lunch sandwiches for the same price as these while Norma’s recovering.” Tiny had a great deal on the breakfast sandwiches. Their lunch sandwiches wouldn’t be as good as Norma’s, but Roxy’s offer still verged on charity.
“Tell Roxy that we owe her, and thanks.” Guy left, quiet again.
Jerk had been mainlining lukewarm coffee and cokes all night, an alertness ritual he’d developed in middle school bingeing pulp. Its effectiveness was fading fast. He yawned and could feel the water in the corner of his eyes. He got two orange juices from the coolers, napkins from the deli counter, and placed them with two of the breakfast sandwiches from the flat, pushing Kid’s share in their direction. “Please don’t make me clean this up.”
Kid’s first bites were tentative. Jerk put the rest of the sandwiches in the warmer and made a new pot of coffee. By the time he’d done that, Kid’s sandwich and orange juice was gone. Jerk was finishing his when a dark shape appeared outside the door.
Door opens, bell rings.
“Jerk, where the hell is Late?” Tiny was freshly shaved, relaxed, smelled like cologne and the cigar he smoked on the way over.
“Syracuse, last I knew.” Jerk shrugged. He didn’t want to unpack it with Tiny either.
“Syracuse? Huh.” Tiny seldom pondered the unknowable too deeply, he didn’t consider it wise. Tiny looked at Kid, grunted acknowledgment. “You look like shit.” Kid stepped aside, shoulders tight, waiting for Tiny to start barking.
Jerk filled him in on Roxy’s offer, the whining compressor, and other things he’d noticed in the sixteen hours since Tiny had left him there. Then he turned to the ugly work. “We can’t run with this few people, Tiny.”
“I know, we’ll figure something out.” Tiny reconsidered Kid. “You’re the homeless kid that always reads my comics when it rains, right?” Kid nodded. “Didn’t recognize you, looking like shit like that. What’s your name?”
Kid looked at Jerk.
“Kid.” Jerk answered. “They just go by Kid. They’re going to be joining The Squat.”
“So you two are friends.” Tiny cleared his throat. “Good. You got a job, Kid?”
“Pizza, Paul, and Mary’s. Two nights a week. Just started.” Kid was proud of it.
Tiny looked at Jerk, almost bemused. “Their pizza is so greasy. Bet you needed extra napkins.” He looked back at Kid. “So you have some time free.”
“Is this a job interview?” Kid looked from Tiny to Jerk, eyes pleading What is this?
“Might become one, but right now this is just us talking and me hoping you’ll be truthful with me.” Tiny’s tone was more warm and genuine than a vacuum tube radio, but Kid still shrank when Tiny said it.
“You on drugs?”
“Not the type you’re asking about.”
“You got a legal name?”
“I don’t like that name.”
Tiny chuckled. “I can understand.” Tiny’s full name was a burden. Jerk’s too.
“Last question:” Here it comes, Jerk thought, the Rorschach test. “Have you ever stolen from me?”
“I–” Kid stuttered. Answer the question, Kid, Jerk thought as he stared at Kid. “Norma’s sandwiches. Pads. Advil. Things I needed.” Kid slumped, looking defeated.
Tiny leaned back, relaxing. “You pass.”
“But… I stole from you!” Kid leaned forward, eyes wide in shock.
“I watched you steal. I’m fat and slow, not blind.” Tiny sucked in his snot before clearing his throat, an ugly sound. “You said it yourself. You took what you needed.”
“What does this mean? I have a job at The News?” Kid looked as puzzled as Jerk was about to be.
“It’s up to the hiring manager.” Tiny looked at Jerk.
“Who’s the hiring manager?” Jerk stared back at Tiny.
“You, Jerk.” Tiny said, a field promotion.
“So, do I have a job?” Kid’s eyes were fixed on him, bright pennies ornamenting their wan face.
“I… I guess.”
Jerk, decision maker.
“Now that that’s settled, go upstairs and clean up, sleep. You two look like shit and will scare away customers.” Tiny jerked his thumb towards the door.
“This bedroom is bigger than some apartments!” Kid’s cracked voice echoed off the bare walls. “Is yours this big?”
“Minus all the room books and tapes take up.” Jerk didn’t mention those had already overflowed into the great room. He finished oiling the hinge pins and started tapping them down.
Kid sat on the bare mattress in the corner, still drying their hair. Sunlight flooded across the floor. “Thanks for loaning me clean clothes.”
“Thanks for agreeing to let me wash your filthy ones.” Jerk tested the door. It let out a horrendous screech.
“Can I read on your bed while you work?”
“Sure, Kid.” Jerk wedged the flathead under the hinge barrel and tapped the pin loose. The new lock would be next.
He was going to take his time and get it right.