Freak Wharf, pt. 13

And then I spy a familiar face - the punk who took my radio. Skulking around the tree and still holding that shoebox.

I break no stride lunging out across the counter for him. But as he lurches back, he stumbles over the roots of the tree. I snag his jacket with my southie and start reeling him in like a fish. He’s thrashing like one, too, trying like hell to get away, shrieking all the while-

”Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”
“Like hell, kid. I got you. It’s over.”

He's arching his back and kicking at me with both feet while I lift him up over the counter and into the Torpedo.

Ernie runs up. “Ay, yo, Ellie. Is this the kid that ripped you off?”

“Yeah, Ernie. This is him.”

And that's when the kid's foot connects with my gut and doubles me over, but not before I reach out and introduce him to Mr. Palm & his five brothers, right across the face. He slumps over like a rag doll. Then come the waterworks.