09.10.08
Orphan fighter, pt. 17
Despite having declared a friendship with the child, things were not going so well. It was the end of the month, and I hadn’t managed to get Jesus to behave. I mean, he wasn’t as bad as before, but progress was slower than I was hoping for. I wondered if I had mistakenly assumed that he’d be more obedient to someone he liked. Maybe he was going to be a pain in the ass whether he liked you or not, you know? Anyway, when Dale came to me asking if the kid was ready, all I could do was shrug and say, “eh. maybe.”
That was good enough for Dale, so when the date came for the fights, Jesus was loaded into the van with the rest of the kids. I got to ride in Dale’s car with another one of the handlers as we made our way to the Lord’s Children’s Orphanarium again.
“Which one’s yours?” the guy asked me. I felt like a parent at the playground.
“The little one.”
“Oy, is that right? No offense, but he ain’t much to look at.”
“To be honest, I don’t know what I’ve got in him.”
“Not expecting much are we?”
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s got all the tools. He’s just a nutcase is all.”
“That’s too bad. You know what happens if yer kid fails on his first try?”
“What’s that?”
“Labor camp.”
“For me or for the kid?”
“Haha, for the kid, of course. Trainers just get reassigned within the system. Janitorial services and whatnot.”
“What if I’m not in this system.”
“Who knows. They’ll probably give you the thumbscrews or something. Haha.”
“That’s a good one.”
“Anyway, don’t sweat it so much. You gotta believe in your kid.”
That’s pretty much the last thing I wanted to hear. As the conversation started to die, I zoned out a bit. Next thing you know, we were at the LCO and Dale was knocking on my window.
“Hey, Jacky Mac. How’s my saviour?”
“You mean me or Jesus?”
“Haha, good one, my man. Give me both.”
“We’re both peachy.”
“Good to hear it.”
“Say Jack, I meant to ask you. How much do we win or lose based on how Jesus does.”
“Hmm, I think we put up 6 grand on the boy. If he wins we double it. If we lose, you owe me 6 big ones.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The thought of losing 6 G on account of a pain-in-the-ass shorty was making me antsy.
“I’m rootin’ for you, Jack,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “Let’s hope your pony pulls through tonight, yeah?”