Silent storms

Chapter Four

Brock rushes. No matter how fast his feet speed they will never catch up to the thought of being late. Running two blocks from his house he shortly slows himself to a pacing jog. Time is his enemy, without it he worries.

Arriving, there is no sign of Fox. I'm too late, he thinks to himself. Remembering there is another side of this park across the alley, he hopes for the best. Stepping onto the basketball court, a voice calls from behind him.

"Brock." He stops in his tracks. "Above the slide. Hurry." The fact the he already walked past it amazes him, he seen no mark of anyone. Turning around, Brock heads back like he forgot something. At the slide he holds onto the metal sides and runs up it, making the thin metal roar obnoxiously in this fair night.

Seeing Fox dressed in all black explains why he didn't see him. A silhouette. "I thought I was late."

Fox pulls up his left hoodie sleeve. "12:18, perfect. Besides I didn't think you would let me down. Sit." Fox scoots over. They fit in a three side wooden box. If you plan on using the slide, the box is on the right side. Being no wider than a couch cushion, it isn't comfy but they make it work.

"What did you mean by-"

"No!" Fox cuts him off with a direct tone. "Answer me this. Why do you need money?"

"You came at me first, so you should answer me first." Brock.

Fox chuckles off his ignorance. "I came to you with an offer and you answered. You must have more answers or you wouldn't be here."

Brock drops his head. . . then raises it. "Me and my mom are living with this drunken dirt bag. It is my moms boyfriend but its really not. I hate him. But we can't leave, it's a money issue, we don't have it ourselves, is what she tells me. Now what did you mean-"

"Hold up Brock." Cutting him off again. "Before you start slamming questions let me talk."

"What is this a class or something?" With an annoyed tone, Brock has never liked lectures.

"Pretty much. A class on how to make money and not get caught. Now listen!" Fox pulls out a pack of Camel cigarettes. "Want one?" Brock shakes his head. Lighting it up, Fox starts speaking as the smoke rolls out of his mouth. "Rule number one. The most important rule of them all. No snitching!" Fox talks slow, sounding out every letter. "Anything we do will never be spoke of. Got it?"

"I guess so yeah."

"No guessing. I'm being serious." A voice that is more secure than a volt at a bank, I'm being serious, locks into Brock's files. "First thing I hear we're done. You won't be making money anymore." Brock is clueless on how to respond. "The important rule after that is ignorance is no excuse in the court of law."

"The law? What?" Brock cautions his words.

"You want to make money or not Brock? This is why you have to be smart. Know the system, and work around it." Fox takes one long drag off his cigarette.

"So we're going to be doing things that involve the law?"

"Here is the thing Brock, you could look at it that way and always be worried. Or you can look at it as those three little monkeys that hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. If you don't speak it, which is rule number one. It's hard to be found guilty. But if you're smart you'll never get caught."

"What do you mean by that?" Brock hopes to finally get his answer.

"Being smart? Come on lets walk." Flicking his cigarette onto the slide, an exploded firecracker, without sound. "I'm going to show you smart things. For right now, lets talk." Using the ladder that's made to get to the slide, they both hurry down. "Ever heard the saying, the love for money is the root of all evil?"