“How old are you, son?”
“Sixteen, and I’m not your son.” I jut out my chin. The worst he can do is throw me in juvie which doesn’t scare me in the least.
“What if I told you the grocery store owner has agreed to drop charges?” The guy stands and holds out his hand to help me up but I ignore it and narrow my gaze.
Nobody gives something for nothing.“What’s in it for him?”
“He wants you to work for him, after school.”
I chuckle. “That won’t fly. I don’t go to school.”
Finally, I manage to shock the small-town cop. It took long enough. He curses and leaves the room.
When he comes back, I get booked for real. They take my fingerprints, mug shots, and empty my pockets. I never had a bed, a warm shower, and clean clothes. I even see a doctor and get antibiotics for a scratch I got climbing under some barbed wire a few months back.
Still, I worry about my Mom but I guess she’s okay. She probably slept with some other dude who let her stay at his place and maybe he shared a meal or two.
My mom is nowhere near as pretty as she used to be but she knows how to reel in the suckers. More than likely, she stole some dude’s wallet and I’ll hear from her in a few days.
For now, I’ll sit tight.
A few days later, I stand in front of the judge, surprised it’s a woman.
She looks kind of nice and her smile isn’t full of shit. “Hello Jack. I’m Judge Reynolds.”
“Hello ma’am.” We’ve stayed such a long time in the south, I’ve learned the value of being overly polite.
“I understand you were caught stealing some food from Winn Dixie.” Her eyes are about the same shade of blue-gray as her hair.
“Yes ma’am and I truly am very, very sorry. I was right hungry.” Maybe the accent is poured on a bit thick but it seems to work because her face gets all soft, like maybe I’m a lost puppy or something.
“When was the last time you had a real meal?” She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes.
“I guess you’re not askin’ about the half-eaten kids meals from the garbage?”
She nods.
“I don’t rightly remember, judge, ma’am.” But I do. My mom scored big and we ate pretty good in Albany a few months ago. However, it’s probably not the kind of thing this judge wants to hear.
“Officer Clay says you were living at the old Gregory place, in an abandoned car?”
“No one else was using it. We didn’t steal it. Ain’t no crime to sleep in an old car is there?”
She smiles but it’s more like she’s sad. “No son. I’m just trying to figure out your situation. Do you have any family?”
I shake my head, no. “Orphan.”
“Not even a mother?”
“I got a lady who cares for me but I’m not really sure if she’s my mom.” That’s a line of crap. But in a way, I’ve always dreamed my real mother was abducted by aliens and my mom is some stranger who found me by the roadside.
“Well, if you agree, you can stay with Mr. Gregory and work for his store. There’s a room in the back but if you steal, we’ll put you away for good.”
“I’m not a thief. I was just hungry and like I said, they was throwing the stinky stuff away. I just got to it a little early.”
I haven’t seen Mr. Gregory since he called the cops. Now, he’s in this old brown suit when he steps up and talks to the judge. Then, he shakes my hand like we were equals, me not a kid.
“I’m Stan Gregory. I need someone to help out in my store. You think you might like to do that?”
