Thirty Cents

    Tony sat on the rickety tenement house steps, gnawing at an apple filched from McGinty's market, and watched the old woman across the street sweeping off the narrow porch.  She stopped painfully to pick at a piece of caked mud.  Tony twisted his back against the wall, trying to reach the itchy spot between his shoulders.  He yawned.
    The old lady turned to go inside the building, and Tony snapped the apple core at her, expertly, so that it struck her in the small of the back.  Before it had reached its mark Tony's skinny little legs were carrying him up the rickety stairs, but he ran squarely into a pair of strong legs headed in the opposite direction.
    "Hey, kid, where y' headed?  Devil after ye?"
    "Lemme go, Al, lemme go!"
    His big brother ignored the urgency in his voice and swung the light frame to his shoulders.  the old lady from across the street stomped angrily through the door and stared up at them, her feeble voice shrilling.
    "No-good little pup!"  She shook a bony finger at the laughing Al.  "That's three times this week that devilish young'un's hit me.  Git outta th' way.  I'll see his Ma!"
    Al grinned.  "Ma ain't home, Miz Murry.  Y' say Tony here hit yuh?"  He shook the boy perched on his shoulder.  "What about that, kid?"
    Tony clung tighter.
    "Aw, I guess he didn't mean it, m'am.  Tell the lady y're sorry, kid."
    Tony mumbled something, and squirmed down.  The old lady glared at him and hobbled back across the narrow street.  The two brothers stood there on the wobbly steps, the tall one grinning down at the seven year old beside him.
    "I guess the old battle-axe is right, kid.  Y'are a devilish young'un."  He yanked at a small, freckled, and very dirty ear.  "But I kinda like yuh anyhow.  S'long kid.  Tell Ma I may not be in fer supper t'night."
    "C'n I go with yuh, Al?  Huh?"
    "Naw, stay here and keep y'r nose clean.  Y'r too little to tag around with th' gang."
    Tony sprawled on the steps, gazing wistfully after Al hurrying off towards Hutchins Street.  Gee!  Al was the finest feller in the whole world.  Even the old man didn't kick him around like he did the other kids.  And Al brought him the only real good candy he ever got.  He reckoned Al was the only good feller in the world.  And Al was the leader of the Black Cap gang too.  That proved he was a real swell guy, and tough.
    Tony never missed a chance to tell all the kids that Al was his brother.  And whenever Al got cut or bruised up in a fight with one of the other gangs, Tony always got to put iodine on Al's face, and then he'd feel like he was a real somebody too.  Al had even told him where the Black Caps met, and nobody but the gang knew that.  Tony reckoned that made him a member, even if he wasn't big enough to fight with them.
    He sat there a long time, cutting on the steps with an old pocketknife he'd found in the dump, and spitting through his teeth like Al did.  He didn't even notice the three boys coming up the street until they were almost in front of him.  When he did see them, he made a quick move for the door, but the biggest one grabbed him by the seat of his pants and dragged him back.  Tony clawed and bit, but the big fellow held him up with his feet dangling, and laughed at him until he gave up and quit squirming.
    "What's a matter, kid?  We ain't gonna hurt nobody.  Whatcha skeered fer?"
    Tony stared up at the pale yellow eyes, and tried to keep his knees steady.
    "You git on away fr'm here, Red Nickols.  I know you and your dirty old gang!"
    The three boys stood there laughing at the defiant youngster, none of them out of their teens, but old with the hardness of the slums.  Profanity trickled lazily from the red-head's sneering mouth.
    "Yeah, kid, y'better know me.  Ever'body knows Red Nickols and the Red Devils.  Ain't this w'ere Al Simon lives?"
    Tony straightened.  "Yeah.  An' you better not let him catch you here, Red Nickols.  Al hates your guts!  Th' Black Caps are gonna get you and yer bunch o' sissies one o' these days!"
    "Aw, kid, you got us all wrong.  We ain't lookin' fer no trouble.  C'mon an' tell us w'ere Al is."  The big boy winked over Tony's head at his companions, and reached in his pocket.
    "I wouldn't tell you nothin' 'bout Al.  Lemme go!"
    The red-head pulled out a nickel and stood flipping it up and catching it, watching Tony's eyes follow it.  "Bet yuh don't know w'ere he hangs out.  Yuh couldn't tell if y' wanted to!"
    "Could so!  Al tells me ever'thing 'bout his gang.  I'm a member!"  He spat defiantly, but his eyes still followed the coin spinning in the air.
    "How much fer tellin' us where he is?  We just wants to talk to 'im real friendly like.  Nickel?"
    "No!"  Tony pulled to get away, but the big hand on his arm tightened cruelly.
    "Aw c'mon, kid.  We ain't lookin' fer no fight.  How 'bout a dime?  Okay?"
    "No, I ain't takin' none a your filthy money!  Lemme go!"
    "Chock'lit soda sure tastes good day like this here.  Just cost 15 cents, kid.  Like 'em?"
    Tony wavered.  If they really just wanted to talk friendly like, couldn't be any harm in that.  But Al had said not ever to tell anybody where the Black Caps had their meetings.  Not ever.
    "Quarter, kid?"
    Tony swallowed.  He could buy a soda and have some left for chewing gum and licorice.  Al said "not ever".  But they said they wasn't looking' for trouble.
    The red-head handed some change to one of his followers.  "Go in that t'baccer shop over there an' git pennies fer that.  It'll look like more."
    "Look, kid, thirty cents.  'Nough fer a soda, an' candy an' a funny book too.  Shore, yer nuts if y'don't take it.  Just tell us w'ere Al is so's we can talk to 'im a minute."
    The boy came back with a handful of bright copper pennies, and passed them to the red-head.
    "Look here, kid.  Thirty new pennies.  All yours."
    Tony blinked.  He never had that much money all at once.  "Okay."  He grabbed at the pennies.  "They're over at Lowes on Hutchins Street, down'n the basement."  He clutched the money and ran up the stairs, wishing already he hadn't done it.  what if Al got mad at him, and didn't ever tell him anything else?  But they said they wasn't wanting to fight.
    He went into the kitchen and got a drink of water.  Ma'd be there 'fore long.  He pulled a Bull Durham sack out of the trash can under the stove, stuffed the pennies in it. and dropped the sack in the pocket of his ragged pants.  Maybe he'd wait 'til tomorrow to spend it.  He ran out of the kitchen and back down the stairs.  The three young toughs were almost out of sight.  For a moment Tony almost wished he hadn't listened to them.  A chocolate soda didn't sound so good after all.  But worry finds small place in a seven year old mind, and the sack of pennies lay deliciously heavy in his pocket.
    Supper was over, and Tony was sprawled on the kitchen floor watching his Ma stacking dishes in the battered old cupboard when the police car drew up in front of the tenement house.  It wasn't an unusual occurrence in that neighborhood, especially with old Miz Murry across the street always calling and reporting disturbances.  He'd already forgotten it when the knock sounded on the outer door, and his Ma left the kitchen, wiping soap suds off her arms as she went.  Probably Miz Murry coming over to pester.
    But it was a man's voice he heard, and Tony got up from the floor to investigate.  He stepped through the door, and caught the last of what the policeman was saying.  It was the first time he had heard the voice of the law speak so quietly.
    ".....We're holding most of the bunch for questioning, but it seems pretty clear what happened without it.  Another kid gang war.  Big red-headed fellow and a dozen others jumped the gang your kid hung out with in a basement.  Looks like they had a special grudge against your boy, ma'm.  He's in St. Patrick's on First Street.  Doctor said he's got a  chance."  And he turned to go, shutting the door softly behind him.
    Tony's fingers loosened on the comic book, and his throat felt scratchy.  He tried to ask his Ma what the cop was talking about, but he knew.  Ma was crying and trying to get her coat on, and then she was gone, leaving the door standing open and a cool wind crawling over Tony's feet, rustling the leaves of the comic book on the floor.
    Tony heard the screak of bed springs and his sister calling him from the next room asking where did Ma go? He didn't answer.  He reached in his pocket and drew out the sack of coins, thirty bright new pennies.  He poured them out of the tobacco sack and looked at them again, hating the feel and sight of them.
    For a long time he stood there shivering and biting his lip to keep from crying.  His hands were so cold he couldn't keep them still.  The coins rattled against each other.  He ran to the open window, drew back his cupped hands, and threw the pennies far out into the dark street.

Written for Advanced Composition class, Mary Hardin-Baylor