[ WP ] In the dead of night a young girl meets an intimidating man with severe scarring . After the confrontation the man is the one who is afraid .

The man was a criminal. There was no doubt about it, especially with the way he looked. His teeth were a mess, yellowed and misshapen, with a characteristic gap in between his two front teeth in the distinct shape of a'v' where they converged. 
 
 His face boasted a horrific scar, which went from his left brow all the way down to his chin, where the gash had created a little naked spot amidst his dirty goatee. That was from the mass riots in'92, when the man found himself caught in a violent melee against the riot police. He could n't remember what the protest was about, but that hardly mattered -- it was simply the violence, the chaos, the anarchy of the moment that drew him there. The culprit behind the gash was one anonymous student with bloodshot eyes who had thrown a molotov straight into the face of the man, who writhed in pain, a spectacle for both the police and the protestors. He could barely remember the aftermath, but now he carried that bit of his history visibly on his face, rutted from years of violence and tan from prison labor. 
 
 He had been in and out of the `` system'' -- a nice way of saying he was a jailbird -- for all of his adult life, but today was very different. Today he was a free man. There was no telling how long this freedom would last this time, but the man was n't afraid of going back anyway. The whole process seemed old to him. The fear, adrenaline -- the thrill -- of being arrested was a distant memory, one that he had hardly felt in the last few run ins with law enforcement. It was all a game to him, and like all games, it was bound to get old at some point. 
 
 It was midnight and he was loitering in front of the corner store. Harry, the guy working the counter, was a familiar face. Their relationship was hardly a friendship, but it was something. Harry knew the man ( and his reputation ) but he also knew he would n't turn on Harry. The man was crazy, but not crazy enough to hurt the only guy who would indulge his small talk without hurrying off at the slightest opening. He liked Harry. 
 The two had a `` working relationship'', akin to maybe a circus trainer and one of those so-called domesticated tigers. But underneath the veneer of trust, there was a little unease from both sides. Just a little bit of tension. Most days, however, they chatted for however long, sharing cigarettes and killing time together. Harry did n't mind having someone to talk to when the hours were slow, and Pete, who had no friends, did n't either. 
 
 The man was standing outside in the frigid midnight air, colored yellow by the dim street lamp on the corner. He had bought a couple scratch offs, and was spitting angrily in the snow because none of them were winners. 
 
 `` What a fucking waste of money,'' he said loudly, `` Ai n't that right, Harry? It's all a huge fucking scam for suckers. Suckers like me who want to win big, ai n't that right Harry?'' 
 
 The man laughed manically. 
 
 Harry was outside with the man now, smoking his midnight cigarette. He glanced warily at his companion, trying to read his cues. 
 
 `` Sure is, Pete,'' said Harry cautiously. `` But lem me tell ya, it's ai n't all a waste. Some people do win big. Had an old lady hit the jackpot for two grand a couple weeks back. Just got ta be patient.'' 
 
 Pete ( that was the man's name ) flashed a devilish grin and playfully punched Harry on the arm. 
 
 `` Ha! They tell you to say that, boy? You giving me that old salesman crap?'' Harry squawked like a madman. `` That's how you cunts keep duping us working class folk, ai n't that right boy?'' 
 
 Harry grimaced, pretending the punch did n't hurt a bit. He spoke with measured jocularity, laughing nervously, consciously resisting the urge to point out that Pete had n't done a single day of honest work in his life. 
 
 `` Haha no you know it ai n't like that Pete. All I'm saying is sometimes you got ta be patient. The game's rigged, that's for sure, but that do n't mean you ca n't win big. I seen it myself. You just got ta be patient until you get lucky. They would n't make no money if nobody ever won big. I seen it myself, Pete.'' 
 
 That seemed like a safe answer. Pete was still grinning dementedly, but this time it felt a bit more sincere. Harry eased up and breathed a silent sigh of relief. There was no telling what to expect from Pete. The counter boy had seen the guy go off on a couple neighborhood small timers a few times, and it always ended the same. The last time was the worst, though, when Pete smashed a 40 oz. bottle into one of the neighborhood hood rats, breaking four teeth and the bridge of the poor victim's nose. It was an ugly mess. The victim could n't have been more than 19 or 20, and Pete just exploded without warning. The guy had probably asked him for a cigarette or something, and Pete did n't like his tone. That kind of stuff bothered Pete and a lot of the time he would go and hurt somebody. 
 
 The two men silently smoked for a while in the icy wind. The only sound they made was the sound of exhaling and the sizzling sound of a cigarette being inhaled. Harry finished first, flicking off the ember with this index finger and tossing his butt into the garbage. Pete opened his mouth to call him a queer, but spotted something in the distance. It looked like a little girl, and not the type of girl one would expect in this neck of the woods. 
 
 `` That definitely ai n't no whore,'' Pete observed aloud, jabbing Harry in the ribs. `` The fuck is that little thing doing out here?'' 
 
 Harry squinted through his frosted glasses, peering into the darkness. 
 
 `` Golly, you're right, Pete. That looks like a kid. You figure she's lost or something?'' 
 
 `` Are you fucking kidding me, boy? Kids do n't look like that around here. When's the last time you seen a little girl wandering around here wearing a dainty little fucking dress?'' 
 
 `` I suppose you're right, Pete,'' answered Harry amicably, `` But somethin' seems off. It do n't look right.'' 
 
 `` I'm going to go investigate. Talk to her, see what her deal is,'' Pete said, looking mischievous. `` Maybe she ai n't as little as she looks.'' 
 
 Harry hid his disgust and attempted to say something to sway him. 
 
 `` Ah c'mon Pete, she ai n't hurting nobody. Leave her alone if you ai n't gon na help her.'' 
 
 `` Fuck you, boy,'' snapped Pete, `` You try to play moral compass one more time, and I'll hang you by your tits from that there lamp post.'' 
 
 Harry sighed, reminded once more than Pete, for all his loquaciousness, was quick to anger when the conversation wandered somewhere he did n't like. It was similar to dealing with a small, obstinate child. A violent, bearded one. Harry laughed at the imagery in his head. 
 
 `` The fuck you laughing at boy?'' Pete yelled from the distance. `` Do n't make me go and wring them pretty little nipples now.'' 
 
 Harry shut his mouth, quietly surveying Pete's quickly disappearing form. He was curious, but he could n't abandon the store. Disgruntled he walked back in, stamping his feet carefully on the mat. Pete would be back to chew the fat. He always came back. 
 
 __________________________________________ 
 
 Pete grumbled as he staggered through the knee deep snow. Harry was a nice kid, and probably closest thing to a friend he had, but he was whiter than a bleached turnip and boring to boot. Talking to him was like bouncing a ball off a wall. 
 
 He approached the girl, eyeing her up and down as he got closer. She was a small little thing, wearing a white parka with the fur lining on the hood, gray jeans and black snow boots. She was facing the other direction, standing perfectly still, moving only to shift her weight from one foot to the other. 
 
 It did n't feel right because firstly, petite females always spotted him coming miles away, especially in a dicey neighborhood like Blustery Heights, and Pete knew he had the kind of face that would repel small children, let alone a leery woman walking alone. The girl with the white parka hardly noticed, did n't turn around once. It was uncanny, and as he drew closer, Pete held on to his bottle a little more firmly. 
 
 At this point he caught himself and laughed. Why should he be afraid of a girl half his size, presumably from a neighborhood where a guy like himself did n't hang around? Grinning once more, he trudged across the final stretch of snowed over sidewalk, coming up right behind her. 
 
 The girl remained still. Taken aback, Pete brusquely tapped her on the shoulder. 
 
 ``'Ey little girl. What's a delicate little teacup like yourself doing around here?'' said Pete. He regretted opening with that line -- he always opened with that line, or some similar variation, and it always sounded so dumb, like some line from some half-baked Hollywood action flick. No bad guy ever got away with anything by using that line. He made a mental note to change this, and cleared his throat again. 
 
 The girl was n't budging. Something was off. 
 
 `` Hey bitch!'' shouted Pete. `` I'm talking to you!'' 
 
 The girl in the white parka turned around. She looked eerily familiar; there was just something about her nose and her widow's peak, but half-drunk Pete was having trouble pegging it. 
 
 `` Who the fuck are you?'' he demanded. `` Do I know you or something?'' 
 
 The girl smiled sweetly, flashing an unsettling grin. Almost immediately, Pete noticed a gap in between her two teeth: a neat space in the shape of a'v', with the ends barely meeting. The girl had a slight lisp when she spoke. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

