I Am Death Read Free Page B

swimming pools in their backyards, a far cry from the squalid apartment he shared with his aggressive father in Inglewood, South Los Angeles. His mother had left them without ever saying
goodbye when Ricky was only six. He never saw her again, but he missed her every day.
    Ricky had promised himself that one day he would live in a big house with a large backyard and a swimming pool. He was going to be a writer. A successful writer.
    Ricky was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the sound of the other bicycles approaching from behind. By the time he noticed them it was too late.
    One of the five bicycles leveled up to the left of Ricky’s front wheel, squeezing him against the high-curbed sidewalk. Out of panic, instead of braking, Ricky increased his speed.
    ‘Where the fuck you think you’re going, freak?’ the hooded rider shouted from under the blue and white bandanna that was covering the bottom half of his face. ‘You
don’t belong in this neighborhood, you ugly and skinny fuck. Go back to your dirty slum.’
    Two of the other riders were also screaming abuse at Ricky, but he was too scared to properly hear them.
    Ricky ran out of room as his front wheel started to scrape against the curbstones. His whole body was shaking with fear. He knew he was about to fall. Suddenly, a second hooded rider leveled up
to him and kicked out, hitting Ricky’s left leg and sending him and his bike flying over to the sidewalk. He hit the ground hard and at speed, skidding a full yard, enough to scrape the skin
on his hands and knees almost clean off. His bicycle tumbled over him, landing heavily on his legs.
    ‘Woo hoo! Ugly boy fell off his bike,’ Ricky heard one of the kids say as they headed off, laughing out loud.
    Ricky lay still for a moment, his eyes shut tight as he fought back tears. He thought he heard the sound of hurried footsteps.
    ‘Hey, are you OK?’ a male’s voice asked.
    Ricky opened his eyes to blurred images.
    ‘Are you all right?’ the voice asked again.
    Ricky felt someone lifting his bike off his legs. His hands and knees hurt as if they’d been scalded with boiling water. He looked up and saw a man kneeling next to him. He was dressed in
a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and a red tie. His brown hair was wavy and pleasantly tousled above a prominent brow, high cheekbones, and a strong chin that was covered by a neatly trimmed
goatee. His pale-blue eyes showed concern.
    ‘Who were those kids?’ the man asked, jabbing his chin in the direction that the gang had ridden off in. He had a somewhat angry look on his face.
    ‘What?’ Ricky said, still a little disoriented.
    ‘I was just on my way to pick up my son from school when I saw a bunch of kids bump you over.’ He indicated his car, which was hastily parked with two wheels up on the sidewalk on
the other side of the road. The driver’s door was still open.
    Ricky followed the man’s gaze. He knew that the kids on the bicycles were Brad Nichols and his gang of asshole friends, but he said nothing. It would make no difference anyway.
    ‘Hey, you’re bleeding,’ the man said with serious concern, as his eyes moved first to the boy’s hands, then to his knees. ‘You’ve got to clean that up before
it gets infected. Here.’ He reached inside his breast pocket and handed Ricky a couple of paper tissues. ‘Use this for now, but we need to wash it with disinfectant soap and warm water
pretty sharpish.’
    Ricky took the tissues and dabbed them against the palms of his hands.
    With the fall, his rucksack had opened, scattering his books on to the sidewalk.
    ‘Oh!’ the man said, first helping Ricky to his feet, then helping him collect his books. ‘You go to Morningside? So does my son.’ He paused as he handed one last book
back to the boy, looking rather surprised. ‘You’re an eighth grader?’
    Still in silence, Ricky nodded carelessly.
    ‘Really? You look like you’re about ten.’
    ‘I’m eleven,’