March, 1979

'Just give me a minute…'

'Hey, take your time. If I'm not mistaken they should be finished soon anyway.'

Principal Bine approached the window.

'I didn't know you're breeding Olympic talents, Andrew.'

'Who knows… But if I don't give them extra phys. ed. classes they'd bring the place down.'

The guest responded with a smile and kept following the running boys with unconcealed fascination.

'Extra classes, ha? And hurdles, too?'

'These are donation from the Sports School. Some extra work for the hyper-active kids.'

'Or for the long-legged ones,' grinned the man.

Mr Bine followed the direction the steel-blue eyes were staring at.

'What do you think?'

'There's always a call for fast runners…'

'You'll find plenty here.' Bine smiled. 'Especially this one.' He pointed at one boy who had just outrun the rest by nearly 10 metres.

'Yeah… That kid jumps like gravity doesn't exist to him.'

'Oh, he's a pleasure to watch. As long as he's busy with sport I know nothing will go down for at least 45 minutes,' mumbled Bine with a sigh. His guest looked inquisitively. 'So, I encourage him to do sport… yes… more than I've encouraged my own children.'

The Principal sat behind his desk while the boys dispersed. The guest was curious to see the fast runner who caught his attention talk to a younger boy and then leave with him in direction different from where the others went.

Afterwards he sat opposite Bine.

'So, what do you think?'

'You've done miracles with this place.'

Bine grunted.

'My budget just got cut by 15%. I don't know what I should do – sack my staff, put the kids on a diet, or prepare everybody for a cold winter.'

'Don't you get donations?'

'Sure, over Christmas and Easter. The little man's natural inclination towards redeeming sins with money seems to be at its highest only over the occasional birth and resurrection of God.'

The guest frowned.

'But I'm happy. The local community just delivered us 20 kg of clothes, half of them falling apart. I'm glad they realise orphans don't walk with a leaf in front but they don't also wear clothes with blood stains and fleas.'

'Good Gracious…'

'Anyway. Thanks for coming.'

'It's the least I could do. Andrew, if I had known, I'd have come earlier.'

'No problem, I still have my fire chief.'

'Well, any future fire-fighters?'

'There might be. But they need good grades and most importantly, will to do it. And they aren't many. Most of these children don't care…'

The Principal never got to finish his sentence as a loud knock on the door interrupted him. Before he could even say 'Come in' the door banged open and two boys rushed in. Well, one rushed, the taller one, the other timidly sneaked behind him.

The guest immediately recognised the fast runner from few minutes earlier.

'Come, Ben, come 'ere.'

The smaller boy stepped forward but was still hiding behind the other one.

'Tell him what you told me.'

'Uhm…'

Bine had a bored look. He reminded someone well accustomed to situations like the present one, and he was not the least surprised by seeing this boy in particular.

'What is it now, Peter?'

'It's about the missing money…'

'The responsible got punished. And… I know he's your friend…'

'Max is innocent!'

'Peter… temper, Peter…'

'Ben, come on.'

'What if they catch me?'

'Stick to me and no one will dare touch you.'

The teenager was standing not far from the desk. He looked like he paid no attention to the fact that the Principal was not alone.

'Who will catch you, Ben?'

The smaller boy gulped. He looked the taller one and then said, 'Vince and Scott'.

'Why would they want to catch you?'

The boy hesitated.

'I… The other day I saw them… In their dormitory…'

'…And?'

'They… they were talking about '40 a head'… Then I saw Vince holding a box and… I realised it was money only later, when a $20 bill fell from Scott's pocket during lunch.'

'You see, it's not Max.'

'That doesn't prove anything.'

'Oh, yeah, and what proves that Max did it in the first place? 'Cause one of these idiots said he saw him? 'Cause Max has a record?'

'There's also no need to put the blame on them just because they're new here.'

'And it's easier to punish Max, right? What's the point of your stupid regulations, anyway, if it's an innocent who is punished?'

This time the sitting opposite Bine lifted head and examined the tall boy visibly impressed.

'These are strong words.'

The teen glanced at him for a moment but didn't pay much attention.

'I'll check what you just said, Ben. Why didn't you come earlier?'

' 'Cause he's afraid.'

'I believe Ben can speak for himself, Peter.'

'I'm afraid,' repeated the younger boy.

'All right, I'll see what I can do.'

'You can clear Max, that's what you can do.'

'My patience has its limits, Peter, and you're approaching them quickly,' said Bine slowly and almost in whisper.

'He doesn't seem to be afraid,' added the guest amused and quite impressed, too.

'Afraid of wha',' snapped Peter at the man sitting almost next to him. 'That my miserable life will get any more miserable than this?' shouted the boy and opened hands pointing at his sombre surroundings.

The tall teenager looked the Principal severely and left without a sound. Ben was more communicative.

'B-bye, Principal,' he blurted and ran after his protector.

Back in the office Bine's guest was bewildered.

'What was that?'

'You don't want to know…'

X

On their way out the two men passed from the main hall. Some children, mostly younger ones, were busy with activities, while the older were gathered in groups around, were observing them with mocking grins on their faces. Subconsciously the guest compared the sight to one of the National Geographic's documentaries about the wild animals of Africa where the lions are hiding in the grass, waiting for the right time to attack the unsuspecting impalas…

The right time suddenly came.

One tall, skinny boy approached one of the younger ones who was sitting on a couch, reading Tom Sawyer.

'The library is up…'

'Shhh, hold on, hold on.'

'What?'

'Wait…'

The instinct had spotted a potential trespasser. Yet, it was another instinct that made him stop. He had to see if his hunch was right.

The skinny rascal approached his victim. After a quick look through the room he pulled the book out of the little hands, pulled the boy himself and victoriously nested in his seat. He pretended to be reading his new possession when a hand stretched from behind and pulled it. Things might have developed in a whole different way had it not been for the flashing shine of something metallic in the skinny boy's hands.

Bine's guest ran. But as it turned Peter did not need his help. The skinny rascal was too slow in his attack. All Peter had to do was push him to the head. Next thing he jumped after him and was planning to continue with his attack but fortunately, for the boy that is, Paul and the supervisors arrived on time.

The knife was immediately put away and the guilty was held tight. Holding Peter, however, was not that simple.

'You want to fight me, coward?'

The other kid was resisting but the wardnes, well experiences already, were holding him tight in their bear grips.

'I'll show you, Caine.'

'Let me see you, then, come on…'

Peter tried to approach but a surprisingly strong hand held him.

'That's enough, son…'

Annoyed at the interference from a stranger Peter nervously shook the hand off.

'I'm not your son,' barked the teenager and moved away.

Slightly taken aback the man with steel-blue eyes decided not to interfere any further. He only observed Peter take the ruffled book and give it back to its rightful owner, a nine-year old boy that had arrived at Pineridge two months ago. The man also clearly overheard that the boy was always to count on the older kid, and that should anyone bother him he was going to deal with him.

'Take him to the isolator,' ordered Bine and approached his old friend. The nostalgia in his eyes was evident.

'Now you see what I have to deal with…'

'Does he always do that?'

'What? Who..'

'That kid.. With the dark hair… Does he always protect the little ones?'

'Oh, that one.' The principal chuckled. 'Actually, since day one. Defender of the weak, protector of the innocent…'

The guest shot his friend a scornful look.

'The kid has many issues, Paul, I'm not kidding here.' The men headed for the yard. 'At first I had really high hopes of him. He turned Resnoff around, you know.'

'Who, Max Resnoff? The kid that has a place behind bars reserved for him?'

'Same. He's a quiet lamb now. He's afraid of our dark-haired knight, but they eventually became friends, too.'

'Afraid? Andrew, Max is bigger than me!'

'Sure,' said Bine bored. 'You should have seen how he swept the ground with Max… after he took two of my toughest supervisors.'

'Are you joking?'

'I wish. Peter was a shy, quiet boy when he came here. Few months later and he was your average big-mouthed, know-it-all kid of the streets. He's escaped twice so far, and two of my local precincts have his photo on the wall.'

'But he doesn't look… it doesn't make sense…'

'Look, I don't mean to question your judgement of people, but this boy does have some serious issues.'

'Don't you have a psychologist to take care of these things?'

'Oh, we did, Dr Wolly. She was brilliant, and she was friend with the kid. But cuts in my budget, as well as the almighty state of New York, decided I was spoiling the kids too much. She quit 6 months after Peter came here. Basically the whole place started changing… for the worse…'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

Paul was already in front of his car.

'So, I'll see you next week?'

'Absolutely, I'm looking forward to it.'

The leaving guest opened the door. His leg was getting inside the car when he stopped.

'One thing I don't get…'

'What's that?'

'When you said that this kid took Resnoff and two heavy, grown men… How?!'

'Are you still there? Paul, the boy is not worth it…'

'That's a horrible thing to come from a man who's responsible for 60 children.'

'Ninety-three, counting the girls' building.' Bine felt guilty. He did like Peter, at the beginning at least, but a bit over half a year later the boy was getting from bad to worse, and that was not only his vocabulary. 'I… OK, so, the fighting style is… ehm… kung..'

'Kung fu?'

'Yes, yes, like Bruce Lee's…'

'Bruce Lee's style is only based… Never mind. Where...,' Paul coughed. 'Where has he learned it?'

'There was some monastery down in California that burned down…'

'The Shaolin temple in Northern California?' The blue eyes doubled their size. 'God…'

'So, you know about it?'

'…It…it's my job to know about these things, Andrew.'

'Of course, of course.'

'Well… I… I should be going. See you in a week.'

'Looking forward to it. Bye.'

XXX