Between Halos and Horns

Chapter 6 ~ Tiny

      I took a quick look at my cell-phone and saw that it was nearly three o'clock - time had flown by. Reid sat there, scratching his scruffy little beard, his big hazel eyes drifting here and there. After a couple of moments, he looked up at the one-way mirror on one side of the room and called out, "Hey now, I'm gon' go ahead and take off my jacket now, please don't shoot me. That'd be no fun at all... for anyone." He gave me a wink and slowly shed off his black leather brawler jacket and hung on the back of his chair. Now that his arms were visible, I could see that his left arm was sleeved in an impressive tattoo from his forearm to somewhere past the sleeve of his black v-neck. It was colorful, seemed to be a mix of tribal, Asian influence, and what could only be described as demonic details. 

      "Nice tattoo," I commented. 

      "Thanks, I did it myself," he replied. The was no hint of joke in his tone or eyes. 

      "No shit?"

      "No shit." 

      "Wanna tell me about that?" I asked hopefully. 

    "Eventually, I gotta get there first though," he answered with a small laugh, eyeing me down carefully. 

       "Alright, so you were saying after four months of being a Runt, you were taken on a Collection." 

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      Right, so as I was saying, four months had gone by in Runtville. Dale and I, well we got considerably stronger. Our muscles were larger than before; we were faster, stronger, and a wee bit more witty than when we were on the streets. More than that, we knew how to scuffle in a serious manner now. Our fear of our new home had left us completely; all we cam to know was food, trainin', Spark n' Tiny. They was our best friends, n' we never forgot that.

      We knew we had to be careful when dealin' with Bo Deacon, seein' as how he was our leader and the other boys followed him without too much question. Besides that, he also had a shiny six-slot magnum and swore to blow our heads off every other day. Me n' Dale became accustomed to the life in Runtville, we came to accept what had happened to us. Finally, after a good amount of time, I stopped dreamin' about my house. And I know, you'll think it's a bit strange I'm sure, but I often thought about my momma. When we was on the streets, Dale and I were too busy for me to have a chance to think about her; but there in Runtville, I found that I had a lot of free time to just set there and wonder what she'd say to me if she was still around. 

      Andrew was a shit as always. He got off by gettin' Dale in trouble, and it wasn't just once or twice that we got beat by Deacon for fightin'. Only, Deacon would beat Andrew after beatin' us so that he'd claim to be too tired to beat him too hard. Andrew was an obvious favorite, as was Tongue, but the two boys just didn't see eye to eye. Deacon loved to unleash Tongue on any boy who had royally pissed him off because the kid, at nine years old, could even give Andrew and his friends a run for their money. 

      Spark always talked about ownin' a gun shop one day. He claimed that his daddy was a "legitimate six-shooter cowboy" somewhere in New Mexico. He thought by openin' a gun shop, his daddy was sure to come back to visit and buy from 'im. (Reid chuckles lightly here and shakes his head.) Tiny didn't see why we kept talkin' about our dreams of bein' free, he wanted to be the new Deacon. The lil' boy looked up to the crazy bastard. I loved Tiny though, he was quick to help if ever any of us was feelin' down - full of energy that one. Rattle became an on-and-off friend of sorts. Sometimes he'd sit with us, and even talk to us, but after bein' berrated by Andrew and his boys, he'd go right back to them. 

       Besides goin' out on Collections, Deacon would take one boy, usually Andrew, once a week to scout for theft prospects. That was how he always knew where to go the nights he took three boys to go steal.