I DON'T KNOW who my mother is.
Everyone called her a whore, and since she left me in a trashcan wrapped in a plastic bag; I think I will too.
I don't really know what whore means, but it sounds bad when everyone says it so that's what I call her. She doesn't deserve any good names. Not from me.
I am the son of a whore.
I am the son of a murderer.
I know my father.
I got my green eyes from him. I couldn't see much else of his face with the bushy blonde beard in the way. His long hair was always pulled away from his face, so I had to tell what he was feeling by his eyebrows. If they were high on his forehead, it was fine but if they were low and pushed together then I needed to stay out of his way.
My father's name is Erik, and everyone calls him that. I only know his actual name because he told me to call him that instead of dad or even father.
I found out my name on the day I turned seven.
Until then, everyone just called me kid or bastard. I knew none of those could be my name.
"Silver."
"Silver…"
"Silver!"
I looked up from the small mountain of dirty shillings I was counting in my hands. It was the most I have gotten since I started begging on the streets.
I looked at Erik, mildly irritated. He screwed up my concentration, and now I would have to start all over again.
"What's silver?"
"Not what, who. Don't you hear me calling you boy?"
"Is Silver my name?"
"Sure."
"How long has that been my name?"
"Thought of it a few days ago. Figured that bitch of a mother you had wouldn't bother naming you before throwing you away."
I stopped answering to kid and bastard. Silver sounded better.
My father kills people, but I don't care. Why should I when he lets me riffle the pockets of the corpses?
"He's higher up the ladder so you might find something expensive on him."
My eyes go wide at the shiny watch I pull out of the pocket of his coat. I quickly pull it away before it can get dirty in the blood soaking his clothes.
The weight of it feels heavy in my hand as I hold it up to the moonlight for a better look.
Erik lets out a low whistle of appreciation.
"Nice find Silver. Pawn it and you'll come out with a nice, heavy pocket."
"More than ten shillings?"
"Far more than that. Don't spend it all in one place."
I'd take being the son of a murderer over being the son of a whore any day.
That night, I slept with the watch fisted tightly in my grip. First thing tomorrow, I plan to take it down to Tony's and then the Cash for Gold place. Like hell I'll sell it before I get it checked out first.
The sunken, cracked brown leather couch is empty when I wake up the next morning, but it doesn't bother me. Erik does what he does and unless he calls me along to shake down a body, then I couldn't care less.
Both Tony's Antiques and Cash for Gold are on the very edge of where the dark, trashy streets that I live on transfer into something neater and more welcoming. They were close enough to dip their toes in shady business but still far enough away that the cops would show up if either of them called.
They couldn't make up their minds. They should either be in or out; Balancing on a tightrope meant you would fall to either side at some point. I would know, at one point I was a street performer doing sleight of hand magic tricks and balancing acts. I don't bother with it anymore, takes too much time. Besides, the drunks who gamble around the corner beat me and stole my scavenged deck of cards and money.
I dress in the best shirt I have, which really isn't that great considering I only have a few.
Having stowed my watch deep in my pocket, I stepped out into the dreary streets.
It's the weekend and supposedly a day to relax, but you'd never be able to tell around here. The streets are still alive with people trying to hustle some cash; There was no time to think about taking a break until the gnawing hunger in your stomach was dealt with, until the itch beneath your skin finally subsided with the help of the shit ton of drugs being sold in plain sight.
As Erik used to say whenever he got a new job…
No rest for the wicked.
For once, the walk to Tony's is calm. I only had to dodge the hands of a few crackheads as I walked. Usually, the men who smoked outside the dingy bar a few streets down would call me over to shake dice for them, something about being a neutral party. I only ever indulged because they could kill me if they were in a pissy mood. Round here, knowing how to pick your battles was essential to survival.
The front of the bar is empty of the heavily tattooed fuckers. Being curious only gets you in trouble, so I count it as my good luck and keep moving.
Tony's is empty when I open the door and set off the dull jingle of the bell. I've been here a few times, enough times to know that his selling antiques is just a cover for what he really does. What he really does?
I don't care; Curiosity doesn't do shit for you.
I lift a hand to cover my nose as I walk past all the little trinkets and rubbish covered in a thick layer of dust before I finally make it to the long, wooden counter where the cash register sits.
He's not there. He's never there.
"Tony!"
"I'm comin' keep ya goddamn pants on!"
The uneven hobbling of his feet thumps against the floor before he appears from the mysterious backroom.
Tony has an enormous belly and an unkempt beard, always wearing the same old musty wife beater that I'm sure is now glued to his skin. Balding head poorly covered by the comb-over he always sported. Among all his bodily problems, he was most self-conscious of the lack of hair on his head.
One of his eyes is light gray from blindness, from the same war that took his right leg, he once said… I don't believe him.
I peer over the table as he looks down at me with a frown.
"Kid, whatcha doin' here?"
"I got something big this time Tony."
"Bullshit. Last time ya said that ya came with a fake coin."
"I'm serious this time!"
"Yeah yeah, put 'er on the table."
I gently fish the gold watch from my pocket and lay it down as if made of glass for inspection.
Tony's eyes widen, and he picks it up to study it as he brings a small magnifying glass to his one good eye.
"What poor sap did ya steal this offa?"
"I didn't steal it, the owner just doesn't need it anymore."
He raises a suspicious eyebrow at me and I roll my eyes.
"As if you care."
He grunts but says nothing.
He flips the watch over to study the back. I know there's something written on there, but it was all weird squiggles that I couldn't understand.
"What does it say?"
He squints his eye in contemplation before they both widen and his face bleaches of all color. He drops the watch as if it were shit and looks at me with unveiled malice.
"Where the fuck did you get this?"
I blink up at him, the serious tone of his voice has me hesitating. If I say it might put Erik in danger and while I don't love him, he makes my life easier.
"Answer me!"
"Whoa there, no need to be hostile to the kid."
The sound of an unfamiliar voice has me jumping out of my skin and pressing my back to the table for security.
A tall man dressed in a hat and long dark coat is standing directly behind me, eyes closed as he smiles at Tony.
How the fuck did his big ass sneak up on me? I hadn't even heard the bell.
Instantly all the anger seeps from Tony, leaving him a trembling mess. I had never seen him so physically scared of anything.
"Jay, I-I didn't mean-"
"Relax Tony you're just curious… in fact, so am I."
He turns his attention to me as he kneels to get closer to my height. It's then I see the eyes shadowed by his hat are a pale blue color. His face is clear and healthy, sharp nose and jaw make it obvious that he isn't from around here.
He reaches a hand out and ruffles my hair, the only reason I don't pull away is because he's dangerous. I can smell it radiating from his skin in waves, his smile only makes him seem more creepy.
"What say you, kid? Want to tell me where you got that shiny watch?"