The Brave Read Free Page B

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    â€œHey, new face.” Sonny whirled into a neon smile. The blond girl had a sweet look under a mask of bright makeup. He slowed to let her keep up. “Don’t mind Stick. He thinks he’s mayor of the Port.”
    â€œJust the welcome wagon, Doll,” said the kid. “How about buying us some breakfast, Mr. Wagon?” Doll winked at Sonny. He felt warm and light-headed. Was it her or the mention of food? He hadn’t eaten since before last night’s fight. It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon.
    â€œOoo-eee,” moaned Stick. “You kids arecold.” He put a spidery hand on Sonny’s left arm. Before Sonny could shake it off, Doll was hanging on his right sleeve. They steered him through the bus station crowd like expert canoe paddlers avoiding the rocks in the rapids, around lurching beggars, howling kids, sweating tourists. Stick used his snake’s-head club to poke people out of their way. Sonny was standing between Stick and Doll at a high table outside a doughnut shop before he figured out how he had gotten there.
    â€œThe blueberry, my man, is numero uno, ” said Stick. He snapped his fingers at Doll. “And let’s have some tall and chilly O.J. for the liquids and vitamins necessary in this hellacious weather.” He watched Doll hurry off to the counter. “The teen queen likes you. She’s usually real shy with strangers.”
    Sonny slipped off the deerskin pack and dropped it between his feet. He squeezed it with his boot heels. Nobody’s going to snatch this and run. Just how dumb you think I am, Weasel? He touched the fat wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. Call Mom again in a few minutes. He had tried the number every time the bus made a rest stop. If there’s no answerthis time, I’ll just go to SoHo, wherever that is. Might as well get some free food first, hear what these hustlers have to say.
    â€œFirst time in New York?”
    â€œNo.” He remembered the other times only from the pictures in his pack: his father in uniform, just before he went to Vietnam, holding him in front of a fancy toy store on Fifth Avenue; with his mother’s Mohawk cousins in their high-steel hard hats, and posing in front of her jewelry stall at a Brooklyn crafts fair, his little arms hung with necklaces and bracelets.
    â€œN.Y.C. If you can make it here you can make it anywhere,” said Stick, waving his club at the crowds surging back and forth across the terminal floor. “And you, my man, could make it here.”
    â€œWhat do you want?” It came out tougher than he had meant it to sound. Too tough. As if he was afraid of Stick.
    Stick smiled. Up close, he looked much older than Sonny had first thought. At least eighteen. “Right thing. I knew you were no fool. You could be chief.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œThe street.” This time his wave includedthe shapes and colors swirling outside the bus station’s windows.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” He tried not to sound too interested.
    â€œBig, strong, you got a different look. People gonna want a piece of you. Right thing. Long as you get yours.”
    â€œHere we go.” Doll slid a tray onto the table and served them each a blueberry muffin on a napkin and orange juice in a paper cup. She had bought herself a glazed chocolate doughnut and a container of coffee.
    â€œI can use you myself,” said Stick. “Need a bang-bang.”
    â€œThat’s a security guy,” said Doll. She touched his headband. “That’s so fresh. What’s your name?”
    â€œSonny.”
    She offered her hand, warm and damp. “Doll’s my street name. It’s really Heather, you believe that?” She giggled. Under the powder was a constellation of freckles on her cheeks and nose. She’s really younger and softer than she looks, Sonny thought. “You got a place to stay?”
    â€œYeah.” With