- -- ---
The door chimed when Kiran pulled it open and stepped foot into the main office. At the front desk sat McKenzie. She looked up from her doodles to smile at him, telling him of Davide’s wish to meet with him.
As Kiran made ways towards the closed door, McKenzie’s mouth frowned at his walk. He walked with even more of a limp than he did last night. She didn’t even want to think about the pain he must have been in.
Pushing her own flashbacks of her first few days here out of her thoughts, she told Kiran to go on in to see Davide - “He’s waiting.” Kiran still knocked before he was told to come in, and walking into the room, he thought he’d see Davide furiously typing away on his computer, or taking calls on the phone, or maybe even having a chat with a future client in front of him or another worker - you know, things that you see managers or owners of an establishment doing.
No. Davide sat back in his cushioned swivel chair with his feet propped up on his desk, on top of layers of papers and magazines. In one of his hands was a fork and in the other a medium sized carton of Chinese take-out. A piece of General Tso's chicken was poked onto the fork's prong, mid-way to Davide’s mouth, levitating in the air as his eyes fixed on the flat screen television that was plastered to the wall adjacent him.
Chewing, his eyes flicked up to Kiran.
“Finally,” was the first word out of his mouth. He retracted his feet to the ground, setting the carton of food onto his desk. He gestured to the chair on the other side as he sat up straight. “You can sit if you
want, but it’d be kind of pointless. I have a job for you,” he informed, his smile making Kiran’s nose crinkle in uneasiness. “A promotion, if you will.”
He could go up from here? Richer clients? Or at least ones who were considerate of how he felt?
Whatta dream come true, his thoughts sneered.
“What,” Kiran began with a faint laugh, “Am I going to make house-calls now?”
He felt his stomach wrench when Davide laughed. “Oh, so close. No - what I want you to do is…” Davide had stood and was fiddling around in the drawers of his desk, taking another bite of his food once he found what he was looking for. A sports wristband that you typically see basketball players wearing. It was a bright fluorescent green with a white outline of a moon stitched onto its surface.
“Put this on,” he was told, taking it cautiously into his hands when Davide handed it over the desk. "Finally getting my uniform?" he asked, peering from it to his boss. He tensed as Davide made his way to the other side of the desk.
Davide confirmed, “Finally getting your uniform. What I need you to do is take yourself on a walk, thumb out like a hitchhiker.” He stood directly in front of Kiran. Kiran avoided eye contact, suddenly taking interest in the wristband. His eyes widen, feeling Davide’s fingers pushed against his chin.
He laced them through his dark head of hair.
Kiran was forced to keep eye contact each time Davide nudged the side of his face roughly. He had to fight to refrain from yanking his face out of Davide’s grip. He still recoiled away slightly at Davide’s fingers caressing over his lips.
Davide continued with his instructions.
“Smile,” he said. “I don’t care if it kills you; you’ll smile. If they invite you in, you’ll get in. And don’t even think of coming back if you make less than five hundred.” Less than five hundred…? Even Davide knew that was quite the request. Shrugging, he addressed it out loud. “Okay, three hundred, but that’s the lowest I'm willing to drop it.”
He knew there was no reason to lower the amount he expected Kiran to bring in. Barely even a reason to set one. To make it seem more legit, I guess? It’d be nice if Kiran managed to hook up with some other customers, but with that was most likely not being the true aim of the boy’s desires, Davide’s call from earlier and the thousand bucks he exchanged to get an ’Eh, alright,’ from the head honcho already told him it didn’t matter what other levels of hell Kiran would have to fight through tonight.
Still - it would be great if he could make at least half that thousand back within the same night. Watching Kiran slip the cotton band over his fist, Davide chuckled gravely.
“If you see any cops, throw that fucking thing in the river. If they can trace you back to me...not a good scenario.”
“Got it.”
“And I want that off.”
Kiran’s hands flattened against his chest. “My shirt?” “Make it fast. You’re losing time to work.”
Fingers gripping around the bottom of his shirt, Kiran hesitated, becoming anxious. A deep breath and then he lifted it overhead, immediately clutching the clump of fabric to his bare chest. Ignoring the faint patches of slowly forming bruises from Miguel’s assaults, Davide shifted to flick the bit of Kiran’s shirt that wasn’t balled under his fist. His eyes trailed over Kiran’s skin. His stomach wasn’t engulfed with a six pack but it wasn’t an eyesore. Not getting the recommended three square meals a day did do a number on its appearance and you could faintly make out the outlines of Kiran’s ribs, but overall, he looked mildly - oh-so-mildly - fit.
Davide could assume that he somewhat took gym class for what it was worth.
“Not too bad,” he commented, clicking his tongue. “Thought you said you didn’t work out.” Moving Kiran’s hands down, he saw there was the slight indication of pecs beginning to form.
Kiran quickly drew the shirt back in place. “The school has a weight room,” he mumbled, feeling his skin prickle under Davide’s eyes. “It’s not like I have internet or cable. I gotta do something.”
“So you lied to me earlier?”
“No. You asked if I was in any sports. I’m not.”
“But do you know what you are now?” Davide asked. He was feeling witty.
His brows furrowing, Kiran looked up at him cautiously. “Maybe. I don’t know. What?” A smile cracked over Davide’s face.
“You're officially a streetwalker.” -
Kiran’s weary eyes followed Davide’s index finger as it pointed down the length of the block.
“Just keep going straight until you get to the fork - that’s when the corn fields start and you’d be heading to Piqua. Don’t go to Piqua. Turn right just before that and keep walking until you get to UDF, then right again, and you’ll see the cemetery. Another right and you’ll be back here, but don’t come back here. Keep walking the same route, walk until you’ve made me some money. I don’t care how long it takes.”
The empty stare Kiran gave to the small gas station across the street made Davide sigh. He did his infamous grab for Kiran’s chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.
“Got it? ‘Cause I’m not going to repeat myself for you.”
He’s such a dick. Just shut...up. There was something about the way Davide spoke that pissed Kiran off -
well, that and the fact that he did indeed pick him up off the street and threw him right into the human trafficking trade. Davide spoke with authority, sure, but there was so much arrogance.
Probably since he knew no one would try to cross him. *sigh* except dumbass over here.
“I’m listening,” Kiran blurted, his feathers clearly already ruffled. “I heard you.”
The underlying hint of an attitude in Kiran’s answer, though he didn’t mean for it to leave his mind, was picked up on by Davide, and his thumb pressed hard against Kiran’s chin. His hand was suddenly raised. Kiran squeezed his eyes shut, sinking a few inches back, bracing himself for a slap to the face.
Instead of the smack landing against his cheek, he was shoved on the shoulder, hard, being knocked back a couple feet. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but enough to stun him.
Peering fearfully over his shoulder back at Davide, he saw the man’s jaw was clenched. “We’re back at five hundred,” he scolded. “Good job. Go.” One more shove to send Kiran on his way.
With his back turned to his boss, Kiran ran his fingers anxiously over his collar bones, reminding himself that his skin was exposed. Crossing his arms, he slowly set his walk to take him as far away as he could get from his new home as they’d allow.
They took him down to the end of the block, and turning the corner, he had the fleeting thought to just run and never come back.
But that stupid microchip. His brows creased in disdain.
“I fucking hate my life,” he mumbled exasperated as his feet came to stop at the edge of the curb. Despite knowing he was told to take another right, he stared at the empty street, waiting for the crosswalk light to change from a red palm to a stick figure.
There were very few cars out on the street, even though it was around five. How was he expected to make any money when no one was out to give it to him? He knew the lack of cars was due to him trolling the side streets, instead of the main, but still. What the heck?
As much as he liked the idea of avoiding as many people as he could, he needed money. A lot of it. But oh lawdy, he didn’t know if he could handle being harassed again.
This could be the rest of his life. This. Twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five until the day he died? Really? What the hell happened? What went so wrong in the past couple of days that set this as his destiny? He had been raped twice by the same man and given drugs to help cope. Now he was expected to hop into the back of just anyone's car and let them have their way with him, too., and then the same for the next person, and again and again.
Where did he go wrong?
The light changed to red and the little white outline of a man appeared. Kiran’s feet took him to the other side of the rode. He got halfway down the block before he heard the faint sound he recognized as a car engine.
Darting a look over his shoulder, he saw two headlights growing bigger and brighter as the pickup truck crossed the intersection Kiran just walked through moments earlier.
Deciding it was now or never, and figuring if anyone would be cruising along in a pickup truck, they were most likely a sexually frustrated male, Kiran hitched his thumb out….for nothing. The vehicle didn’t even give the slightest indication that it was going to stop for him.
Kiran lowered his thumb, along with his hopes, as the truck sped on by.
Well, he sighed, can't say I didn’t try.
Just then, as quickly as the automobile went by, it came to a screeching hault. It’s taillights shined a deep red as the driver backed up. Kiran slowed his walk, right as the truck stopped about ten feet ahead of him.
Oh, great. My prayers have been answered.
With a sigh, Kiran felt his back pocket to check that the condom Davide made him go run up to his room to get was still there. The circular outline said ‘yup’.
After one more pep talk, Kiran came around to the passenger side as the driver rolled down the window. Fixing on one fake ass smile, Kiran leaned down to meet eyes with the stranger, his smile faltering at the owner of the vehicle.
Sitting behind the wheel was a not what he expected. At least not the gender. A woman who looked to be in her late thirties lounged in the torn-up faux-pleather seat. She was a scrawny thing, her dark hair up in a messy bun with tanned skin and freckles on her aging face.
She had leaned towards the passenger side to make eye contact with Kiran, brow raising at his falling smile.
“You need a ride, honey?” she asked him sweetly, genuinely. She had that mothering, concerned tone. Kiran could tell from the look on her face that she was a bit apprehensive about stopping for a stranger, and he brought back his smile, making it a bit softer than before.
“Oh,” he said breathlessly, his heart rate returning back to somewhat normal. “No, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. My brother has the same truck. Sorry for bothering you.” Kiran began to back away, reassuring the woman that he was fine when she asked if he was going to be okay on his own. “You know where you are?”
“Yeah. I live around here.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Great.”
“Well - okay.”
“Wait!” Kiran’s hands gripped the glasspane of the half-rolled down window. An anxious chuckle as he proposed, “I mean, unless you’ve got some money to spare…or are feeling a little lonely...”
She nearly rolled the window up on his head. Kiran had to jump back as she jammed her foot onto the gas, and the truck sped off.
A moment of reflection as he realized just how creepy he sounded.
Awesome. He knew his best bet on actually getting his job done tonight was if he found a man - an at least bi-curious one at that.
He wondered for the first time of what would happen if he came across the wrong type of person. We got 'not interested female' out of the way, and she just sped off, but what about 'rapist'? Though, arguably, anyone who agreed to share a bed with a fifteen year old was, by law, a rapist, what about someone who refused take his 'no' as a valid answer?
He's seen Criminal Minds. There have been more than a few episodes where streetwalkers were picked out and murdered - brutally and typically in humiliating ways.
No thanks. Or what about 'homophobic aggressive fe/male'?
The last homophobic pair he dealt with kicked him out of his home when he was thirteen. What if the next homophobe he encountered thinks they can 'beat him straight'?
At that thought, a chill creeped up Kiran's neck and he shivered against the cool October air.
Staring up at the sky, he saw the sun was setting, the time of year meaning it was getting darker earlier than usual. With the darkness of night came the drop of temperature. He really didn’t want to be out all night, especially when he had a warm bed to sleep in.
Making a true effort, Kiran attempted to flag down a ride just a few more times, coming up empty each time. Two of the three times, neither vehicle bothered to stop for him, and the last one was a family of five, whose persistent offers he declined.
When all hope was starting to seem lost, he found himself back on the track Davide told him to stick to. He was back near that turn just before the fork in the rode that would apparently take him to the neighboring city.
One great thing about being back up here was that the block over was the stripmall, and in the alleyway next to the Main Street Market was where Kiran had been sleeping for the past few months. He had clothes there, blankets, trinkets, and such.
He didn’t have to think twice. He jaywalked across the slightly busy street, booting it to the other side before the bright headlights beaming down the right lane made him see ‘the light.’
However, while that car went on down the street without the faintest interest in the shirtless teen, his florescent wristband caught the attention of a parked ‘99 Dodge Durango. It’s lights were off, though it harbored passengers. That paired with the automobile’s black paint job made it virtually invisible.
-
The three men exchanged looks of relief as the driver said, “About fucking time.”
They had grown very impatient, having been waiting twenty minutes for the young man to come into their view. The driver checked Kiran’s appearance with the little Post-it note he scribbled Davide’s description down on.
Finding it was a match - the fluorescent wristband was the big sellpoint - he shifted to turn the engine over and flicked the headlights on.
“Bets on where he’s going?” he asked the two men as he pulled away from the curb. They all kept their eyes on the Kiran’s bare back, watching him hightail it down the sidewalk.
The ginger haired man who sat in the back suggested, “The school? They keep the weight room open, don’t they?”
“This late?” The driver shook his bald head in uncertainty.
“Griec said he used to sleep in the alley, over by Marsh’s. That’s where they met. He could be going back.”
Shrugs let Blondie know he made a good suggestion. “Marsh’s it is.”
-
Kiran only found it a bit concerning that this was the second time he saw the black SUV go by him. He tried not to worry himself over it and continued to head towards the alleyway.
But the third time it happened, he made himself accept that it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe they were customers, unsure of how to initiate a session? He was told to wear the wristband for a reason. That’s probably how Davide let people know who his workers were.
Dreading their encounter, he waited for them to pull up beside him and roll down the window, but they didn’t. The vehicle continued on down the street and took another left for the fourth time. Kiran was left alone once more and the thought of them coming back, which he knew was very likely, caused him to walk faster.
He made it to the alley and was pleased to see that while the garbage truck did make its rounds this morning, like usual, his blankets and pillows were still in the same place he left them.
The pizzas, however, were gone.