Life On The Streets

By B.B. Humphrey

Misty is abandoned among homeless people with whom she learns to survive the cruelty of the streets in Tampa, while maintaining a fierce determination to rise above her circumstances by finishing high school. Her life is carefully balanced for survival until she breaks through her sense of self-preservation and hardness to save a younger girl from a brutal attack. Together they witness a crime which leads to running, in fear of law enforcement, organized crime, and social services; will they manage to survive multiple attempts on their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storymill Publishing
• Release date: Jul 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781939895103

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Life on the Street

BB Humphrey

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Storymill Publishing

All characters and situations in this novel are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Barbara Humphrey 2013

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, including the right to copy, distribute and adapt the work.

Chapter 1 

Misty hugged her books against her chest, and hurried across the street from Tampa High. A snickering teen scooted up behind her and stroked her long, blonde hair. Hey, pretty woman, let me be your man.

She jerked her head back. You pig, I’d like to wrap those dreadlocks around your neck and choke the crap out of you. The harsh words shocked her. Up to now, she had been fearful and passive, but enough was enough.

Taking her by the arm, the boy pulled her around, against his body. Don’t you know I give you a compliment, Mama? Now, I be wantin' a big juicy kiss.

Misty trembled. I’m so tired of this crap. Why don’t they leave me alone? Suddenly, her disgust turned to anger. Pulling a pencil from a book, she jammed it into his thigh.

He screamed and jerked the pencil from his leg. Why the hell did you do that, bitch?

Next time, I’ll poke you higher up. Now, leave me alone.

Two of his friends jogged toward them, and Misty ran in the opposite direction. She cornered a building and peeked back. The boys had reached their wounded friend, and the three just stood, chins dropped. Gasping in fear, she began running and didn’t slow down until nearing home. Eyes flashing right and left, she approached the welfare tenement with caution. It bordered downtown and, like everything else around her, was scheduled for demolition.

The last, desolate blocks before arriving home were busy hang-outs for street people and frightened her more than her family life. At least, what happened in the apartment was expected. She turned the corner and stopped short. Her father leaned against the brick wall near the entrance to her home with a bottle in his hand. Heart pounding, she leapt into the exterior vestibule of a boarded-up entrance to the building. Drunken bastard.

Once her breathing settled, she shuddered in dread and accepted the necessity of facing the music. She stepped back onto the sidewalk. A young man leaned against a street-light pole across from her father. Dressed in the prevailing street style, his jeans hung down around his hips, his underwear proudly exposed. They had bright red hearts on them, and in spite of her fear, Misty felt her lips curl up.

Wrong move. He noticed.

The teen grinned, turned to buddies across the street, and shouted, Here’s a’comin' our blue-eyed babe.

Misty averted her eyes, kept moving and came within feet of her father.

How ya' doin', sugar? The brash, young admirer winked.

Her father’s face contorted as he screamed in her face, What’re you doing, bitch? Flirting with street trash? He slapped her so hard, she went to her knees. Her books flew from her arms, and her hair whipped around her face.

Misty recoiled and flung her arms over her head, expecting another blow. Behind her, strong hands caught her elbows and helped her stand. His face full of wild anger, her father charged toward her. Get your hands off my daughter, bastard!

The helping hands lifted Misty aside and struck like lightning. The man snatched the liquor bottle from her father’s hand and smashed it across his head. He crumpled to the pavement. Misty turned to the tall man who defended her. His face composed, he took her arm and ushered her inside the alleyway leading to the door of the building. Go on home, kid. I’ll take care of your old man. Put some ice on your face.

Checking her teeth with her tongue, she tasted blood. She knew from experience, soon a terrible bruise would show on her fair-skin. After the purple faded, it would match the lavender-blue of her eyes for a long time. The flirtatious boy, no longer smiling, jerked up his jeans and brought the book bag to her, muttering, Sorry, Miss. Didn’t mean to cause you trouble.

Misty walked down the alley, shaking her head. This world is a freaking crazy place. The people you should be able to trust—you can’t. Then the ones you don’t trust step up and save your butt. She grinned. That man really popped the old bastard a good one!

She stopped by the metal door into the tenement and glanced over her shoulder. Her father had disappeared. An old woman, leaning against a shopping cart of junk, stood at the entrance of the alley. With a sympathetic expression, she waved, giving Misty a wide, toothless smile.

Inside the apartment, Misty threw her book bag in the corner and checked the pulse of her unconscious mother. Over-dosed again. She dropped to an old, moldy couch to wait for her legs to stop shaking. Nothing I can do about you, Mom. No place to take you and no one cares except me. Worry for her mother settled in her belly like a rock. Tears trickled down her face.

She looked around the apartment and shuddered. This dump was the end of a long line of dumps where they’d lived, each one worse than the last, but the first crappy place surrounded by homeless people. During the three month living there, Misty always thought of the street people as dangerous and avoided them as much as possible. That they weren’t all bad came as a revelation. She wondered about the strong man who had helped her with her dad.

When Misty left home for school the next morning, the old woman with the cart waited on the sidewalk. Are you alright, Miss? You took a powerful slap yesterday. The regulars around here really worry about you.

Misty, as surprised by the woman’s diction as by the sentiment, just stared at her. It wasn’t the often slurred and poor English of the usual street person—it sounded very precise.

I’m Sally Delaney, dear. I know this area and the people in it. Why don’t you take the time to get acquainted with some of us? You might be surprised at what you discover. It’s not necessary to have an advanced education or wealth to have a heart of gold. Like that young man’s teasing—she brushed a tangle of white hair from her face—he meant no harm, in fact, from his viewpoint, it was flattery. For instance, many of the people here, knowing how frightened you are, look out for you?

Misty’s jaw dropped. They do?

Yes, dear. Mainly, the big guy who helped you yesterday. Magic does a lot of good for people at loose ends.

Ms. Delaney, what are you doing here? I mean, what brought you here?

Sally’s lips trembled and the wrinkles deepened in her face.

I’m so sorry, Misty said, cringing. I didn’t mean to upset you.

Never mind me. You need to get to school now. Maybe we’ll become acquainted, and in time I’ll explain it to you.

During the next few months, her father, although not exactly polite, seemed afraid to hit her. She had to hide a smirk when, after making him a sandwich he found unsatisfactory, he didn’t throw it in the floor and slap her. Hon, do we have any mustard left? Would you please add some?

But, once he became high, out of his mind, he’d forget and start toward her, his fists at the ready. She would smile and he’d slump into a chair with a moan. Oh, shit.

Now, Misty walked to school, head up, able to observe everything around her. If someone heckled her, it could be stopped by a mention of Magic’s name. No longer as fearful, she developed friendships with many interesting and unique characters. Whenever possible, she loved to sit on the curb and visit with Sally Delancy, who seemed to possess an encyclopedic knowledge between her ears.

Naturally, Magic was a favorite of everyone, and she felt comfort from his presence and protection. A self-appointed neighborhood social worker, he attempted to get as many people away from drugs as he could. He regularly talked with Misty’s parents. She hoped for his success, but didn’t expect it.

Misty learned Magic had developed an addiction to drugs as an injured military veteran but, through his own efforts, became drug free. He gave the credit to Jesus, but Misty privately gave Magic credit. She learned from Sally, his slight limp was from a war injury. It impeded his long-limbed gait, for which he compensated with a soldierly erectness.

Muscular, tall and trim, carrying such an air of power and dignity, he had no problems with regular street people. He always wore a black do-rag and a collection of gold chains, often of interest to young thieves. Misty saw that one look from Magic discouraged any trouble. Although prone to easy smiles, he would quickly show his nine-inch switchblade if things proved dangerous.

Although Misty’s life outside her home improved, inside the apartment it slowly grew worse. Her parents’ addiction advanced at a rapid pace, and her life became more frightening. One especially harrowing night, as her father beat his wife, Misty tried to intervene. Stop it, Dad! You’re gonna' kill her. Knocked to the floor several times, she ran for the street with a bleeding mouth, screaming for Magic.

Dashing into the apartment and seeing the situation, Magic jerked Misty’s father off her mother. Without a word, holding the angry man by the collar and belt, Magic made his way through the crowded hallway and out the back door. Misty watched her father’s toes dance along the floor, wiped the blood from her lips, and smiled in satisfaction.

She never saw her father again. What happened? It was better not to ask. Magic never spoke of it.

Every day, the first-floor apartment filled with spaced-out and angry people buying, selling, and sharing drugs. Misty especially feared one disgusting man who followed her every move with leering eyes, while licking blubbery lips and making obscene gestures. After things became too rough, she stayed in her room, barricading the door with an old chest. Her mother, always drugged senseless, remained oblivious of the danger to Misty.

Not long after her father left, the man knocked on her door. Honey-babe, your ma sent me to collect for her cocaine.

Misty swallowed hard. Tell her, I don’t have any money.

Oh, you sweet piece, money ain’t what I want from you.

My mother did not send you back here. Get away from my door right now!

He went berserk and tried to break into her bedroom. She screamed for help as he slammed his body against her door. Digging her heels into the floor, she pushed against the chest. Misty’s weight failed to hold the door shut. The chest slowly moved toward her. Damn it, bitch. I don’t want sloppy seconds from your cruddy mama, and she said you’d take care of me.

Misty slid down the door and sat with her back against it. She began to sob as it slowly opened.

Chapter 2

Suddenly, a bellow came from behind the door. Then a thud. Afterwards, feet pounded away from her door. Her hand over her mouth, Misty held her breath and, trembling, listened for the next assault. A soft rap at the door froze her in place.

Misty, it’s Magic. Everything’s okay. I ran everybody out. Need to talk with you.

She still hesitated to open the door. What do you want? Where’s Mom?

She’s zonked, kid. We need a discussion about ways you can protect yourself. Your mama can’t do it.

Misty slid the chest aside and cracked open the door. Magic stood outside with a worried expression. Go ahead. Open up. You know me. I’d never hurt you. It’s dangerous here, and you need to learn how to take care of yourself. You can find protection in this room just so long.

He shrugged. I did everything I could to warn your parents it’s not safe for you with these people running in and out. Now your daddy’s gone, your mama’s a lost cause, but I can teach you what to look out for and how to take care of yourself, if you’ll let me.

She pulled the door open and saw a trail of blood leading from her doorway. Looking up at Magic, eyes wide, she asked, What’d you do? Kill him?

Naw. His nose decided to relocate to a better neighborhood—on the side of his head. He’ll live for a while smelling out his ear, but I guaran-damn-tee he won’t bother you again.

Magic talked with her about the realities of their lifestyle—what might happen to her if she didn’t learn to live defensively. He gave her a lead pipe and instructions about how to use it without getting hurt. Misty, this thing is as dangerous as a gun. Don’t attempt to use it unless you intend to kill.

She sucked in her breath and shook her head. I can’t use that thing. Why would I want to kill someone?

What if I hadn’t come along tonight? Let some lunatic harm you? Gonna' play possum till he finish with you? Magic grinned at her. Look, Long Tall Sally, outside you probably can outrun a tiger with those long legs, but getting backed into a corner like you did here, some re-enforcement is needed.

The next day, he came by and installed metal brackets into the doorframe, in which she could slide a heavy piece of timber. With instructions, he also gave her a can of pepper spray. What mattered to her most, the greatest thing he gave her and what she could rely on, was his friendship.

Her school year came to an end, and Misty felt grateful to have maintained a high grade score—thanks to Sally’s help. Before the street became her life, Sally had a career as a high-school teacher. When sober, she enjoyed assisting Misty.

Having turned sixteen, she could get a job during summer vacation. Due to Magic’s influence, Misty acquired a job at a McDonalds, downtown. Often, she would stop on the way home to buy food and then rush home to cook. The various people wandering through the apartment ate up everything in sight, so each day she bought food for one meal.

Misty fought an on-going battle to get her mother to eat. After her father disappeared, her mother seemed intent on starving herself to death. The only thing that interested her was the next hit of any kind of drug she could get. It became difficult to ignore the horror of her skeletal frame—cheeks sunken beneath hollow eyes, and claw-like, scrawny hands.

The ever-present stink of meth cooking seared Misty’s nose as she entered the closed-up, hot building. She hated the scent and often thought, one day, the crap will blow us all to hell. It became worse in the apartment, saturating her clothing, and the looks she had received at school, and now work, embarrassed her. On the ground floor, people constantly prowled the alley outside the window, so she dared not keep it open for fresh air. Of course, the air’s foul odors outside weren’t much better.

Near the end of summer, she returned home stumbling in exhaustion and froze at the sight of the apartment door standing wide open. The usual druggies were missing. She raced inside. Mom! Mom, are you all right?

Misty knew something bad had happened, even before she saw her mother sprawled over the kitchen table, head lying in a puddle of vomit. A tourniquet gripped her bicep, and a needle hung from the inside of her elbow. Vacant, glassy eyes stared at Misty.

A bag of groceries slid from her arms to the floor with a crash, and she fled to the bathroom. She curled around the toilet bowl until her stomach possessed nothing to purge. Misty continued sitting there, sobbing until each breath became a struggle. An arm encircled her shoulders. Recognizing Magic, she collapsed into his arms.

She promised me she wouldn’t use needles—I believed her. How could she do such a thing?

Magic held her until she had no more tears. Then he pulled Misty to her feet and tenderly washed her face. I need to get you out of here and clear up any sign that you live here. Can you help me pack your stuff?

No, she wailed. I can’t leave. Not like this. I have to do something about my mom. But, I can't stand to see her that way, either. Why did she do it? Oh God, Magic, what am I going to do?

"I'll call the cops and they’ll take care of your mom. You’re a smart girl and have more sense than both your parents did together. You can decide where you want to go and what you want to do later. Now is not the time for decisions.

Misty, I saw this coming and fixed up something for you. Magic placed his arm around her shoulders, leading her from the bathroom. We’ll go to another apartment upstairs. I’ll get my sister to help pack and stay with you until this mess is cleared up. The second and third floors have been vacated, and it’ll be a while before the city tears this joint to the ground, so you can stay up there.

Overcome by fear and uncertainty, she pulled away from him. Don’t you think the cops will find out about me?

I doubt the people will even talk to the cops, let alone admit they know your mama. He tugged on her arm to get her moving. Come on, I don’t want you turned over to Social Services until, and unless, you decide to go that route. You won’t have a choice if the cops find you here. He nodded his head. Yeah, I got some experience with them folks, and let me tell you, little sister, I don’t like what happens to kids caught up in that mess.

Misty no longer shed tears. His words faded into nothingness. She stood frozen while Magic called his sister. She felt as if someone touched her, she would break into a thousand pieces. Then he called the police to report the death. Come on, kid, let’s go to your room and gather up enough stuff to last a few days. We have plenty of time—the cops’ll be slow getting here.

He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the bedroom. She dropped to the bed and stared, seeing nothing as Magic would pick up something and hold it up for her approval. Once she nodded, he would cram the belonging into a pillow case. Want any of your books? She shrugged.

Then she finally spoke. It felt as if her face would crack and her voice did. The cops—the police?

Magic, what the hell are you doing?

Misty’s head slowly turned toward an unknown voice.

A slender woman, dressed in a business suit, stood in the doorway glaring at Magic.

He gave her a hard look. What do you think, baby sister? Getting her enough stuff to last a few days, but she’s not cooperating much.

Lord have mercy. Can’t you see she’s in shock? She walked over to the bed and put her arms around Misty. Come on, honey, let’s go upstairs and you can lie down. She turned to her brother and said, Grab her mattress and pillow and bring them on up. We need something warm to wrap her in.

Misty lay like a dead person, feeling nothing. The second day, she sobbed in her sleep. She awoke and continued crying. I keep seeing Mom lying in her vomit. God! I’m going to be sick. Janine and Magic never left her alone, but couldn’t get her to eat.

Misty became aware of her surroundings on the third day while watching her beloved books pile up against the wall. Janine asked if she was hungry. Misty gave a weak smile and nodded. How did my stuff get here?

Janine told her, once the authorities abandoned the old apartment, Magic kept scavengers at bay while Janine took everything Misty could use to the third-story apartment.

She slept soundly that night. Janine came into the room the next morning to find Misty sitting at her make-shift table eating cereal. Hi, Janine. I’m a lot better. I’m going to put my books in order.

Janine’s eyes were wide, in obvious shock. What? Don’t you realize you’ve been sick? You’re probably weak as a puppy.