Stolen Chances

Chapter Three

Tommy glanced at the door of the diner. The restaurant was empty, the man planning on it being so. He wouldn't be able to make it out the door if the man had a gun on him. Tommy was entirely alone.

Taking a seat in the booth across from the man, his Cheshire grin only grew. His hands were by his side, obscured by the table, which did nothing to help the pit growing in Tommy's stomach. "So, how long have you been working at this diner, Thomas?" Tommy let out a stuttered breath as sweat grew on his palms and neck. He focused his face into a glare as he stared the man in the eye whose face only fell in mock hurt. "It's rude not to answer questions, Thomas. Surely one of the several foster homes you stayed at has taught you some form of manners?"

Tommy scoffed at the man, "What's the point in answering if you know all the answers, big man. Don't particularly feel like playing your game dickhead, so just tell me what you want."

Wilbur took a deep breath through his nose before crossing his hands carefully on top of the diner table. "What do I want? Well easy, sex, money, power. The first two are just versions of the last." The man leaned forward slowly, staring Tommy in the eyes, the grin feeling more threatening than ever, "But right now? I want to know what you were doing in the Ahgren's house last night."

Tommy merely shrugged, "T'was in the neighborhood."

Wilbur's grin tightened for only a fraction of a second before it smoothed out. His arms slid off the tabletop returning below eyesight, "Don't play stupid with me, Thomas. My patience right now is thin enough."

Tommy could have sworn he heard the cocking of a gun beneath the table. His eyes widened a fraction before he straightened up in the booth seat, "Well, I was in the neighborhood, scoped the place out the night before. I saw they were packing and figured, what's a couple of rich people going to miss if I stole some jewelry, maybe dip into their rainy day funds and get twice as much? It's not like I was planning on walking in on a gritty home-alone remake."

Wilbur let out a short laugh at this, "So you managed to break in unseen and decided to what? Stick around to enjoy the show?"

Tommy rolled his eyes, "No, dude, it's not exactly a normal sighting for me." Tommy crossed his arms, more in a self-comforting way than anything, "It was like a car crash you know? I couldn't look away."

Wilbur leaned in again, his eyes sharp, and any trace of entertainment was gone from his face, "Did you go to the police?"

"No?" Tommy stared at the man as if he was insane, and looking back on recent events, the ruling was obvious. "Wouldn't have gone over very well. "Hey sir, police officer, small-time criminal here just wanted to let you know there's a murder happening in the house I just broke into, oh what's that? Want to take my statement? Sure thing, just keep in mind I'm also a runaway orphan legally the state owns my ass."

Wilbur relaxed back into the booth, his arms reappearing crossed at his chest, no gun to be seen. "Well then, we have an issue."

"You WANTED me to go to the police?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes, "No, you idiot. The issue is you managed to shove your nose right in the middle of Craft business, and I need to figure out what to do with you."

"Craft? What does mac'n'cheese have to do with this? Oh, please tell me you didn't kill that dude over some mac'n'cheese."

"What? No, Craft as in the family."

"Who?"

Wilbur stared blankly at the teen, "The Craft Family?"

Tommy shook his head with a slight shrug, "Never heard of them."

Wilbur's confusion only grew, "The largest gang in the city?"

Tommy continued to shake his head.

"Own a good handful of businesses around here?"

"I don't exactly have money, pal."

"They own the Paradise Burger Van? The Wilburger?"

The teen paused, "HOLY SHIT, THAT'S YOU GUYS?"

Wilbur let out a deep, defeated sigh, shoulders practically deflating. "Yes, that is my family."

"Wait, hold on," Tommy held out a hand, "You guys are a gang?" Wilbur nodded his head once, an eyebrow raised at the teen. "And the shipment you guys were talking about was drugs?" The man nodded again. "And I saw you guys kill a man."

"And his wife."

"And his wife," Tommy repeated, his face paling drastically. He swallowed once slowly before looking at the man again. "Are... are you going to kill me?"

Wilbur let out another defeated sigh, "I don't know." That didn't ease the hammering in Tommy's heart.

"Uh, could we put it to a vote? I vote no."

Wilbur shook his head, face pinched in thought, "I want to trust you, I do. But my family didn't get this far, handing out trust. But I also don't want to kill you."

"Oh, thank fuck, I'm too young to die."

Wilbur laughed, glancing up at the kid briefly, "We don't kill children. We save them."

Tommy bit back the remark about not being a kid, as that was currently saving his ass, and snorted again, "That sounds like some sort of shitty internship program."

Wilbur huffed in agreement before pausing, staring at the kid as if connecting something. "That could work actually," Wilbur clapped his hands together, ignoring the flinch the teen gave at the sudden movement and noise, "You work a few jobs here and there. Think of it as paying off debt."

Tommy frowned, "But I don't want to work with the mafia? I don't want anything to do with the mafia. I just want to go back to being a low-life criminal that didn't know the mafia was real!"

"We aren't the mafia-"

"What if I just say no?"

"Toms, you're a clever kid, I'd hope at least. You aren't in a place to argue right now; you never will be. You stuck your nose somewhere it didn't belong." Wilbur sat back in the booth, relaxing much as he did at the house. "I'm being very kind to you right now, and you're taking advantage of it without even considering your roommate's lives are at stake here."

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Tommy stared up at the man in fear, "What happened to not killing kids?"

Wilbur tilted his head back and forth, considering for a moment, "I don't have to kill you to make your lives very, very difficult." Then, finally, Wilbur stood up from the booth straightening out his sweater, "We'll be in contact."

Tommy only looked up at the man, "I don't own a cellphone."

Wilbur paused in thought before shrugging, "We found you once. We can find you again."

With that, the man left the diner. Tommy watched him through the window standing on the sidewalk fixing his beanie before walking across the street, ignoring the pouring rain. He sat at the booth as dread crawled through his limbs before placing his head in his hands, quietly sighing, "Fuck."