Story Excerpts

A sign with two chess pieces–crossed black and white castles–hung on the wall. In front of the sign, a guy sat. He had his knee resting on a green metal desk, its linoleum top peeling up at the corners. The guy’s exposed skinny leg showed curly hair and pale skin. Ollie remembered his eighth-grade math teacher, Mr. Perkins. The teacher had also served as the faculty sponsor for the Chess Club, the nerd herd. Perkins fit the stereotype of a math/chess teacher. He used to sit that way too. Ollie grinned at the idea of “Perkodan” sporting a pair of red canvas Chucks, Dickies cargo twills, and an inside-out Pink Floyd retro T-shirt. 

“Something funny?” Skinny Leg asked. 

Ollie nodded. “Yeah, but I couldn’t explain it.” 

Skinny Leg looked like he might challenge Ollie. Then he shrugged. “You’re here because Grinder recommended you. How do you know The Grind?” 

“From around.” 

“He says you met at juvie. That right?” 

“My records are sealed so that I might move forward in life without the stigma,” Ollie recited. 

“You want the job, or don’t you?” 

“We met at juvie.” 

“What’d you do to end up there?” 

“I was deemed a child in need of supervision,” Ollie said. 

Skinny Leg dropped his foot to the floor and leaned across the desk. “What are you, some fucking ad for the juvenile justice system?” 

“Grinder and I boosted a car. I was driving when the police lit us up. I told them it was my idea.” Ollie sat back with a satisfied expression on his face. “Grinder had to walk home. I got to ride in the backseat.”

“Lucky you,” Skinny Leg said. “Did you have someplace to go?” 

Ollie shook his head. 

“Then why’d you steal the car?” 

“Because I could.”

“And what did you catch?” 

“Probation with community service.” 

“The juvenile justice system, in its wisdom, thinks we might work with you.” 

Ollie nodded. “Paying my debt to society.” 

“Grinder says your older brother is in the pen.” 

Ollie nodded and put both palms over his heart. “And the juvenile system is committed to breaking the cycle while I’m still redeemable.”

Skinny Leg eyed him for a long time. “Welcome to ROOK—Responsible Opportunities for Our Kids. Juvenile Services recognizes us as a legitimate place to do your community service.” 

Ollie nodded. “Shouldn’t it be ROFOK? As in, ROFOK yourself?” 

Skinny legs frowned. “It’s ROOK. Take your shirt off.” 

Ollie didn’t budge. “You’re not my type.” 

“But I want to know if you’re mine.” Skinny Leg stood and yelled down the hall. “Buster.” 

A guy filled the doorframe. He wore black jeans. His bulging traps made his head seem to sit directly on his shoulders. The guy rolled his head in a three-sixty, apparently to prove he had a neck. Buster grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. Pressed against his chest, the angel wings tattooed on his bicep swelled. He also had a spider web tattooed on his elbow and meaty, calloused knuckles. 

Ollie knew those hands had pounded guys bigger than he. He looked into Buster’s dead eyes. “If you’re going to get a tattoo on your face, shouldn’t you make sure they spell it right?” 

Buster’s lids parted, and the eyes flicked back and forth. 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure your face is supposed to say ‘Burn, Baby, Burn.’ But you let the ‘r’ and the ‘n’ bleed together. I see ‘Bum, Baby, Bum.’ It’s just not as cool.” 

Buster’s eyes darted again. Then he scowled. “Lose the shirt. Or I’ll show you bleeding together.” 

Ollie yanked the T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Then he unsnapped his jeans and let them puddle around his ankles. “Did my pants too. That way, you can see my bum.” He raised his arms over his head. 

Skinny Legs looked him over before nodding to Buster, who grunted. 

“Be careful walking outside, Princess,” Buster said. “People have been known to fall down and hurt themselves—several times.” He left the room. 

Ollie watched him march down the hall. “I’ll bet you ten bucks he runs straight for a bathroom mirror,” Ollie said. 

“Not everyone thinks it’s healthy to antagonize Buster.”  

Ollie snapped his jeans and then pulled the shirt back over his head, leaving it loose and untucked. “My juvie PO says I have high intellectual potential but that my progress through the system has been hampered by my impulse control issues.”   

“Grinder says you’re a stand-up guy, that you’re ballsy, and like to take advantage of opportunities.” 

“You’re making me blush.” 

“He also says you’re a smart ass.” 

“I prefer smart bum. Why did your big friend with the spelling issues want to see me nearly naked.”

 “Checking for a wire. We’re one of the most successful programs in the city for keeping juveniles off the streets. Some losers at Juvenile Services think we must be doing something wrong to be that good. There’s a continual rumor that they want to infiltrate our organization, find some minor violations, and shut us down. If ROOK can be successful and self-sufficient, there is not much point in spending tax dollars on a state agency. They’re jealous, and so we have to be careful.”

“Are we?” Ollie asked.

“Are we what?” 

“Doing anything illegal?” 

“ROOK exists to better the lives of disadvantaged youth,” Skinny Legs said. “I’ll show you what you’ll be doing.” He led Ollie down a hall to a green door. “We’ve repurposed this abandoned warehouse. This is your station.” Alongside the door sat a pail filled with candy. “For the rest of the week, you’ll distribute candy to neighborhood children. Not all the families in this area can afford to buy treats for the kids, and we don’t like them crossing the busiest streets in town to get doors slammed in their faces by the rich folks. ROOK offers our own Halloween giveaway. And that’s your community service. A kid comes to the door. Make them say ‘Trick or Treat’ and give them some candy. Think you can handle that?” 

Ollie studied his palm. With his right hand, he straightened his index finger. “Kids knock.” He straightened his middle finger and paused momentarily. “Wait until they say the magic words.” He unrolled his ring finger. “Chocolate bomb them. I got this.” 

“Show some skills at being scary, and we’ll give you a role in the haunted house we run on Halloween night.” Skinny Legs paused, apparently waiting for Ollie to say something. 

“I need thirty hours of community service restitution. Sooner I’m done, the better.” 

Skinny Legs turned and then stopped. “One more thing. Some of the kids in this neighborhood are special. You know what I mean, special?” He touched his index finger to his temple. The local kids know to say Trick or Treat. If some kid says Treat or Trick, send them down to the blue door.” He pointed down the hall. “They are supposed to know to go there, but you know, they’re the kind who forget.” 

“And what happens at the blue door?” 

“Same thing as here. But the guys handing out candy have training dealing with our special populations.” 

Ollie nodded. The job was ridiculously easy. 

“You got your form?” 

From his back pocket, Ollie pulled the community service restitution form his PO made the sponsor sign. Skinny Legs clicked his ballpoint pen. He wrote down the time and initialed the form before handing it back. 

“Dude, you wrote down three hours. I’ve been here like thirty minutes.” 

Skinny Legs shrugged. “We help our friends. And maybe you don’t mention we strip-searched you.” 

“What strip search?” 

Skinny Legs smiled and pulled a thick wad of cash from the pocket of his baggy khakis. He handed Ollie three twenty-dollar bills. “Did I mention we also pay you for your time?” 

The money disappeared into Ollie’s pocket. 

“The money keeps coming as long as you follow the rules. Stay in your spot. Don’t move, no matter what. The neighborhood kids count on us.”  

Ollie stood at the door for an hour, handing out candy to children wearing paper sack masks and T-shirts decorated with markers. It was almost fun. 

These community service hours seemed way better than painting a church office or cleaning cages at the Humane Society. A couple of costumeless teenagers, a little younger than Ollie, staggered to the door. 

“Treat or Trick,” one kid said. He seemed more stoned than disabled. 

“Go down there,” Ollie said, pointing to the blue door. 

Throughout the night, Ollie didn’t ask any questions; rather, he did as he had been told. Ollie even cleaned the area outside the green door, collecting discarded candy wrappers and scraps of foil. He didn’t want to blow this gig; it seemed almost too good to be true.  

Ollie stopped mid-thought. He’d been burned enough times to know that nothing was too good to be true. He watched a guy make a slow, unsteady walk around the corner of the building.  

Ollie followed him. The man knocked on the blue door and slowly recited the “Treat or Trick” line. Grinder, standing in the doorframe, nodded. Ollie saw that he had a pair of candy buckets, one of which was placed on either side. Grinder reached into the left one and pulled out a small blue cellophane package. He dropped it into the guy’s candy bag. The man laughed and staggered away.