Chapter 01--Toby's Tale

Approximately 1700 words

         
         

"Toby's Tale" 
by
Max Griffin

Chapter One

         
         
         Hunger gnawed at Toby's stomach. 
         
         He kept his gaze focused on the drivers of the passing cars.  That fat, bald guy in the beat-up Ford Fusion slowed and leered at him.  He looked almost as desperate as Toby.  Too desperate, really, and he probably wouldn't pay much.  Toby needed to eat, but he wasn't that hungry.  He concentrated and squelched the guy. The car sped away and turned the corner.  Toby could always push him later, if nothing better drove by.  He'd just have to wait half an hour so for the squelch to wear off. 
         
         The sun beat down on the asphalt and heated the brick exteriors of the boarded-up storefronts.  Fast food wrappers, circulars, and other trash congealed in dry husks next to the building where Toby leaned.  Ruby and Ginger loitered a dozen feet away, their boobs popping out of their halter tops, and their fishnet stockings climbing from spiked heels, up their long legs, and disappearing into fluorescent micro-mini-skirts.  Toby remembered being shocked to learn Ginger was a guy. What a hopeless noob he'd been.

         Sweat drizzled down his forehead and burned his eyes.  He wiped his face with his t-shirt and then ran his fingers through his hair.  Once upon an time, it had felt silky and smooth, not tangled and filthy.  Maybe he'd get lucky today and get a shower along with some cash for food.
         
         A blue BMW sports car drove by.  That was the third time.  This guy looked way more promising than the one in the beat-up Ford.  He was not much older than Toby, fit, and his gaze broadcast that lean and hungry look that Toby knew so well.  Toby straightened up, made eye contact, and pushed.  The Beamer slowed, but then ice gripped Toby's gut.  It was almost like this john pushed back. 
         
         He shuddered. That was crazy. So far as he knew, no one shared his secret super powers.  Squelch and push. He'd called them that since he first realized he had them, when he was fourteen.  He couldn't have survived on the street without them. 

         Besides,  all johns were the same and just wanted one thing.  Lucky for Toby, he had that one thing in abundance.
         
         With any luck, it looked like he wouldn't be hungry much longer.  He pushed the driver again, this time harder.
         
         The BMW slowed and the guy returned his stare.  Toby kept pushing.  He answered the man's come-on by stretching and slipping off his t-shirt, exposing his lithe, tanned torso.  The Beamer pulled up to the curb and stopped.  The passenger-side window slid down in silent invitation.  All the while the driver never broke his glassy-eyed gaze.
         
         Pay dirt. 
         
         Toby sauntered up to the vehicle, maintaining an air of insouciance.  That was his new word for the day. Insouciance. He'd spent this morning, like every morning except Sundays, visiting the downtown public library, where there were clean restrooms and free computers. The library was his anchor to the real world, a world with homes, and schools, and parents who didn't beat you.  Today, he'd read an article in Scientific American about black holes, followed by the next chapter of Catcher in the Rye, all the while wearing headphones and listening to classical jazz.  It had been "Take Five" this morning.  That Holden Caulfield, he was one whiny asshole.  He didn't know he had it made: he never had to sell his body for his next meal.  Toby liked Huckleberry Finn or Jason Bourne way better. They took charge of their lives. 
         
         When he leaned against the car door, the hot metal seared his bare forearms.  He kept his face impassive and voice indifferent. "Hey, mister."
         
         "Hello, son.  You look hot out there on the street." 
         
         Hot.  Yeah, Toby knew he looked hot.  Especially with no shirt.  "It's a scorcher, that's for sure."
         
         "It's nice and cool in here.  You want to ride around with me for a while?"

         Ride around.  Right.  Toby played along.  "Gee whiz, mister, that'd be awesome."  He opened the door and clambered into the cramped space.  The cool leather seat stuck to his sweaty back.  "I love your car."
         
         "Thanks, bro.  My name's John."  He stuck out his hand.
         
         John.  What a joke.  Still, Toby played his part and shook with a firm grip.  When they touched, that coldness again gripped his gut.  An electric tingle skittered up his arm and nibbled inside his head.  He tensed.  What the hell was this guy doing?  He jerked his hand free and the sensations vanished.  "My friends call me Bobby."  No way this scumbag was going to know his real name.
         
         John smiled, like he knew a secret.  "Nice to meet you, Bobby."  The man turned his attention to driving and pulled away from the curb. 
         
         What was with this guy?  He was good looking, in a craggy kind of way, with his razor-sharp, hipster haircut. Perfectly trimmed stubble darkened his dimpled cheeks. He wore a loose black t-shirt and black denim jeans with a neat, pressed crease. Uptight, then.  He must be fucking rich to drive a car like this.  Toby frowned and chewed the inside of his cheek. It didn't fit.  This dude shouldn't need to pick up someone like Toby.  He remembered that ice in his gut.  Maybe it was a mistake to get in this car despite his super powers. 

         Wary, Toby leaned back and waited for John to make the first move. Driving a Beamer clown-shoe car meant he almost certainly wasn't a cop.  Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.  He didn't want to be beat up, but he wanted arrested even less.  His stomach growled and he winced.  Maybe 'John' wouldn't notice.
         
         "When was the last time you ate, Bobby?" 
         
         Too late.  "This morning," he lied.
         
         "There's a fried chicken joint up here.  Would you like some?"
         
         Saliva flooded Toby's mouth and his stomach ached.  He shrugged.  "Whatever."
         
         John pulled into the drive-through and ordered a three-piece dinner with fried okra, corn, and a chocolate milkshake.  When he paid, Toby saw several hundred-dollar bills in his wallet.  Pay dirt, for sure.  Whatever the risk might be, it was worth taking.
         
         John handed him the sack with the food and the milkshake.  "Go ahead and eat if you want.  Try not to spill too much in the car."  He flashed a quick smile in Toby's direction, just like he really liked him or something.  Toby knew it was just his push working on the creep.
         
         "Thanks.  I'll be careful." 
         
         God, he'd forgotten how fucking good chicken was. He was so hungry, his fucking jaws ached before he took the first bite. Some crumbs dribbled onto his lap and he scooped them into his mouth, licking his fingers. Screw the car: he wanted to savor every last morsel.  He sucked down the milkshake too fast and got a freeze-headache.  Screw that, too.  It was worth it. The last time he had a milkshake had been from that guy who beat him up afterwards. Evan? Yeah, the guy called himself Evan.  It was worth it then, and it'd be worth it now if that was going to be 'John's' price.  Even the biscuits tasted like ambrosia.  The only thing he didn't touch was the okra.
         
         John drove on in silence and let him eat. When slurping sounds indicated the milkshake was gone, he must have decided it was okay to talk again.  "Don't you like okra?"
         
         Toby thought about the scars on his back from where his father had beaten him for not eating that slimy, bitter shit when he was nine.  "I'm allergic."
         
         "Oh.  Sorry.  You should have said, and we could have gotten something different."
         
         "It's okay."  Toby licked his fingers.  "Thank you."
         
         "You're welcome, Bobby.  It was my pleasure."
         
         His pleasure.  Right.  Toby knew what pleased men like 'John,' and it sure as shit wasn't KFC.  They drove in silence. John left the street with the sleazy motels and boarded up shops where Toby usually hung out and headed down Riverside.  "Where you takin' me?"
         
         "Where would you like to go, Bobby?"
         
         "We could stop in an alley someplace.  That'd be private.  Or there's Chandler Park. It's got lots of quiet places to hang out."  That was as overt as Toby was willing to get.  Get it over with.  Pay John off with sex and be done with him forever.
         
         "Is that what you want?  I could take you to Youth Services."
         
         What the fuck was that? No real john would ask a whack-a-doodle question like that.  He'd been to that do-good place a couple of times.  They asked way too many questions.  Now that he was fed, what Toby really wanted was to go back to the library.  Even going back his corner and hooking up with a john who wasn't from the Twilight Zone was better than this.  "I want to go back to where you picked me up."
         
         "All right." 
         
         Minutes later, they stopped in the exact spot where Toby had first gotten in the BMW.  John gave him an appraising look.  "Now what?"
         
         "Look, mister, thanks for the chicken and everything, but I need to go."  Toby fidgeted. It was too soon after pushing him for a squelch to work.  His instincts told him to leave now, but something held him back.
         
         "You can leave if you want, Toby.  Or--"
         
         "Or what?"  Something wasn't right.  What was it?  He knew Toby's name. "How do you know my name, asshole?"
         
         #I think you know how, Toby.#
         
         "I don't know shit--" Toby stopped.  John hadn't spoken, at least not out loud.  Toby heard him, all right, but not with his ears.  "What the fuck?  How did you do that?"
         
         John chewed his lower lip, then spoke, using his mouth this time.  "I've been sensing you for a while, Toby. You and I are alike--more than you know."
         
         "I'm nothing like you, scumbag."  Toby fumbled with the door.
         
         "Leave if you wish, bro."  John touched his hand.  #But I'll be listening, I promise.  I'll be here for you if you need me.#
         
         Toby snatched his hand back and shoved his way out of the car.  He stumbled and fell to the sidewalk, skinning his palms.  Cursing, he rolled to his feet, and ran away as fast as he could.