Disclaimer: I do not own Fritos. ^_^

  // indicates flashback

Chapter 4: Thirty woolongs and a bag of Fritos

     I got my wish.  I never went to live with another family.  I was sent to an orphanage, or as they say in modern terms, a group home.  I wouldn't consider it a better place; it was just another trap I had fallen into.  Three years of my life passed by in that hole.  Children came and went, as did the caretakers.  I was the only one that remained.  I kept my distance, idly watching as the time went by.  It was like watching a bad film, wondering if it would ever end.  At some point, you just have to walk out.  I did.  

Two years later I still wasn't in a better place or position.  I lived on the streets mostly, though I would occasionally stay in shelters.  I had learned to forage for food and pickpocket.  It wasn't a hard thing to pick up.  People were usually too busy trying to get away from you to notice you grabbing their wallet.  Usually, that is.  There was one guy that did notice; that was the day my life changed for the better…

            //…The winter months were cruel to the homeless.  There wasn't a day that I didn't walk down the street and see the frozen bodies of people that had made the mistake of sleeping outside in the cold.  Then again, there were a lot of people that would rather die than take charity from the government and stay in a shelter.  Most of them did die.  I'll admit that I didn't exactly love it.  The shelter was overflowing with people, a lot of them old and sick.  They were too old to work and had no family to take care of them.  It was like a convention of death; everyone waiting around to see who would die first so they could roll him onto the floor and take his cot.  It doesn't seem so cruel when you're the one stuck sleeping on the hard, cold ground.

            During the days, I would stay away from the shelter.  I would wrap myself in thick blankets and walk up and down the streets, looking for unwary pedestrians.  Most days I could grab a wallet and treat myself to a halfway decent meal.  Sometimes there was even enough to pay for a hotel room for a night or two.  I'd take a warm bed and shower over a cement-like cot any day.  But once the money ran out it was back to square one.

            That's where I was, at square one, the day I met Lawrence Leder.  My entire body ached from sleeping on the hard concrete the night before.  I had been walking around, looking for an easy target.  There weren't very many people on the street.  Most were probably at home by the warm hearth.  Memories of winter days spent huddling on the old worn couch permeated my mind.  There was something relaxing about watching the snowflakes fall gently outside of the window.  I pushed the thoughts away; now wasn't the time for sentiments. 

I noticed a man looking through magazines at a newsstand.  I looked him over for a moment.  He wore fairly nice clothing under a long leather jacket.  I could see the band of a gold wristwatch sticking out from under the sleeve.  He might not have been loaded with cash, but still it would probably be enough to buy a few decent meals.  I watched as he paid for a newspaper, observing where he placed his wallet.  He turned and left the stand.  As he drew near, I made an elaborate show of tripping and stumbling into him.  I deftly reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. 

            Instead of shoving me away, as I expected.  He caught me in his arms and steadied me.  "Are you alright?" he asked.

            My mouth dropped open for a moment before I regained my composure.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just clumsy, I guess."  I tried to wriggle out of his grasp before my scheme fell through.  He held onto my arm.

            "Thievery requires quickness and agility," he whispered, prying the wallet from my hand.

            I stopped struggling and turned to face him.  It was one thing that he had caught me, but now he was directly insulting me.  I glared at him. "What the hell would you know about it?"

            He shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been around the block a few times."

            "You knew I was going to steal you wallet?"

            The man stuck his wallet in his coat. "I saw you watching me while I was at the newsstand.  Part of the problem is that the street's too empty."

            I crossed my arms. "It's too hard to watch people on busy streets."

            He laughed. "It's all about focus.  Listen, have you ever seen a beautiful woman in a room full of people.  There could be dozens of other people in the room, but all you see is her.  That's how you have to focus.  Even though there could be a hundred other people there, you want to see just that one person.  They should be the only person there to you."

            I snorted. "Sounds like a load of shit to me," I snapped, still a bit sore from his earlier insults.

            "It's your choice whether you want to survive or not," he replied in his nonchalant tone.  It was beginning to grate on my nerves.  He drew out his wallet again and handed me thirty woolongs.  "Here, take the day off.  Think about what I told you."  With that, he turned and walked away.

            I stared at the money in my hand.  I didn't know whether to feel relieved or upset.  I had gotten off easy considering the situation.  Still, I somehow felt low and disgusting.  I had failed miserably.  And then Mr. High-and-Mighty giving me advice and money as if I were a charity case.  Bastard.  I crumpled the money in my hand.  I wanted to throw it in the trash.  It felt…contaminated somehow.  I couldn't bring myself to part with it.  Instead, I shoved it into my pocket and walked away.

            I never had any luxuries when I was young.  Hell, our television didn't even work; I had only a few toys, mostly from garbage dumps.  Old man used to tell me that if a man has nothing else, he has his pride.  That's the one thing no one can take from him.  Walking along the streets that day, I found that hard to believe.  I didn't try to steal from anyone else.  I wandered aimlessly.  I couldn't spend the money.  I didn't know why.  Money was money.  I felt like everyone could see right through me.  I had nothing.  My clothes were torn and filthy.  I hadn't bathed since God knows when.  I was just another bum on the streets. 

            Night fell and the air grew colder.  I didn't want to go to the shelter that night.  I was tired of living side by side with trash.  That was all we were.  The shelter might as well have been the city garbage dump.  Who the hell were they fooling?  The whole system was fucked up.  These rich bastards will donate to the god damned soup kitchen, but they won't even consider us for a job.  I snorted.  I could just picture the government meetings.  "But if we give more people jobs, the homeless shelter would be empty.  And then what would we do to make ourselves feel better?"  I laughed aloud.  Yeah, those meetings were probably a hoot.

            After moping on the corner for a while, I felt my stomach rumble with hunger.  I still hadn't eaten anything.  It was getting pretty late.  Most of the stores were probably closed.  I remembered passing a convenience store a few blocks back.  I turned and headed back, hoping to get at least a snack or two.  I was going to have to spend the damned money anyway.  The convenience store was empty and the clerk obviously didn't like the looks of me.  He kept his eyes on me as I wandered through the aisles.  The thing about being hungry is that everything looks tempting.  I grabbed a large bag of corn chips and continued looking.

            I heard the door swing open, but I didn't bother to look up until I heard someone shout "Don't Move."  I froze in place. 

            "Open the register," another man's voice said.  It sounded strangely familiar.  I leaned my head over enough to see two men dressed completely in black, wearing ski masks.  They were both holding guns pointed at the clerk. 

            Dammit, this is not my day, I thought.  The clerk opened the register and began taking money out.  One of the guys handed him a bag.

            "Put it in here."  It was the same familiar voice.  Where did I remember it from? 

'Thievery requires quickness and agility.'  That jerk from earlier!  I leaned over a bit more and smirked.  He won't think he's so smart anymore when I turn him in to the cops, I thought.  It was then I noticed the mirror at the front of the store.  I stood back up quickly in hopes that they hadn't seen me.  In doing so, my arm brushed the shelf and knocked a bag of chips to the floor.  Both men turned.  Shit!

"Go see what that was." 

One of the men turned and came down the aisle.  I backed up until I was against the cooler.  The man stopped.  "You?  What are you doing here?"

            "Getting food," I snapped, forgetting that he was carrying a gun.  I really didn't feel like hearing any more pointers from him today.

            "Hurry up, you bastard!" the other robber shouted.

            The man bent toward me. "Get out of here," he whispered. 

            I clung to the bag of chips in my hand.  I figured it would be the last thing on the clerk's mind right now.  I turned and headed for the door. 

            "Hey kid, where the fuck do you think you're going?"  I paused.  The burglar at the front backed up to where he could see both me and the clerk.  He nodded toward his partner.  "What the hell is he doing?  He's a witness."

            "Just let him go.  He's just a kid.  He's not going to do anything."

            "Like hell he isn't.  How would you know?  Hey kid, don't fucking move.  You, clerk, hand me the bag."  The clerk handed over the bag and stuck his hands in the air. 

            My 'friend' walked over to the camera, opened it, and took out the tape.  "Alright, let's go."

            The burglar aimed his gun and shot the clerk in the head.  An anguished scream pierced the air and he slumped over the counter; blood poured from the wound.  His eyes were lifeless as his body slid behind the counter.  I tried to turn my head from the scene, but my body was frozen.  The clerk's scream rang in my ears.  I didn't even realize that the robber had turned his gun on me until his partner began shouting.

            "No!" he stood in front of me. "Look, he's just a homeless kid."

            I felt vomit began to rise in my throat.  I kept seeing the clerk slump over on the counter.  I didn't want to end up like him, lying on the floor in a pool of blood.  There wasn't a damn thing I could think of that I had to live for except the fact that I was living.  But that was reason enough.

            "Don't shoot me," I said through gasping breaths.  I was trying not to puke all over the place. "I won't tell anyone.  I swear it."  Even as I said it, I felt like a coward.  I was begging like a god damn dog; begging these two lowlife bastards.  I chuckled to myself.  Old man had been wrong.  Pride could be stripped from you just as easy as the clothes on your back.  I could no longer hold it in.  I fell to my knees and began to vomit.  My chest heaved in and out as I took deep breaths.

            The burglar who had shot the clerk approached me. "You've got two choices," he said.  "You can come with us or I can waste you right here and now."

            His voice sounded muffled as if he were far off.  It rang in my ears.  What the hell would they do if I went with them?  Why not just let them blow my brains out?  What did I have to lose?  All I had in this world was thirty woolongs and a bag of Fritos.  All of a sudden I heard hysterical laughter.  It sounded far away as well.  Hell, maybe someone had been watching this whole time and thought this scene was rather amusing.  To anyone else, we were probably just three lowlifes.  Fuck, to us we were just three lowlifes.  When my side began aching, I realized that I was the one that had been laughing the whole time.  Yeah, I had lost it.

            I felt gentle hands lift me up and help me to my feet.  They led me out of the store into the chilly night air.  Before I knew it, I was shoved into the back seat of a car.  I looked out of the window as we pulled off.  There was still no one around.  No one cared what happened in this part of town.  The car sped up and the houses and streetlamps went by at a dizzying speed.  We rode deeper and deeper into the slums.  The houses in this area were heavy with decay.  Pieces of broken furniture and appliances littered the yards.  I was back at square one.  All these years I had tried to avoid this place and here I was again.

            My 'savior' turned around in the passenger seat.  He had taken his mask off.  It was definitely the guy from earlier, same dark hair and dark eyes.  And that same damned nonchalant attitude.

            "How do you feel?" he asked.  I leaned over and began to vomit once again.

            "Oh fuck!" I heard the other guy shout. "You nasty bastard!  You're cleaning that up!"  I leaned back in my seat and rolled down the window.  "I should have shot you," he mumbled more to himself than to me.

            "I should have puked on you," I countered.

            "What was that?"

            "I said 'I should have puked on you.'"

            "Is that so?"  He paused for a moment and then chuckled to himself.  "You didn't puke all your guts out after all, huh?"

            "What's your name?" the other guy asked.

            "Vincent."

            "I'm Lawrence Leder.  This is my brother, Marco."

            I almost laughed to myself when I realized that I hadn't known his name the entire time.  And all along I was planning to turn him in.  Maybe revenge really was wrong.  Now that I knew his damn name, I didn't even feel like ratting.  The story of my fucking life…//

Authors Note: Wow, it's been months since I posted on this story.  I had a little case of writers block and I hate trying to write when things aren't flowing.  This chapter is relatively longer than the other ones.  I don't know a lot about pick-pocketing and armed robberies.  I've seen a lot of law shows though, so I did the best I could. Lol.  If you have any pointers, feel free to share them.  I couldn't think of a title for this chapter.  I was just going to go with Thirty Woolongs, but a friend coaxed me into adding the part about Fritos.  ^_^