Thug
by J. E. Medrick
Copyright © 2011 by J. E. Medrick
Cover art by: Jeroen ten Berge
"Thug" is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any and all semblance to actual events, people, or locations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, sold or transmitted in any form, by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without the express written consent of J. E. Medrick.
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About the Author
J. E. Medrick currently resides in Ohio with a cat, a car, a dog and a fiancé. They are: Raven, Riley, Ajax and Andy, respectively. This is her third novella. She has a BBA from Kent State University and spent three years in Japan, teaching English.
To read about the author's life, please visit her blog at: http://jemedrick.blogspot.com
If you wish for information on further releases by this author, please subscribe to: http://jemedrickbooks.blogspot.com
J. E. Medrick's fan contact e-mail is: JEMedrickbooks@gmail.com
Thanks to everyone for all the support!
For Andy.
Sorry I used
the word you hate.
Table of Contents
Prologue - Protective
The electric razor hummed as he swiped it over the top of his head. Bristly brown hairs showered down into the sink, swirling in the running water. The buzz made his eyes jiggle. He had to pull the razor away to check his progress in the mirror. Finally satisfied, he took great care to wash any stray bristles down the drain. He smiled though - the look on Anna's face when she declared his leftover hair disgusting was priceless. But, he promised to try and be more careful.
He secretly held a lot of hope for this school year. He was a freshman... finally! Sixth grade had proved hard - and distracting. He failed out by the skin of his teeth, in too many classes to cover with just summer education. Last year most of the kids his age and his friends graduated to their new school. He spent a fourth a year in the middle school, where he was already taller than most of the teachers.
He would not make the same mistakes this year. New schools were meant to be harder, so he would try harder and finish with his current class. He smiled at himself in the mirror. Maybe he could even get into college.
His mother and father bustled around in the kitchen, talking and laughing. They both worked second shift in the same factory, so they saw their kids off in the mornings. He frowned down the hallway at Anna's closed door. If she did not get moving soon, they would both be late. She was a sixth grader this year. It was only the second week of classes - there was no way she already slept too late.
Actually, now that he thought of it, she was quiet all weekend. Normally bubbly and full of smiles, she stayed locked in her room the past few days. Was she sick? He went and knocked gently on the door.
"Anna?" Anthony asked. "Are you awake? We're going to be late if you don't hurry up." His gray eyes narrowed at her muffled response.
"I'm not going."
"Are you okay? Are you sick?" His questions received silence. "Anna, I'm coming in, okay?" Worried, he turned the knob. It was unlocked and he stepped into her dim room. She sat in a huddle, with her blanket thrown over her shoulders. Her arms wrapped around her legs and partially hid her face.
"Do you want me to call you off?" Anthony asked gently. "Do you have the flu?"
She lifted her face to his voice and shocked him with the tears on her cheeks. "I can't go back there, Tony, I just can't!"
"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Why can't you go back?"
She turned her head away as fresh tears rolled from her eyes. The blanket shook with her emotion.
"Anna," Anthony pleaded. "Please, talk to me! You know you can tell me anything - what's wrong?" Seeing his sister cry sent painful rents through his heart. He would give anything to save her, no questions asked.
"It's this guy," she whispered. "Tommy."
"Tommy who?" he asked, bewildered.
"Tommy Gosselin."
"Who is he?"
Anna screwed up her face with fresh torment. A soft wail escaped her throat and she buried her face in a corner of the blanket.
"Anna!" Anthony cried desperately. "Tell me what's wrong!"
"He," she sobbed, "he said he wanted to date me."
Anthony clenched his fist involuntarily. "Okay..."
"And so I became his girlfriend. He's an eighth grader and I thought it was so cool. But then he told me I had to... to do some stuff..."
"What kind of stuff?" he asked, jaw clenching.
"Stuff, Tony! Stuff I didn't want to do! I said no!"
"So what happened?"
"So he dumped me! But then he went and told everyone that I did that stuff anyway!"
An icy rage began to build within him. Very calmly, he said, "Let me understand. You dated an eighth grader who told you to do things you refused and then he dumped you and told everyone you did them anyway."
She nodded from within her blanket.
"Okay." he said calmly. "Anna, I'm calling you off school today. Please rest. And don't worry. Just rest. Can you do that for me?"
"What will you do?" she asked, fearfully.
"Don't worry about it," he said gently. "Rest. For me, okay?"
She nodded, slowly laying down on her bed. He closed her bedroom door softly. Deliberate steps took him to the kitchen.
"Anna is sick," he said clearly. His parents looked at him in surprise. "Please call her off school." Before they could ask questions, he vanished through the other exit and out the front door. They lived close enough to walk to school, but he turned his steps toward the middle school, instead of Waredo High. He could not keep his steps measured and was soon running as fast as he could toward the middle school. His long legs ate up the pavement as he sprinted heedlessly across streets and past distressed school traffic guides.
Flushed, sweaty and almost out of breath, he made it to the middle school. Students stared at him curiously as he bent over to suck in oxygen. They milled around outside the school before the first bell.
"Excuse me," he asked a group of them, once he felt sufficiently recovered. His words were wrapped in blunt neutrality. "Do you know Tommy Gosselin?" He asked four groups before someone finally pointed him toward the boy. With a detached manner, he approached.
"Are you Tommy Gosselin?" he asked.
"Yeah," the kid grunted. "Who's askin?"
Anthony felt no resistance as his fist smashed into the boys face. Tommy slammed into the pavement. In his daze, he tried to stand, but Anthony rammed his foot down into the boy's chest, winding him.
"My name is Anthony Leeman," he answered with unreal clarity. "You told some lies about my sister." He stomped on Tommy's chest for emphasis. "Lies, Tommy."
Gasping, Tommay asked, "What do you want?"
"I want the truth," he responded with deadly calm. "Stand up, Tommy." He stepped back to give the boy room. Other students were staring at them in shock, as blood ran down the eighth grader's face.
Without warning, Tommy took a swing at Anthony. He missed and found himself hoisted into the air by his shirt, tossed almost carelessly against a wall of the building. Tommy turned in time to get another fist in the side of his face. It landed with a crack, fracturing his cheekbone. He fell to his knees, crying.
Finally breaking, Anthony unleashed a mess of kicks, punches and incoherent shouts at the younger boy. Three teachers finally drug him off the sobbing form of Tommy Gosselin. The boy hunched on the pavement, trying desperately to protect himself. Anthony bared his teeth at his handiwork, raw, animal rage still coursing through his veins.
There was no hope for this year, anyway. An attack of this magnitude probably meant juvenile detention, counseling and suspension, if not expulsion. It was worth it, every scratching nail and sunk fist. Everything was worth it, for Anna, and to see this lousy piece of garbage reduced to quivering tears on the pavement, in front of everyone. Let his lies manifest in agony. For Anthony, this year was finished. At least he would have another chance to be a freshman... next year.
Episode 5 - Anthony, age 19
"Thug"
- 1 -
Thursday, August 22nd
Cheapskate. Skeev. Jerk.
Anthony pasted a smile on his face while crushing the money in his fist.
"Have a nice day!" he said with false cheerfulness. The man at the door gave him a mistrustful glance and slammed it so hard the woodwork shivered. The sleeves of his shirt fluttered in an ominous wind, kicked up across the lawn. Anthony folded the hot bag under his arm and leapt off the porch, dashing for his car. Any minute and the rain would start. With luck, he could be back at the store before the worst of it hit.
The engine turned over with an angry groan. "Easy boy," Anthony soothed, patting the steering wheel. "Just make it to the weekend, okay Clarence? I swear the guys at the shop are itching to give you a tune-up."
He gave a quick one-two glance at the road. Gunning the engine, he shot out of the driveway. Gravel sprayed into the grass and clanged against the underside of Clarence. Anthony gave a satisfied smirk at the divots his spinning tires left in the man's driveway - served him right for not tipping. Clarence sprang down the road at Anthony's urging. The stick shift slammed into fifth gear.
What was with all the stiffs? Did people not realize that, besides gas, he had to pay for maintenance on his car? He only received about half the two dollar delivery fee - some bogus policy by the company that said they took half for maintaining active drivers. A run like this, where he was 30 minutes out and no tip... he was actually losing money by doing his job. It said right on the box: "Any delivery fee charged is not a tip for your driver. Please reward them for good service!" He had a sister at home, who relied on the pennies these people grudgingly bestowed. If they did not plan to tip, why did they not come get it themselves...
The distant rumble of thunder gave the atmosphere a tense, expectant hum. Anthony realized his knuckles were white from the force with which he gripped the steering wheel. He unclenched the worn leather, trying to relax. He cranked the knob on the stereo, filling the car with the unintelligible babble of wailing singers and bass.
He engaged the clutch and brake, downshifting to second gear as he slowed. He squinted and hunched his shoulders as the squeal of his brakes pierced through the music. He really needed to have those looked at, probably replaced. That cost money - too much money. He had more important things to buy, like food for his little sister. Anthony jerked his neck to the side, cracking it loudly.
While slow, his car did not halt completely. He slid past the red sign in a rolling stop, whipping around the corner and shifting up again as he gained speed. It was not that he wanted to break the law - he respected stop signs. If there had been danger, he would be stopped in his proper place. Clarence, however, did not care for the law. At a complete stop Clarence would give him grief at chugging forward in first gear. First gear was probably the most important. In a perverse way, Clarence seemed to know that and only granted passage... sometimes. Better not to risk it out in the boonies.
He sped down the road. A break in the tree line revealed the clouds headed his way. The roiling black mass oozed across the sky. It swallowed the blue expanse into its dirty depths.
The next rumble of thunder boomed considerably closer. The windows in his doors shuddered and rattled in their frames. He gave a nervous glance at the approaching storm. It was going to be a monster of a storm - a real doozy. A flash of chagrin ran across his face. Anna was still at the Harrisford Recreational Center! He planned to pick her up after his shift ended. He did not want to leave her to wait in this. He could not!
In the parking lot of his store, he furiously cranked his windows closed. The light of the day shone with a murky red tinge. This was definitely indoor weather. He jumped from his car as the first fat drops plopped down. Snatching the hot bag from the passenger seat, he ran for the door. Even so, water rolled down the collar of his polo and left him a dripping mess in the doorway.
"Don't bring that in here!" shrieked the manager. "Shake off outside first! You're going to track water everywhere!" The man glared at him with unrestrained anger.
"Shake off like a dog?" Anthony muttered, stepping under the awning. He brushed droplets from his shirt, only somewhat effectively. His shorts already tugged at his hips with the extra weight. Back in the store, he ignored the sour face of his manager and clocked in from his run. The heavy scent of baking pepperoni floated from the oven.
"I'm ready to leave," he said, as calmly as possible. It was already twenty minutes past his shift ending. The next driver was late - not his problem. He had places to be and was not responsible for his coworkers.
"Take out the trash, first," his manager snapped.
"Karl, come on," Anthony protested. "I have to pick my sister up."
"Trash," Karl snarled.