It took a couple of days, but the Cobra Lords – the gang in leather – learned to leave Thomas alone. After getting a few of them beat up, they stopped bothering him and anyone he was with.
He met Tamisha today, her and her boyfriend. Mitch was a white boy the size of a small shed and drove a big red truck with tires that came up to his waist. Mitch kept looking Thomas over while Tamisha gave him a “brotherly” hug that rubbed herself against his crotch. Thomas retired to the boys’ room that had a mattress on the floor for him. He kept his things in his duffel, using a plastic bag to separate the dirty from clean laundry.
Aunt Mariange had to go to work today, and Thomas scoured the want ads. He had no experience. He was Canadian, just visiting, and without a visa. He probably could get a job working as a pot washer somewhere.
His cousin came into the bedroom and stood in the doorway, staring at him, as if he was doing something that was strange and abhorrent. “You really gonna find a job?”
“Yes,” said Thomas.
“I can get you one, easy. Lots of money. All you gotta do is stand there and look mean.”
Thomas knew what that meant. Drugs. Gangs. Criminal activity of some sort. “No thanks.”
“It’s good money.”
“I said, no thanks,” Thomas said, getting up, and pushing by the young man into the kitchen.
“Fine, fuck you.”
Thomas shrugged, continued past the kitchen and out the door. Maybe if he went door to door he’d find something.
He stopped at a couple of stores, manned by Indians or Chinese. The Indians told him to get out; the Chinese were more polite about it. He walked a block north and caught a bus heading to the docks.
However, the bus had to stop because of a makeshift barricade, just outside of a warehouse. “Everyone off,” the driver announced. People moaned and groaned as they got off the bus, this being obviously the last stop. The bus started to back up, but a big bald guy in a bad clown’s makeup ran out of nowhere and into the bus.
Thomas heard a gunshot, and the bus driver was thrown out, landing at Thomas’ feet. Thomas reached down and dragged the man, who was bleeding from his arm and chest, out of th way of the bus. The man inside whooped, shot three rounds into the ceiling, and put the pedal to the metal.
He blasted through the barricade, while Thomas took the bus driver’s tie off and tied it on his arm.
“Shit,” the bus driver hissed, as Thomas effortlessly picked him up and brought him to a set of stairs, laying him down there gently. “God damn Loonies. How bad is it, kid?”
The blood dripped from the man’s elbow and the chest wound soaked the man’s blue uniform, but didn’t look deep. “Your arm is worse than your chest.”
“Take my cell, call 811, my dispatcher. They’ll send the cops and an ambulance down here.”
“And another bus?” asked a man with a briefcase. “I’m already late.”
“Stuff it,” snapped the bus driver. “No more busses coming through here for another half hour.” The bus driver tried to take lungfulls of air but couldn’t seem to. “Hoof it to Chinatown if you’re that hell bent.”
Meanwhile Thomas got the cell phone and had dialed the number. “Hello? Yes, I have a man down. Uh…” Thomas held the phone out to the man. “You’d better talk to them.”
He took it. “Jenny. It’s Matt. Not so good. Hijacked on Maple and Cross, in Looneyville. Need an ambulance and cops. How soon? Good girl. Yeah, there’s someone here.” Matt looked up at Thomas. “Stay with me kid, okay? No telling what these Loonies’ll do to me if I’m lying here alone.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Thomas said.
“Okay, Jenny. I’ll see you soon.” He lay back on the stairs. “Hurts to breathe.”
“Thomas had seen his father tear out a man’s chest. It was bloody and not pretty and neat like this bullet wound. “What’s your name kid?”
“Thomas.”
He smiled. “Thomas. My uncle’s name’s Tom. Uncle Tom, get it?”
Thomas’s mouth formed a thin line and his eyes hardened.
“Kid, I’m just messin’ with you. Really, I have an Uncle Tom. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”
He only nodded once. “This is…Looneyville?”
“Where all the Loonies come. Right near the jail. They broke out, and now they’re over here.” He took a deep breath, and coughed, then moaned. “Oh, ow, oh, don’t do that again.”
“Rest. I’ll protect you.”
Matt said, “You a fighter?”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“Cuz here they come.”
Thomas turned around to see four people coming at them. One was a woman in a corset, the other two were just like the guy in the bad clown mask. Another was a guy with a gas mask, with a chain wrapped around his arm.
“You can’t reason with ’em,” said Matt. “You gotta fight ’em.”
Thomas assumed a crouch, and let his fingers grow into claws. Whenever he did that, his face immediately started to turn hairier, more square, his nose elongated. He kept his face from Matt and growled menacingly at the approaching people.
“Ooh, wolfie, wolfie,” said the girl, tossing a knife back and forth in her hands. “I’m gonna get me a wolfie pelt.”
“Mine first!” said one of the clowns.
“I want a uniform.”
Thomas felt himself get heavier, but ready to spring. He didn’t like fighting people in bear form much – he only did it because his father demanded it of him. But now, here, he had to do it all by himself.