Page 1 of Little Crazy

“You better go to sleep now, angel,” Clint said. “Or you’re going to get me in trouble with your other daddy.” He tucked the blanket around Hope. The infant giggled and kicked her feet, dragging the blanket loose. Clint chuckled and shook his head. “You’re spending too much time with Uncle Cory—you’re becoming downright incorrigible.”

“Blaming it on Cory, huh?” Axel snickered as he entered the bedroom.

“Good point,” Clint cooed at Hope. “Maybe Daddy Axel is the bad influence.” He grinned. “But then, he’s also spent much time with Uncle Cory. So…”

“Oh, is that so?” Axel smirked. “You’re the badass gangster, but I’m the bad influence, hm?”

“Still Cory.” Clint smiled. “By proxy.”

“Ah.” Axel chuckled and leaned over the edge of the crib to rub Hope’s belly. “I still think it’s cowboy daddy. He spoils you rotten. Yes, he does.”

“And you don’t?” Clint cocked an eyebrow.

“Nope.” Axel grinned at Hope. “Not at all. Do I, sweetheart?”

Hope giggled, kicked her feet, and stretched out her arms.

Clint’s phone rang before he had a chance to comment. He smiled and shook his head at Axel as he answered the call. “Hello?”

“Clint? This is Oliver, over at the foster house.”

“Oliver.” Clint frowned. “Is everything all right?”

Axel turned around.

“A kid showed up here this evening. A boy about sixteen or so. He’s been abused physically and… sexually.”

“Did you call the authorities?” Clint asked.

“We were going to, but the boy freaked out. He said if we get the cops involved… his abusers will kill him.”

Clint glanced at Axel. “He can identify his abusers?”

“Yes. But he’s afraid to tell me their names. I thought… maybe you could come and talk to him. I don’t know if he’ll tell you anything, but maybe…”

Clearing his throat, Clint nodded. “I’m on my way.”

“What’s going on?” Axel asked with concern.

Clint briefly explained. “I’ll grab Cochise and head over to the foster house. You stay here with the kids.”

“Okay,” Axel murmured. “But call me as soon as you know the situation.”

Clint kissed him. “I will.”

On his way out, Clint called Cochise. The Egyptian met him outside at the car.

“What’s going on?” Cochise asked as the two men climbed into Clint’s car.

“A kid showed up at the foster house,” Clint said. “A teen boy. Beaten and raped. He can identify his abusers, but he’s afraid to involve the cops, says his abusers will kill him if he does.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Oliver said the kid was too scared to tell him.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to us?”

Clint shrugged. “Nothing, really. All we can do is try.”

When they arrived at the foster house thirty minutes later, Oliver waited for them at the front door. Oliver looked like a bodybuilder and could easily intimidate by size alone, but he was one of the kindest, most gentle men Clint had ever met.

“Thank you for coming.” Oliver led them inside.

Oliver’s wife, Emmy, emerged from the kitchen, a look of relief touching her face when she saw the gangsters. “I’m so glad you’re here. The poor boy is too frightened to give us any information. We hope he’ll speak to you if he feels you can protect him.”

“Kelly and Nina have been talking to him,” Oliver said. “They told him what you and the others did for them, how you rescued them.”

“Where is he?” Clint asked.

Oliver gestured to the large living room. “In there. Kelly and Nina are still with him.” Oliver and Emmy led the gangsters into the spacious room. The two young girls flanked the teen boy on the sofa. The kid sat forward, head ducked, hugging his stomach. His short brown hair was a tad messed up, the strands dirty. His clothes were worn and somewhat tattered, reminiscent of a street kid.

“Son…” Oliver approached, his tone gentle. “These are the men we told you about. Clint and Cochise.”

Kelly and Nina stood up and smiled warmly at the men. “It’s good to see you again,” Kelly said softly, her young face radiating the same gratitude she’d reflected when she was first rescued from the horrific orphanage. Nina’s tender face exhibited the same gratitude.

Clint nodded. “How is your little brother?”

A big smile split Kelly’s features. “He’s great.” Her smile faltered. “He had bad nightmares for a while, but they went away. He’s a very happy little boy now.”

Clint smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“We’ll go and let you…” Kelly glanced at the boy on the sofa, then took Nina’s hand, and the two girls left the living room.

“They look well,” Clint said.

Emmy smiled softly. “They are. As expected, they still have difficult moments but are progressing very well. Having each other is good for them. And their therapy is going well.”

“Good.” Clint looked at the boy, who kept his head down and hugged his thin body tightly. Oliver and Emmy excused themselves, leaving the two gangsters alone with the kid. The men exchanged a look, and Clint sat on the edge of the coffee table before the sofa. “Can you tell me your name?”

The boy stared wide-eyed and fearful at his lap and remained silent.

“You’re safe now,” Clint spoke low. “No one is going to hurt you anymore. I give you my word. My friend and I… make it our business to protect kids like you. And we will protect you… by any means necessary.”

Slowly raising his head, the kid looked at Clint through watery, bloodshot eyes from behind stringy, sable strands of hair. His left eye was blackened, and his lower lip was swollen and split. “What… what does that mean?” His barely audible voice shook badly, making him sound like a small child.

“It means we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” Clint said. “ Whatever it takes.”

The boy stared at him anxiously. “Are you… are you really… gangsters?”

“Yes.”

“Kelly and Nina told me what you did to those men who hurt them.” He swallowed. “You… you really did that?”

“Yes. Because men who hurt kids like that don’t deserve mercy, and they won’t get it, not from us.” Clint leaned forward. “Who did this to you?”

Cowering back a little, the kid tucked his chin to his chest, tightening his arms around himself.

“You can tell us,” Clint said. “They won’t get near you again; we can promise you that.”

His throat working, the boy whispered, “They… they’re dangerous men… like you.”

“Like us?” Cochise spoke for the first time. “Gangsters?”

“Yes.” The boy trembled.

Clint exchanged a quick look with the Egyptian. “What’re their names?” If this involved another crime family… things could get complicated.

The boy sniffed and tentatively raised his eyes. Fear radiated forth. “The… the Caruso brothers.”

The Caruso brothers. Clint had heard plenty about them, though he’d never met them. And what he’d heard of the brothers made the situation more precarious. Word had it they were reckless and unpredictable, dealing mainly in drugs and prostitution.

“We know of them,” Clint drawled. “Though not personally.” Clint frowned. “How do you know them?”

“I-I was living on the streets,” the boy mumbled. “I ran away from a group home when the older boys started to…” His chin trembled, and he averted his eyes. “… mess with me.”

The kid’s very demeanor told Clint what he meant by that.

“I just…” his voice cracked. “I-I couldn’t take it, so I… I ran away. I figured living on the streets was better than…”

“Understandable,” Clint murmured.

“I was looking for a job,” the boy whispered. “I went into one of the clubs down in the ghetto… I-I thought maybe they wouldn’t have rules about hiring minors.” He sniffed. “The Caruso brothers owned the club and… put me to… work.”

Clint rubbed his mouth. “What kind of work?”

The boy fell silent and seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment. “Selling… myself.”

Clint’s brow cinched. “Prostitution?”

The kid nodded and stared at his lap, his throat working. “I… I tried to do it. But I couldn’t.” He shook as fresh tears formed. “It hurt. And the men who paid for me… they liked to hurt me. They liked it when I cried and screamed.” He ducked his head, choking on sobs. “I-I tried to run away again, but… but the brothers caught me and… and beat me and…” A hard sob burst from him. “And raped me— over and over.” The boy broke down crying, curling his legs up to his chest.

Clint took a deep breath to quell the rage building inside him. It didn’t work. “How did you get away this time?”

“Wh-When they put me back on the… the street for sale… I-I just ran and kept running.” He sobbed into his arm. “I-I’d heard about this place and… and didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s good you came here,” Clint said quietly. “This is a safe place.”

The boy pressed his face into his arms and sobbed harder. “They’ll come looking for me. They… they said they did everything for me by saving me from the streets, and I-I just threw it back in their face and was ungrateful. They won’t let me go.”

Clint touched his arm. “I know you’re scared, but you’re safe now. We won’t let them hurt you again.”

Raising his head slowly, tears streaked the boy’s flushed face as dirty strands fell into his watery eyes. “What… what’re you going to do? They won’t stop looking for me.”

Clint looked at Cochise, then asked the boy, “Where can we find them?”

Rubbing his eyes like a child, the kid huddled against the sofa. “They… they spend most of their time at their club.”

“What’s the name of the club?”

“The Inferno.”

Clint nodded and stood. “Don’t worry about anything,” he said. “You stay here with Oliver and Emmy. Don’t leave the house, understand?”

“Yes,” the boy whispered.

The two gangsters started to leave the room when Clint paused and looked back at the kid. “You never told us your name.”

“Oh.” The boy swallowed a couple of times. “It… it’s Little… I mean… Cristof.”