Brand New Crue

Home Sweet Home

Six months had passed since that first morning on the beach. Mick was intent on keeping a close eye on Niki for a long time after her foray into the water. Every move she made, he was suspiciously there. The more attention he showed her, the more Tommy played Big Scary Brother, as if Mick were some dumb boy trying to get to his sister. Both of them were beginning to piss Niki off. Mick's only distraction from watching Niki like a hawk was his weekly calls to his parents at the corner liquor store. Apparently, Mick nor Vince had divulged their plans to their families before hopping state lines with Niki and Tommy. Initially, Mick's father had threatened to call the cops and have his own son arrested for kidnapping. He was mostly bluster, but would bring it up now and again, threatening bodily harm if Mick skipped even one phone call without a valid reason. Vince's parents responded in much the same way as Mick's, only Vince's mother would send them care packages once a month, which was very much appreciated. She just added little notes at the top of each box, spelling out how she would carry out her threats to remind them to behave or else.

Everyone had accepted Vince's name change. It took them some time, and a lot of gentle reminding on his part, to accommodate his simple request, but eventually it stuck. Thank God they had musical abilities to fall back on, since Mick was the only one old enough to get a real paying job that barely made the rent. At least it was enough to get them out of the motel after two weeks. They had Brian the Cabbie to thank for that one. He had brought them back to their slummy little motel that first morning, promising to look in on them in a couple of days. True to his word, he showed up exactly two days later with a job offer for Mick.

The apartment they found was awful. The carpet smelled terrible, like death almost. It was possible someone, or something, had died here, given the neighborhood. The Landlord was probably covering up the last tenants untimely, and violent demise. Murder isn't a huge selling point, no matter what city you live in, but it could be why they got the two bedroom dungeon for a steal. If the low rent wasn't appealing enough for the utterly desperate, there was always the hideous brown decor to reel in the big fish. Or, perhaps, for the more lucrative prospects, the complex offered its very own child molester-esque building manager, who just so happened to occupy the apartment directly across from this little gem! His name was Carl. The living room windows faced each other. How appropriate! And, like a Timex watch, that pasty, sweaty little cave-dweller always appeared at his wide open drapes whenever Niki was outside, or walking by, usually with a beer in one hand, the other resting suspiciously near his crotch. Could be why they always kept their own curtains shut. He must not own any clothes. She never saw him dressed in anything but a dirty bathrobe and his boxer shorts.

They really needed to find somewhere else to live!

The only bright spot to their lowly accommodations, was Hildie. Hildie Reynolds, an 89 year old woman who lived alone, had the largest apartment in the complex. She lived a couple of doors down from the wayward teens. Despite their scruffy looks, Hildie made it a point to take these four unruly children under her wing. She was their Mommy so to speak. She was a manipulative old woman with a good heart and even better intentions. She could convince anyone to do whatever she wanted and make it seem like it was their idea in the first place. It didn't take long for the four of them to be at her beck and call, no matter what was going on in their lives. Hildie took to Niki right away, and Niki to Hildie just as quickly. Hildie reminded her of Grammy, so it wasn't very hard to fall under the old lady's spell. And she baked the best cookies, offering them as payment for whatever she needed done. Hildie even had the Super under her powers. She brought him to heel frequently and often with a stern look, or firmly calling out his name.

Niki's unspoken task always centered around cooking. Hildie, with all her baking wiles, was a terrible cook. A starving dog would probably turn its nose up at Hildie's concoctions. She made dinner for the four of them on their first night in their new apartment. It was all they could do, not to outwardly gag at whatever this woman called soup. Vince even asked if it was safe to eat the bread. Niki, having spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Grammy, picked up plenty of skills, and offered her assistance with the next meal Hildie attempted to force down their throats. Whenever Niki was cooking, the boys killed themselves to get to the table on time.