Little Runner Boy

The boy glanced towards either side of the street, making sure there weren’t any incoming vehicles, before making his way across to the other side. His destination was located in a nearby alley – a thriving clubhouse known only as Sal’s. A place with as much colourful night life and seedy reputation, especially for the hoods known to frequent the spot; not the kind of place his mother would feel happy about ever hearing him visit. It’s a good thing he’d left school early enough to stop by before heading for home.

Two hoods sat in front of the door, their jackets hung off a nail by the wall. They were in the middle of a dice game when the boy interrupted. He was afraid, but tried to put on a brave face as one of the hoods turned to glance at him.

“This ain’t a place for you to be in, kid,” he said. “Why don’t you turn around, shake a leg and beat it.”

All the way coming here he’d practised his intended words, but the fear drumming in his heart overwhelmed his courage and his words barely came out whispery. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Salvatore,”

The two hoods paused in their game, got to their feet and approached him. The boy stood rooted like a tree, his legs too scared to run. The second hood gave him a keen look. “Who you said you want to speak with, boy?”

He repeated his words more firmly this time, adding a salutation: “I’d like to speak with Mr. Salvatore, sir.”

“Dig this, Vic,” the second hood nudged his colleague, an amused expression on his face. “The kid wants to speak with Sal. Ain’t that a kick in the teeth?” He turned to the boy. “What makes you think Mr. Sal would want to speak with you?”

The boy lowered his face and muttered, “Nothing sir, I … I just thought I’d ask him for a job that’s all. My mom would break me in two if she ever knew I was here … just thought I’d come asking, sir.”

“Hold on a minute,” the hood named Vic said. “You’re Frankie Lombaro’s kid, ain’t you? What’s your name?”

“My name’s Jimmy, sir. My dad passed away a year ago.”

“I know – he was a good man. Come along, kid.” He opened the door and led the boy inside.

The interior was half lit and kind of looked spooky, but that was until Jimmy’s eyes soon adapted to it. The hood led him up a short flight of stairs towards the bar counter which overlooked the rest of the club’s interior. There were few people inside – the place wouldn’t be open for business until six in the evening. Mr. Salvatore, a man well into the prime of his life, owner of the establishment and one of the most feared and respected men in the community was sipping a drink while the bartender tended to bottles behind the counter. He was flanked on either side by two younger lieutenants when the hood brought Jimmy before him.

“Somebody here would like to have a word with you, boss,” the hood named Vic said before leaving the two of them. Sal finished with his drink before turning to face the boy. The look of awe on Jimmy’s face was quite apparent.

“Said you want to speak with me,” Sal said. “What can I do for you kid? I’m a very busy man.”

Jimmy stuttered a little, but was able to make his point clear. “Sir … Mr. Salvatore, I would like if you could … if I could work as an errand runner for you.”

Sal shook his head. “That’s not the sort of work a man of your age ought to be asking for, kid. Ain’t you supposed to be out in school, getting an education?”

“School closed a while ago, sir. I still would like if you could help me out with a job. Mother works too hard down at the clothes factory, I’d like to help out in anyway I can.”

“You’re Jimmy, ain’t you – late Frankie’s son. You and your mother live down by the railroad tracks, right?”

“Yes sir, we do.”

Sal appraised him more. “I knew your father. He once used to work for me; such a shame about him passing away the way he did.”

Jimmy nodded his head, not saying anything.

“How about you stop on by tomorrow by this same hour,” Sal said. “We’ll see what we can find for you. In the mean time,” he dipped a hand into the front pocket of his blazer jacket, took out a wad of rolled bills, counted some notes out of it and gave it to Jimmy. “Give this to your mother, with all my love.”

Jimmy thanked him, placing the money into his pocket while Vic appeared and led him back out of the building. Sal turned around on the counter, indicating the bartender to fill his glass again.

“That was a good thing you did there, boss,” one of the younger lieutenants said. “His old man would be feeling happy in his grave right now.”

“Yeah,” Sal replied, downing the contents of his glass. “Especially since I’m the one who put him down there for being a no-good rat. Let’s hope the son doesn’t end up the same way.”

Jimmy thanked the two hoods outside before hurrying for home with the bright summer sun shinning down on him. Life had never felt any better than it presently did for him.