WAYNE IS OUT ON HIS OWN
Wayne wandered through the park. Poor Father O'Meara. The dude could really HIT, though. Still, it wasn't a bad plan, selling autographed pictures of Jesus at the rest home. And the old bags had been so pleased with the pictures—and Wayne had ordered them a hundred for a buck apiece from the back of "Soldier of Fortune" magazine, right under the Asian mail-order brides, and sold them for twenty-five each on the dementia ward.
Father had sent a couple of guys over there, telling them that the administrator would pay minimum wage—so called "good spending money" for enthusiastic window washers and lawn crew workers… but Wayne had never been one for sweat equity.
Wayne shivered. The park in this shitty town was not too warm in November. Should he go back to St. Donegal's? Perhaps not for a few days. Wayne's untimely exit through the office window as O'Meara had swung the razor strop might mean for a bit of a vacation, at least a week, this time.
Back in July, Wayne had "found" some checks, and had pretended to have cerebral palsy, or something with a borrowed crutch and a drool. He'd gone to three ice cream stores, a Toys R Us and a children's bookstore, stuttering "Iss mah birf-day, can you cash mah birf-day check?"…everyone had cheerfully handed the disabled boy thirty-five bucks change and some ice cream.
Until, of course at the last place, the bookstore Father O'Meara had actually walked by—and Wayne was supposed to be in summer school because he'd cut too many Algebra classes the previous year!
O'Meara was getting sick of Wayne's hijinks, and certainly Wayne had gotten a severe warning after his roommate and partner in uh mischief, Toesie McCracken, had been turned over to the juvenile court by Father after being caught in a minor bookmaking operation down at Keegan's garage.
"I don't want that to happen to you Wayne" Father had said right before the beating started the night before. "You're a bright kid, an avid reader, and you could go to college, but the next time you act up, I'm calling the cops. Now drop your pants, you're getting fifty."
But instead of dropping his pants (the old pervert!) Wayne had dropped out of the window. Father also might be upset because Monsignor Hess was dropping by, and while Msgr's chauffer was having a smoke, Wayne borrowed the limo out front, driving it downtown, and selling it for a hundred bucks…most of which he'd lost in a crap game (easy come easy go) after dinner at Mickey Dee's…so what now?
He'd slept in the park, and now was wary of truant officers, being small for fourteen, and also Father might have called the cops, so he could finish that delicious whipping…ugh.
Wayne walked on, shivering, and wishing he'd been wearing his heavy boots instead of his Adidas when he'd split the boy's home…there was that girl again. What an idiot. No wait—this was weird.
Earlier this morning, after Wayne had enjoyed a shoplifted and undunked Dunkin' Donut, he'd spotted this cute dark haired girl standing with two or three other people by the statue of Colonel Whaddyacallit in the middle of the park.
They'd been mesmerized by this old geezer who was moving walnut half shells around on a crappy little table, and the girl was laying down a dollar, looking for the pea that supposedly was under one of the shells.
Normally Wayne would have just laughed at this idiot and moved off, but the girl was dark haired, and kind of cute…he'd walked up to her and said "Dude, the pea isn't there, he palmed it, Granddad there. He's trying to con you out of your dollar."
And the girl, she'd told Wayne to shut up, although the other two people had walked off, and the old guy had gotten up and threatened to kick Wayne's ass.
Well, what an ungrateful little bitch, right? But Wayne had figured, whatever, and had wandered off. But now here the girl was AGAIN, and the old guy was there, too, and he was playing three-card monte.
And he was TERRIBLE at it, the cards were obviously crimped…did this girl just want to lose all her freakin' money? And she's telling the other idiots in the crowd how cool this was…oh, she saw him.
The girl ran up to Wayne. "You're back. You asshole. Trying to warn me before!"
Wayne smiled. "Look, I get it…you must be with the old guy, right? You work with him. Fine, I'm off. I didn't understand before."
"Yes, that's right, you prick, but isn't there something else?" The girl was now shouting at Wayne in a thick Southern accent. What a freakin' hick.
"Yeah?" Wayne said, backing off slowly.
"When you came to warn me, you stole my wallet out of my purse!" The girl shrieked.
"Yeah, you're right…but there was only like, a dollar in it, you can have it back." Wayne tossed the girl the wallet.
"Who the FUCK do you think you are…what's wrong?" The girl noticed Wayne getting awfully nervous. From the other side of the park came two men in black outfits with little white collars.
"Um, I gotta go uh, hide, fast, uh…sorry."
The girl looked at Wayne appraisingly. "You need a place to hide from those um, preacher guys?"
"Yeah, kinda."
The girl turned to the old man, who was putting away thirty dollars bet him by a foolish tourist.
"Uncle Earl! Can you give me the keys to the Winnebago, like real fast?"
The old man squinted an eye at Wayne. "Why I suppose so, Dahlia…you going off to kiss with that boy that queered our pitch earlier?"
"Don't be disgusting. The keys!"
As Uncle Earl tossed Dahlia the keys, and the two kids ran off, the old man, who had heard all, asked the boy his name.
"Wayne Patruski, sir."
He liked this one! "Ah, might be Wayne Malloy after this!"