As Luck Would Have It

39) Center Rumble

It was the morning after the day J-Mac was killed in his tussle with Lonnie. The sun was starting to rise over the skyline of the greater New York area, as the sky mixed of navy blues and pink oranges that projected a very misty gray hue on the streets below. The police had put out the report of the killing and advised any residents that knew the whereabouts of young Lincoln to come forward with anything they had. Making it almost impossible for Lonnie to go anywhere without being recognized, but then again, he didn't know that yet.

In the alley behind the community center, under a piling of crates and broken-down cardboard boxes, laid the resting figure of Lonnie Lincoln. In the past 21 hours, he had constructed this make-shift hut to hide him from the busy world that only lied only 50 feet away. Obscured by two large dumpsters, Lonnie's little sanctuary was barely visible from the street, even the appearance of the piling of useless cardboard wasn't even worth a notice that it may contain a wanted homicide suspect.

Inside, Lonnie's conflicted thoughts metaphorically swirled around the wood beams of the crates and in the rustled lumps in the sheets he had slept in. He tossed and turned trying to process what he was going to do next, or even what would be awaiting him should he be caught. He knew that in most of the stories about a young killer endangering other lives in public institutions always resulted in the killer taking themselves out before they could be taken by law enforcer, a very cowardly sense of dignity. Lonnie however, was not prepared to end his life just because he killed someone that was trying to do more harm than he was. Plus, he had lived a lifetime of abuse and abandonment without any thought of suicide, so he was content with fighting for his right to live. Even if he had to do it over a drink and a chance to eat.

Around mid-morning, he emerged from his humble little hut from his stomach aching for something to eat and drink, as he hadn't done either since crawling inside. Looking down the alley anxiously, he stretched his body and flattened out his clothes in an attempt to seem normal. A few blood stains stood out on the bright blue folds on the ends of his sleeves, but Lonnie didn't really give much notice to those, mostly because they were on the back side of the sleeve where he wouldn't think to look. Then with a confident stride, he marched out of the alley and down the street to the nearest convenience store.

Walking inside, he felt a bit of spotlight on him as he was the only person inside other than the cashier, who gave a friendly greeting upon entering. Lonnie replied by giving a very nervous nod without making eye contact, dead set on getting what he came for and leaving. He kept his back turned to the cashier as he picked out a blue Gatorade from the drink fridge and moved over to the warm cabinet that housed pre-made breakfast sandwiches and burgers. Here, he was forced to reveal the side of his face, which didn't go unnoticed by the cashier. Lonnie could feel his eyes on him the entire time he had been inside, but now he felt more vulnerable now confirming that he was staring at him.

And to make things worse, the news station on the radio behind the counter brought up the killing once again and gave a description that matched Lonnie's appearance. The level of anxiety grew in the young boy as he pulled his sandwich from the case and cautiously stalked over to pay. The cashier's eyes looked up and down the boy's body as he scanned his items, noting that he was avoiding any eye contact. Even as he handed the change back, Lonnie kept his eyes down and reached for the change recklessly and with haste. In result, he dropped a few coins, the sound of them hitting the floor stinging his ears with fear that had been building from his anxiety. The cashier asked if he was okay, and Lonnie didn't answer, he just made some indistinguishable sounds and marched out of the store with his paid items.

Once Lonnie was out of the store, he felt his adrenaline kick in, panting from what was going to happen. He was sure that the cashier recognized him and was prepared to call the police as soon he got the chance. He wasn't ready to be caught, and he didn't know where to go on such short notice. Thinking over things a bit too rapidly, and letting his fear get the best of him, he clenched his Gatorade bottle a little tighter and turned back to the store.