Garden of the Hungry

Mother

Frappuccino coffee with chocolate, he thought, sucking vigorously the contents through the straw. The taste was familiar to him, but the place wasn't: yellow walls, wooden shutters, several occupied tables, happy faces, hugs, and, on the TV, a news report about tremors somewhere called China, of which he didn't recall. He couldn't decide on which period that was happening. Yes, I have already been here. The thought made him breathe more rapidly.

It didn't take long before two defiant looking men, wearing leather jackets and jeans, entered the place and walked straight to his table. His heart drummed faster when one of them uttered:

"Big Dave! It's been a long time since I last saw that smooth girly face," mocked the bald man using sunglasses. "Look at him, cousin. Not even a single strand of beard."

"Lolita's face," added the other, more corpulent, with a dozen rings spread over his fingers, a scar on his forehead and pale lips. His expression was closed and unfriendly.

Dave, though nervous, countered the mockery with a cynical smile.

The young man looked a little over twenty years old. He was thin, with gentle features, beardless and very smooth skin for an adult man. His eyes were vivid and green. His hair, light brown, seemed like they had not been brushed for weeks.

He sucked the bottom of the glass with the straw and said, masking the tension:

"Punctuality was never your strength, but it's understandable. I have a girlfriend, so I know girls always take a long time preparing for a date."

"Did you hear that, cousin? Dave's still the same smiling skinny cricket as always. With a mouth full of teeth," intimidated the bald one.

"Crickets don't have teeth," objected the young man, with a grin on his lips.

The circumspect individual, with the mark on his forehead, raised his voice, attracting several glances from the other people there:

"Enough with the jokes!" He said, slamming a hand on the table. "The matter is serious. We both came from the other side of town just to get your uncle's apology, kid. So put down that stupid glass, save your little funny stories for some other time and let's get down to business!"

"Ok, ok! No more wasting time," Dave apologized. "You can follow me here," he pointed. The three walked through the restaurant's kitchen, where several kinds of pasta were prepared, and crossed a corridor with red lights to a door at the back of the establishment.

The street presented a chaotic traffic of people and cars. Honking, braking, barking and agitation between the huge buildings. They gathered by a vehicle parked at the entrance of a dirty and damp alley. Dave went to the trunk and took out a black bag, throwing it to one of the men:

"Done, no more grudges, friends! There's my uncle's apology!"

The two looked at each other discreetly and whispered something. The balder one, holding the bag, commented:

"My friend, I'm sorry to inform you, but the money you gave us is fake."

"Hm... Really? But how do you know if you didn't even check inside?" The boy stepped back. He noticed right there something was wrong and started to run in the opposite direction, but he was caught off guard by another two men flanking him.

"If something would happen to me, my uncle..."

Before the young man could finish his sentence, a punch hit the left side of his jaw, making him stumble back and hit his head on the wall. He tried to return the blow, but his lack of skill and diminished senses made him miss every attempt. At that moment, another man struck him in the ribs with a steel bar. He immediately felt the taste of blood in his mouth. He lost count of the blows until he fell to the ground.