Jamaal thought about snatching the kid now. Last time he'd brought in a boy this age, Sebastian had given him fifteen grand. He could use that right now. His wife was bitching about school fees, but he could probably use it to win twice as much at cards.
There was a park just ahead. On the other side of the road was a school. Perfect street really. The trees made it darker than others. He would just stop a little way ahead of the boy and pull him into the back of the van as he passed. He knew it would be easy. The kid would be in the van before he knew what was happening.
The junkie was on the phone. He had the thing permanently glued to his head, doing deals in his whiny voice. Could he trust this prick to keep his mouth shut? He listened to the lies he was spinning over the phone and knew he couldn't. The first chance he got to make some money from the story, the junkie would tell whoever was asking.
The boy was approaching the park. It was now or never. Jamaal felt his muscles tense. He was rock hard with the feeling of impending violence, mesmerised by the pulsing of his blood in his ears. He looked at the door handle, ready.
Reason prevailed. He had a witness. A witness that couldn't disappear yet. Sebastian had him by the balls. He let go of the door handle and watched the boy cross the road and walk up past a few more houses. Almost panting with suppressed rage, Jamaal watched the kid approach the gate of number 38; he saw him pause for a minute, then open the gate and walk through. As the boy approached the front porch, a sensor light tripped and he heard the doorbell ring. He waited until he heard voices, then accelerated a little and turned the corner.
Fifteen grand.
The junkie laughed at something said on the phone. Jamaal felt his blood boiling; he stared at the road through a film of wet red. He drove the van a couple of blocks, chest heaving, and pulled over at the first dark place he could find.
The junkie hung up the phone and looked around in surprise.
'What are we doing here, man?'
Jamaal didn't speak. He cracked his fist into his passenger's face, oblivious to his pleading; he could hear only his own blood, roaring in his ears like a great mob. He grabbed the junkie by the back of the neck and forced his head down to his crotch, his other hand freeing his erection.
The junkie only stopped crying when he nearly choked. He set to work getting it over with. It wasn't as if he hadn't done it all before.