General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part VIII

As I brushed past him to open the thick metal door for him he muttered something quietly under his breath. I think he said “thank you.” But I’m not really sure.

I stepped out onto the vast unknown blacktop and held the door open for Kenny. He walked out into the bright sunlight with an unusual swagger, and as he passed me I saw that he had his arms behind his back, the middle finger of his right hand wrapped tightly around his left wrist.

Everything around us seemed to stop. Kids stared. I looked around for playground monitors hoping no one would throw us off the school’s grounds. Kenny looked slowly from one side to another, pacing slowly across the open ground. Eventually, he stopped before the biggest kid on the field, and his arms seemed as thick around as the basketball he held in his hands.

“My name is Mr. Wells. This is my associate.” Kenny briefly gestured at me before clasping his arm behind his back again. “We are in the market for some muscle. It occurs to me that you have plenty to spare. How would you like to make a little money?” My mouth nearly dropped. Wearing Kenny’s dorky sweater and khakis was an honest to god mobster in the making.

I looked at the older boys and tried my best not to look nervous. Would they take him seriously? I thought it was more likely that they’d toss us back over the iron fence.

The guy Kenny addressed jammed his basketball against his side and used his free hand to scratch his chin. After a moment the kid smiled, then barked a laugh. The rest of the yard followed suit, twice as loud and three times as malicious as the taunts of our own class.