Chapter 3: The Pickpocket Went a Step too Far

Seven years. For Seven years Clint had been with the circus. After getting him and Barney out of a sticky situation only a week after living on the street, they had joined the Circus of Crime. And Clint was hoping that those seven years of pickpocketing from their customers and even performing trick shots in the shows would pay off. They didn't. He was on his own. Typical. He skidded and turned, racing down another alleyway. He had been stupid to pickpocket the lady, but she had looked so promising. The fourteen-year-old scrambled over a wall as footsteps echoed behind him. "He's down here sir!" the call echoed and Clint cursed a few colorful words he had picked up over the years. He ran a risky gamble and ducked into an alley the lead back to the street. And cursed a few new words as he lost his gamble. The woman had her gun out and glared daggers at him.

"Drop the purse."She hissed. He turned to run, and the two men rounded the corner. He held up his hands as they pointed their guns at him.

"Drop the purse kid." The black man with a fly eyepatch, and a younger brown-haired man wearing a suit. Clint slowly lowered it to the ground, and grabbed a large rock, hitting the younger man in the forehead knocking him out cold. He abandoned the purse hitting the ground as shots rang overhead, he vaulted over a wall, and fell into a dumpster, he wiggled further in and hoped that they wouldn't find him. "Hill! Coulson's down." The black man spoke, and Clint winced. He hoped he hadn't hurt him too badly.

"Do we need medevac, Sir?" Hill replied. A pause "No, he's coming round. If I find that punk I'm gonna beat the snot outta him." Clint snuggled deeper into the trash.

"Ugg." Coulson groaned.

"You okay Phil?" Hill asked.

"I'm fine, Hill, sir. Did he steal anything?"

"No," Fury replied. "He was just some punk, he wasn't working for anyone."

"Good." Coulson groaned again. "Wait where's my debit card." He sighed. "Nevermind, let's go."

Clint could hear the scrambling of feet, and some groans and a few "Steady"s before they left. He climbed out, flicking a banana peel off his shoulder and spitting put something he didn't want to think about. He leaped onto a wall and jogged back to the circus when he heard, thuds and grunt from an alleyway nearby. A tourist was getting mugged. He hesitated, then silently dropped to the ground behind the thugs. He grabbed the discarded wallet and watch, then leaped silently back on the wall and a couple of well-aimed stones freed the tourist and he limped away. He wasn't cruel. Those thugs didn't need to keep at that guy. They had got what the came for. If they were going to be jerks, he didn't mind taking the loot. But he certainly wasn't soft-hearted enough to give back the wallet and watch. He gracefully raced across the walls, until he was just outside the circus. He strolled up to the tent, tossing the loot in the air and catching it effortlessly. Brutus met him outside, the evening sunlight lighting up his scowl for the world to see.

"Hey man." Clint whistled. "You get any loot today?" Brutus growled then broke out in a grin. He liked Clint. Everybody liked Clint. Everybody except Barney and Clint liked Clint.

"Nice job kid." The teen bent in an exaggerated bow, then entered the tent. It was bustling, and while at first glance it appeared to be a normal circus, a close look would reveal the stolen goods bin, labeled lost and found, had an abnormal amount of wallets cash, watches, and other valuables. The boxes looked harmless at first until you noticed the drugs that were being stuffed inside peanuts. And the bootleg rum that was being sold in pop bottles. Clint dropped the loot in the bin and noticed Barney supervising the drug operation. He had quickly been recognized for his skill and intelligence in the drug business. He had risen to the top and the third in command, even though he was only seventeen. He hadn't changed one bit. He wasn't afraid to use force to get his way, but his silver tongue had saved the circus two times already. He noticed Clint staring at him and began marching towards him. Clint cursed. Stay out of sight, stay in the shadows, was that so hard. But nooo! He had to go poking his nose in others business. And he fully expected Barney to send two of his goons to teach him a lesson in an alleyway tonight. But no emotion passed on his face. Barney had done one good thing. He had taught him not to show his feelings. As Barney scowled down at him, he put on his best defense. Humor. "Good day for peanut stuffing right?"

"What are you doing lazing around." He snapped. "You should be out there stealing things like a good little urchin instead of getting in the way of the important things!"

"I thought," Clint said slowly, and loud enough to draw a crowd, "that pickpocketing was important to the circus?" He scrunched up his face in an exaggerated expression of confusion. "That is why the Ringmaster ordered it right?" A few murmurs. He had attention.

Barney practically growled. "Where do you think the money for the food that keeps your useless self alive comes from?"

"Useless." Clint made a show of looking hurt. "But I thought I was the best Pickpocketer in the circus? Do you mean my whole life is a lie?" Some chuckling. Good.

"The best you're good for is the freak act." Barney spat venomously.

"Really?" Clint beamed. "You mean you think I'm good enough to work alongside you?" Laughter. Laughter was good.

"The only reason your here is because you happened to be with me. The only smart decision you made in your life. Oh wait, you were only with me because you killed our parents!"

Laughter. Not good laughter. Clint's stomach twisted in anger but he knew he couldn't let Barney win. "So you're saying that the Ringmaster made a mistake? But I thought Mistokki didn't make mistakes?" Some ooooooohs and an oh snap, but for the most part, it was silent. Maybe, for the second time that day, he had gone just a step too far. As made evident by the massive hands that lifted him off his feet, and the fist that plowed into his gut.

"Never." Another punch "Question" another punch "My loyalty" a kick "again"

Cheering filled the tent, and Clint had reached his last straw. He hated being helpless, he hated being hit, and he hated being made a laughing stock. He kicked out, hitting his brother square in the chest, before using the momentum to wrench out of the grip of Barney's bodyguards. He lobbed his shoe at Barney, breaking his nose and threw his knife with the intent of burying it in his brother's shoulder.

An arrow hit the knife, knocking on the ground. Clint felt his stomach twist into a knot as he looked up at Trickshot and the Ringmaster. "Clint?" A deceptively calm voice echoed from the Ringmaster, and the entire tent was silent. "What is the rule about attacking your superiors?" He asked like a preschool teacher.

"Don't do it," Clint replied.

"Exactly! And why is that?"

"They are too valuable to lose in petty squabbles." Clint recited.

" Very good! So what do you say to your brother?"

The words stuck in Clint's throat but he got them out. "Sorry for trying to kill you."

"Sir." The Ringmaster's voice didn't change, yet somehow was colder and harder.

"Sir," Clint ground out. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you, sir."

The smug look on Barney's face made Clint wish he had thrown the knife sooner or at least aimed for a more painful place, but Barney's jubilee had come to an end.

"Barney, my office." The Ringmaster ordered. "Now."

The whole tent let out a slow "ooooooooh!"

The look of humiliation on Barney's face made Clint's own worth it. Clint slipped out into the dusk and looked down at the debit card he had picked up off the brown-haired man, Coulson when he had first taken the lady's purse. He was in the mood for some candy. He raced across town to the 99c store and bought some cigar candy, root beer barrels, sunflower seed, and gummy worms. He also got some soda pop and popcorn. The cashier raised an eyebrow as he dumped the stuff on the counter.

"My dad gave me his card and told me to go stuff myself and see a movie. I took his advice." The cashier shrugged like this was completely normal and everything went through without a hitch. He bought a ticket to see "My Favorite Martian" and enjoyed the evening. He went to ice cream parlor and tried to buy a sundae, but apparently, his activities had not gone unnoticed. He took the now useless debit card and taped it to the wall of the candy store with a note saying, "Lost Debit Card! If found please return to owner. Don't bother stealing, the owner blocked the card." He added a sad face and left it, feeling better about the day.

When he got back later that night, Trickshot was waiting for him. "The Ringmaster has a task for you." Clint raised an eyebrow. Trickshot handed Clint a picture of a man in a well-pressed suit. "This is Alexander Pierce. He is a high-ranking government official. We need you to steal his briefcase."

Clint couldn't keep the shock out of his voice. "What?" He exclaimed. "But if I'm caught, I'll be charged for treason! I'll be hanged!"

"Better not get caught then." Trickshot was already leaving. "Oh, and I wouldn't worry about being hanged, they use electric chairs now. Much more painful." The archer's laughter echoed in the night as he left the teen standing with a choice between death and death. Clint spat on the ground. So much for having his back and being his family. He swore never to trust anyone besides himself ever again. Marching inside, he grabbed his bow, armed himself with a few throwing knives, seized a wallet, and stormed into the night. If he was going to die, he might as well get it over with.

The next morning he lay on a roof near to the official's hotel room. Clint took careful aim praying that this worked. He shot the briefcase, and gorilla glue and ducktape splattered over it. He shot again, hoping the Pierce would stay in the shower for just a little longer. He was reeling the briefcase in when the door burst open and a string of colorful curses echoed out from both Clint and the man, who Clint realized was Coulson. The man sprang forward, grabbing the case right before it came out the window. Clint threw a rock, knocking Coulson out, again, but the arrow was no longer attached to the case. More men in suits rushed in and one shouted, pointing at Clint's perch. Clint felt a horrible gut-wrenching sensation. He had failed his mission. He had two choices, turn himself into the government, and hope for jail time instead of execution, or turn himself into the Circus of Crime, and hope that the promise to always protect their own would still apply. He doubted either of those would end in his survival. So he took his third option. Run for all he was worth. Run and run and never look back. He would be wanted by both the authorities and the underworld. He would have to always be on guard, always assume the worst, and never look back. He made up his mind and turned running down the fire escape, and into the unknown.


Coulson groaned, swearing mentally to find that punk and help Fury teach him a lesson or two. He glanced up out the window and saw the kid on the roof nearby. Even though it was almost five hundred feet away, he could clearly see the fear in the kid's eyes as he got up and ran. Coulson had been recruited two years ago, fresh outta high school. He had seen some messed up stuff, green aliens impersonating people, a young woman who was powerful beyond belief, and heard the stories of Nick Fury's eye, that was lost in a Kree interrogation, though Hill was convinced that Fury's cat Goose was responsible. But even with all that stuff, the worst had to be seeing a kid being used for the underworld's purposes, and also to take the fall for it. Agents rushed out, but the look in the kid's eyes stayed with him, and Coulson made a new promise. No matter how far he had to go, how long he had to search, he would find that kid, give him a better life, a big hug, and promise that he would never be alone again. And a lesson in manners.