I do not know if he ever figured out that his "plan" was nothing at all what we agreed on. Initially Hank babbled about sneaking in and "baiting" the gang somehow. Did he ever wonder how on Earth you bait a bunch of people? With money? It is not like we could ever tie a dollar to a fishing rod. I got him to agree on infiltrating the group, but saying something and doing something is two totally difference ideas. I really want to believe my brother will go far in life, but it is moments like those where I question the way the universe works.

Now, this kind of research is not one conducted on the computer, nor in the library, so Hank insisted on leaving me behind; contrary to his beliefs, I do indeed have a backbone. Besides, how was he going to find the gang? A dollar tied to a flagpole with a "call me"? Yeah right. A real partnership isn't a one-way highway – collaboration is required for success. Again, please ignore whatever Hank will tell you otherwise.

So while he tramped around school, then town, then the neighboring towns and the police stations, I went to work and began data-mining with the people I knew were associated with the group – and, where better to start but with the people that know them well?

Four years prior to our life-changing event, a smile event occurred in our small town. A high-schooler named Blake Ready was walking home from a quick grocery stop; when approached by some people, the high-schooler defied them. The gang took the high-schooler and held him hostage for approximately an hour, demanding that someone somewhere give them money for his quick release. The released details did not amount to much, but the masked gang agreed to release the hostage for something in the boy's possession. Public knowledge never included what the gang really wanted, and the boy left for a private middle school. When Freshman year began in high school, the missing teenager returned to public school, and few people, if any, bothered to talk to him.

Blake Ready really was never too much to look at; similar in structure to me, he unfortunately contracted a Napoleon syndrome, leaving him with an attitude like Hank's. I cannot say it was without reason, however, as many things in life befall upon those around us as consequence.

It was our lunch period when Hank shouldered past me to barrel down the hallway. I looked at him, and found my eyes on a person on the ground.

"Blake? Blake Ready?" I tried, playing innocent. We never really spoke since entering high school – perhaps due to me not talking to people in general – and he looked up at me with a burning rage in his brilliant brown eyes.

"Oh, hey Don." A quick look around let me see what the situation was, and it appeared to be fairly standard for people like us; someone pushed him over in the hallway, and no one had bothered to help him up.

(Passersbys: I respect that, in life, you may be walking along because you do not want to be a part of other people's problems, but there is truly no shame in helping a fellow human being on his feet.)

I kneeled down, Chemistry book balanced on my left knee as I start reaching for his papers. As I tried to sort through it all in an orderly fashion, he grabbed his folders and research documents by the handful and crammed them back in his backpack. I tried a weak, earnest smile to release his hazardous hatred for the world. "You know, Mr. Hughes actually takes points off for papers that aren't pristine."

"Oh?" He looks at me, glasses firmly smudged against his flat Philippine-Irish face. "I just transferred from Ms. Cleary's Biotech into Hughes. You know him?"

"Know him?" I tried, another stupid smile, "Blake, the man's a monster when it comes to grading. I barely got past last year, but I figured something out just in time for the final." His internal demons started to die down, and he looks with a desperation in his eyes. "And pray tell, Don Hall, what was that?"

"He gave me a three percent grade boost just because I asked him about his daughter. He's a madman when it comes to his family – you didn't hear this from me –" I leaned in to whisper a little bit –"but if you suck up to him a little bit each day, he'll make sure you don't end the semester with a borderline grade."
He laughs at me, his frustrations and pains free-floating away with his charming chuckle. "Heh, you don't say!"
"I do!" We stood up with everything collected in his beat-up backpack. The hallway cleared out a little bit by now, and I turn towards the cafeteria entrance. "It looks like you'll be stuck in the buying line for a good twenty minutes. I packed extra today, do you want to head over to the library to study?"

He sneered at me. "What makes you think I need to study? Sorry pal, but some of us actually have friends that we sit with." I held up my free hand in defeat, but pressed on. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overstep, its just that I saw you in there almost every day these last two weeks – or, wait, was that your or Tommy Franklin? – and I saw you have a study list for the final coming up in Hughes. I can give you a rundown of his next test if you'd like, but I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to-"

"No, wait! You're cool, you're cool!" His round face lit up, and he finally flashed a crooked smile at me. "Yeah, I guess we could hang. What'cha got to share?" I tucked my book under my arm and turned around to walk to the library. "Eh, a little bit of everything. I'm actually not really hungry anyway, so you can pick and chose from what I've got."

And that is how we spent the next thirty-seven minutes together. We caught up on each other's last few years, as well as each other's studying schedules; while Blake talked the lunch away with my bologna sandwich getting spewed back and forth, I wrote out a list of highlights that I remembered were on the exam. We talked idly about our brothers, our parents, and our own misfortunes at home. Blake's mother had been laid off for the third time in the last seven years, and his father was who-knows-where. I told him about how our dad was mugged, and he sagged a little in his seat. I looked up at him, a pause in my handwriting, with a face of blatant concern. "I'm sorry Blake, I didn't know that it was-"
"No, its nothing really."

"Well, its clearly something. You're free to speak with me." We locked eyes before he laughed despite himself. "Jesus man, I feel like I'm going to church when I talk to you! Naw, its just…. I'm kind of jealous of you two. I mean, at least you've got your dad, right?" He twirled a pencil in his hand, eyes lowered to the ground. "I know its stupid and crazy, but you're pretty lucky, in that sense." We were both silent for a strong second before I tried again.

"No, you're right." I finished writing a sentence, paused to look at him, and kept going. "When the heart is challenged, its our duty to do what we can to keep moving forward. It's hard to keep life in perspective, but its good for us." I looked at him again, and he was a little startled by my words. "I just keep thinking of those kids in Africa and the Middle East, you know? Where they don't have food at all, or fresh water, or what about a roof over their heads? Things like these keep me going forward."

"You're one hell of a guy, Don."

"Well, think about it," I suggested, waving the complement away. "There are children who are threatened daily by a bomb over their heads. Who are we to complain about the little things, like a pop quiz? At least we're getting an education." I tried to smile at him again. As the silence grew, I keep writing.

I cannot say I lied here. I cannot say that it was easy to say, however. And I was not necessarily taken back by his next question, but I was not ready for it.

"What the hell happened to make you… you, and your brother Hank "the Hammer" Hall?"

"Blake, no one really calls him that."

"The guys I used to hang with did. He'd harass them endlessly, and you know what, he'd do the same to me too." I set my pen down to stare at him. Blake had a round head being held up by his round hand. He was a simple creature with simple wants in the world, and I cannot guarantee to you that his story had a happy ending; but in this frail moment of time, he was nothing more than a victim of reality.

"Hank decided to treat the world one way, I decide to do it another." I tried; and it was sufficient, because he dropped the subject.

But now that I finished his study guide, I reserved the right to ask a question.

"Blake, can I… ask a question?" He shrugs but wont look at me. "Sure, shoot."

"The gang that got to my dad I think was one that jumped you that time back in middle school. I know you haven't seen them since then, but you were held by those guys for an hour… and I know its asking a lot of you, but is there anything you can tell me about them?"

I apologize for the confusion, but at the time I did not know what was going on behind this boy; I did not know the events of that night, and I did not know how to address it without first appearing as a blunt and arrogant fool. You will soon understand what truly happened that night, but until then you shall experience as I had.

Blake Ready was quiet at first. "I know one is allergic to peanuts, one is missing a finger, and the little cult leader has a stick up his ass. Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out a thing or two about them, beyond their eating habits." I tried lightly, but it was evident that the effort was nothing short of a misfire; bullying, for those of you who are not aware, is a serious crime to the heart.

"I know they're connected to Oakland somehow, but beyond that… sorry. I can't really help you." He was lying. I did not see it then. He blatantly switched the subject, but I thought it was just a defense mechanism. "Wait, does he really have the characterizations of phytoplankton on the final?"

I was defeated, but I tried to smile earnestly again; there is no shame in helping people, even if it comes to no benefit to you. "Yeah, well, at least on the test last year. The little suckers had their own section of four or so questions on the test, so remember-"

"Suck up to Mr. Hughes, gotcha." He looks at me with a grateful face. "Thanks, Don, for everything. We should hang again some time."

"Yeah, sure." The bell sounded off, and people everywhere got up to leave. Blake threw the paper in his backpack and pushed in his chair in unison with me, and he slaps me on the back.

"Thanks man, I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing, Blake. Don't worry about it." We left quietly since their really wasn't much to say, but as our ways parted, he froze and spun around to face me one last time.

"Hey! Don!"

"Yeah?" I looked over my shoulder to see him light up with knowledge.

"The gang! I feel bad not telling you more…" He took a few steps back in my direction. "I'm actually not allowed to talk about it, I'm sorry, but they have a name!"

Something, something I could use! "Yeah? What is it?"

"I can't say it's of much use to you, but those alley rats called themselves the Point Men." I could see him throw up his hands as an exaggerated shrug. "Hope it helps!"

"Thanks man!"

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Comments are appreciated :)