Disclaimer: Jay & Silent Bob are the intellectual property of Kevin Smith and View Askew Productions, and I have no intent to profit financially from the use of these characters.
FOUR
Today started out nice for a change. Nice shit don't happen to me too often.
Wasn't a perfect night, didn't sleep too well, had a fucking nightmare, same one as always, guy chasing me, faceless and big and stinks like a mother fucker, wants to put his piece up my ass. Sometimes he does it before I can open my eyes, sometimes he don't, either way I wake up breathing hard and my ass hurting. Sorry to say the pain ain't just speculation on my part, I know what the fuck it feels like to have somebody shove it up my brown eye while I'm squirming, trying to get away.
But I rolled over, took some deep breaths and went back to sleep.
Woke up again when it was light out to the smell of bacon frying, noises in the kitchen letting me know where Silent Bob was, and what did that fucker do but come out there carrying a plate full of breakfast and a cup of hot chocolate – hot fucking chocolate, I ain't had hot fucking chocolate since I was a little kid. It was good too, same as the eggs and hot sauce and bacon and tomatoes and toast.
Suspicious? Fuck yeah, I was still suspicious, watching that tubby bitch's every move, but what was I supposed to do, sit there with my fucking stomach howling and growling and just stare at that hot food, listening to Silent Bob while he shoveled it in? Fuck no. I ate it.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking, skinny little street rat, fucking Oliver Twist and shit, has to depend on the fucking kindness of strangers like this mysterious bastard, but I do alright most of the time. Fuck charity anyways and the people that want to give it to you, patting you on the back and then rushing off to wash their hands cause they're too good to touch you. I ain't seen that look on Silent Bob's face, but if I did, I wouldn't take one fucking bite, no matter how hungry I was.
Did the dishes when I got done eating, that way we were even. Silent Bob looked embarrassed and tried to wave me off. Then we negotiated about the laundry. I had a couple dollars stuffed up in the lining of my hat and I made him give me quarters for 'em. Like I said, I don't take fucking charity.
Now we're sitting in the laundry room and my clothes are rolling around in the washer. Ain't gonna get too clean, only so much a scoop of soap and some hot water can do for threads like the ones I got, but at least they won't stink for a while.
Silent Bob gives me a cigarette, lights one for himself and we both start blowing smoke rings. I jump around the fucking tiny room, I hate being shut up inside anywheres this small, and I'm singing, banging on the windows, acting goofy and running my mouth like I always do. He's laughing. That's cool.
Some chick comes in, nice tits, pretty face, carrying a basket of dirty laundry. "Hey baby, what's up?" I say, looking her up and down, giving her a smile. She rolls her eyes and ignores me. "Yeah, baby, I understand, you ain't gotta say no more, it's my friend, here, right? Gives you the creeps." I nod at Silent Bob. He sighs real loud and makes eye contact with the skirt, shakes his head, shrugs, waves both hands.
"What's with the juvenile delinquent, Bob?" she says to him. Guess they know each other.
"Forget about him, baby," I tell her, "It's all about you and me now, know what I'm saying?"
"Fuck off." she says. She's finished loading up her clothes now, turned on the machine, and she slams the lid and gives me the finger. "See you later, Bob." she says to him. I follow her as far as the door, sniffing at her, watching her ass shake while she crosses the parking lot. Sexy. Real sexy. When I look back at Silent Bob, he ain't smiling.
"Ah, fuck you, tubby." I say, dropping the butt of the cigarette and grinding it into the floor with my heel, cause the rest of my shoe has so many holes in it I'd burn my fucking foot otherwise. The washer stops.
Once I get the dryer going, Silent Bob stands up and crushes out his own cigarette. He opens his mouth for the first time today. "This thing will take a half hour at least. Let's grab a pizza." I check out his face real careful, trying to get a read like I have a hundred fucking times already and I don't see nothing new. Might as well get one more meal under my belt before I'm back out in the cold.
"Ok fine, but no fucking anchovies."
We walk about a block to a pizza place. It's early, enough that we're the only customers, and the pie, a large loaded with just about everything but anchovies, comes out quick. Silent Bob orders a pitcher of Coke. Like usual, I keep my eye on him while I eat. When you're used to digging through trash cans and dumpsters for your dinner, and used to guys bigger than you taking what half eaten crap you do find, makes you a little jumpy.
Silent Bob only gets one slice of pizza down before he decides it's time to talk.
"I've figured out what I want." Oh fuck, here it comes. I wait for the hammer to drop. "Answers to a couple of questions." Oh yeah, now I know where we're headed.
"Sure, you nosy bitch, a couple of questions." I put down my pizza. "What's your name, kid, and where'd you come from? How do I get ahold of your folks? You're gonna do me a big favor and send me back to wherever it is you think I belong, maybe juvy lockup, huh? Forget it. I ain't telling you shit."
Silent Bob sips his drink, looks at me for a minute, and I can feel my hands shaking under the table, my neck and shoulders tightening, my body making ready one more time for whatever shit I might've stirred up.
"What, do you think I'm gonna ask for your fucking social security number?" he says finally. He shakes his head, lights a cigarette, blows smoke from the side of his mouth. "I just want to know a little bit more about this skinny kid I keep running into. Shouldn't be too hard, you like to talk enough." I frown at him. "It's better than the alternative, isn't it? Or would you rather be my bitch?"
He ain't being serious, is he? But then he breaks into a grin. "You fucker." I say, relieved, muscles relaxing, breathing a little deeper. "You think you're a laugh riot, don't you, tubby?" He nods. I can't help smiling a little. "You should stick to your fucking quiet routine, talking don't suit you." Now Silent Bob is the one frowning and I smile a little more. I go back to my pizza and take a drink of my Coke. "Alright then, let's play. Make with the fucking questions. Maybe I'll tell you the truth, maybe I won't. You ain't gonna know the difference."
Settling down sideways in the booth, Silent Bob clears his throat. "How old are you?"
Ain't gonna do me any good to lie on this one. I already know, I look my fucking age. "Fourteen." He makes a face but not a comment.
"How long you been on the street?"
Don't see how he could use it against me, so again, I decide to go with the truth. "Almost a year this time. Since last winter."
"What do you mean 'this time'?" he says. I answer him through a mouthful of pepperoni.
"I took off a few times before, but they always found me. I got better at it."
"What are you running from?" Now he's getting to the point. I chew a while, drink a while, think a while. He's not looking at me, he's staring out the window, at cars going by outside this shitty suburban pizza joint. What the fuck, why not?
"Foster homes, group homes." I say. "Supposed to be safe, but they ain't. This one lady, she liked to whack me with an electric chord when I got out of line. I could fucking live with that once in a while, for a warm bed and three squares a day, if that was as bad as it got, but it wasn't." I sneak another look. He's still watching the traffic, but I know he's listening. "The last place, there was three of us foster kids, all of us older, hard cases. But the dad in that joint, that bastard, it was me he liked the best. Liked me better than his fucking wife, know what I'm saying?"
Cars ain't so interesting anymore. He's looking at me. I stare back. When I see he understands, I go back to eating.
"Why were you in foster care?" Silent Bob says. Answer to that question ain't so simple, cause it goes back to the time when I still had a family. How many times have I told this story, to social workers, cops, school counselors, doctors? Usually it don't hurt, but right now it feels like it might.
"Enough about me, lunchbox." I say, stuffing myself with another piece of pizza. "What about you? What's your story? What you doing when you ain't out playing fucking Superman or feeding street rats?" He snorts, blowing smoke through his nose, smiling, and I know he ain't gonna ask me no more questions.
"I collect debts."
"What, you sit at a desk all day, working for like MasterCard or some shit, calling people up and harassing them till they send a check?" Snorts again, really loud this time.
"Um, no. More like I turn up on doorsteps at three a.m. when somebody hasn't paid their dealer."
"No way, bullshit!" I say, and it makes me laugh. Sure, he's big, and I know he could kick my skinny ass without breaking a sweat, but he's more fat than anything else. And far as I can tell, he don't act much like a tough guy. "You, you're muscle for a drug dealer?"
Silent Bob actually looks hurt for a second and then he glares at me, like he's mad. "Hey, listen, fuck you, pal. I'm good at what I do. It pays the rent. I eat just fine."
"Yeah, ok." Thinking back on yesterday, him criss crossing my trashy downtown streets with that mean look and a purpose in his step, makes sense now, he was working. Yeah, ok, I believe him. And I ease up for the first time in a long time, cause I'm real clear now that he wasn't fucking looking for me all day.
Funny thing, you know, when you relax even for a minute, it hits you, all the fucking tension you carry every day, looking over your shoulder, trying to stay ready in case somebody gets rough, sleeping in fucking alleyways and under bridges. If you rest, you fall down. All of a sudden, I'm really fucking tired.
I suck down a glass full of Coke and wipe my hands, rub the grit out of my eyes. Pizza's almost gone, one piece left in the pan. I push up out of the booth. "Looks like lunch is over, tubby. Let's get the fuck out of here." He nods, picks up the last piece and eats it on the walk back to his place.
Clothes are dry now and I take 'em out, take 'em back to his apartment. I'm getting ready to change when Silent Bob tells me not to bother, that this gear I got on hasn't fit him in a long time. I say thanks instead of arguing. Before, I woulda probably made something out of it, but I'm not so cautious right now and besides, I'm too fucking exhausted anyway. He gives me a plastic bag to put my old stuff in and then I take off to the bathroom one last time.
After I do my business, I catch a sideways look at myself in the mirror while I'm washing my hands. Not such a surprise this time, the marks and the circles under my eyes, the sharp angles of my bones, but I still ain't too pretty. Except for my hair. It's enough to make me smile, looking at it. Longest it's ever been, wavy and golden. I find that brush again and hit it few licks, find a rubberband in a drawer and pull it back in a pony tail, cause it'll stay clean longer and won't get tangled. Find my hat in the plastic bag and put it on. Well, fuck. Alright then.
In the hallway by the front door, Silent Bob is standing there, holding a black coat, looks like it's in good shape and must be awful warm. "I've got this coat that doesn't fit. Might as well get some use out of it, it's just gonna gather moths otherwise." I nod, check it out, put it on. Yeah, it's fucking nice, a real nice coat.
"Thanks, man." I say. "Last one got ripped off by some fucking bum while I was trying to sleep. I'll try to hang on to it."
"Oh . . . " Silent Bob says, and then he goes into the kitchen. I follow, watch him writing down a phone number, and then he's holding it out to me. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Call him up, invite him out for a fucking beer? I almost start with something, but then I don't. I take the paper and fold it up, stuff it into the lining of my hat, the only place I've been able to keep anything safe since I been on the street.
We shake hands and he opens the front door for me. "Thanks, man." I say one more time. Been a long time since I thanked anybody for anything, much less three times in the same day. He smiles but don't say nothing. I pull up the collar of the coat and take off. I don't look back.
Halfway down the street, headed back toward downtown, I stick my hands in the coat pockets and find a pair of gloves and a ski cap. Fuck. Son of a bitch got one over on me.