Rick Corday rented a small storage shed near the north side. The area had become so violent that he kept swearing to get a garage someplace else but as yet he hadn't gotten around to it.
Now, as he pulled up to his small shed, one of a hundred such sheds inside the cyclone fencing, he saw the two teenage boys he'd had some trouble with the last time.
One white, one black.
They'd called him a name he hadn't liked at all and he'd given them the finger.
As he'd pulled away, they'd thrown rocks at his car.
Now, getting out of the car, he observed them. They were a hundred yards away, near the entrance, watching him.
This wasn't a good time to harass him.
He was still very angry with Adam. Adam always played so many mind games. He knew Rick was a hypochondriac, for instance, so he was always telling Rick how pale and sick he looked. And when they watched TV talk shows, Adam always said, 'That sounds like you, Rick,' whenever somebody had some real head problemslike the guy that killed his mother and then skinned her and wore her around the house all day. And Rick, who was very insecure, always bought in. He was just too suggestiblebelieving virtually everything Adam told him.
Adam.
The bastard would never be faithful: never. Wouldn't even make the attempt.
Rick took his keys from his pocket, unlocked the shed, walked in and looked around. He heard the distant barking of angry dogs.
Rick was an orderly guy. Boxes were stacked neatly on either side of the small shed. He needed the one containing his winter boots and parka and windshield scraperall the accoutrements to get through a Midwestern winter.
He took down the box. Hidden behind it was a small suitcase; a quarter of a million dollars was in it. He picked up the box. Then he went outside and locked the shed and turned around and looked at the two teenagers standing there.
One white, one black.
'You gave us the finger the other day,' the black one said.
'Oh, yeah?'
Rick just went on about his business, saying nothing more.
He opened the car door and slid the box in on the backseat.
And that's when the white one made his move.
Put his hand on Rick's shoulder. Tried to spin him around.
Rick brought his knee up and hit the boy square in the groin.
He pushed the boy over backwards.
All the kid could do was hold his crotch and roll around on the ground.
'Hey, man, you can't do that,' the black one protested.
Rick pushed his angry face up against the kid's face. 'Oh, yeah? Who's gonna stop me?'
The black kid kind of shrunk in on himself.
Rick got in the car and drove away.
The white one was still rolling around on the ground, clutching himself.