asking if I’m gay.”
“What do you say?” Mikhail asked, curious.
Martin shrugged, and his smile was fierce and grim. Mikhail had not seen many black people before he’d moved to America as a teenager. He figured if he’d seen that smile when he’d been fifteen, he’d have run the other way.
“Last time, I said yes, then I leveled the guy,” Martin said with satisfaction. His face fell a little. “Not the way to pick up women in the South, though.”
Mikhail grimaced, feeling for him. Eighteen and not able to fuck? That was a crying shame! “Well, is a good thing you moved out here. From what I understand, the women here are much more promiscuous. You will not be a virgin for long.”
Martin straightened up so fast he knocked his head on the edge of the hood and yelped. “Jesus, little man! I’m not a… a… a… you know!”
Mikhail lifted a shoulder. “If you weren’t one, you’d be able to say it. Besides. Virginity is not a crime. Unlike being gay in some countries, it is actually considered a virtue.” Mikhail nodded sincerely. “You can use it as a selling point when you see a woman who may or may not be worthy of you.”
“May not be worthy…?”
The boy did not look stupid. Mikhail sighed. “Well, you are obviously a boy of great worth. If you can fix my van, you are your own weight in gold.” Mikhail looked up again at his tastelessly imposing height. “And that is saying something. Who’s that?”
Martin didn’t even look behind him. “That is who I wanted to talk to you about. Is she going through the trash cans?”
“Yes. There is not much trash… oh, good for her. She has found french fries.” It was appalling. She was a pretty thing, probably taller than he was, with skin not quite as dark as Martin’s. Her hair was coarse and black and brushed back into a soiled terrycloth band, and her face was a strong oval, with a small broadened nose and dramatically almond-shaped brown eyes. So a potpourri of genetics, one Mikhail had become accustomed to in Northern California. And in order to be like his beloved cop, he had learned to look beyond skin color and even gender, and to look to the more important things. Like the fact she was wearing two shirts, a sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans on this interminably hot summer day, and the fact she was scrounging in the trash for food.
“Martin?” he said, wondering how feral she was. He and Shane had set the children at Promise House on the daunting task of catching the stray cats in the surrounding property so they could take them to the spay and neuter clinic and effectively cut down on the population. Would this cat scratch his hand and bite? Would she bolt? Or was she sufficiently tame enough to be lured to safety with a little bit of food?
“Yeah?” Martin said, looking at the girl and nodding like he knew what was coming.
“Would you like a sandwich? You look faint and frail to me.”
Martin snickered. “Yeah, Mikhail, my blood sugar, it’s gettin’ real low.”
Mikhail scowled at him. “Someday,” he said with gravity, “you will get fat, and I will enjoy that moment more than you can possibly fathom. Pastrami, with pickles, sauce, and cream cheese, am I right?”
“Seriously? You remember all of that?”
“Pfft!” Mikhail waved him off as he trotted across the small parking lot that was used for Collin’s Car Repair toward the even smaller lot, which housed Collin’s mother’s diner. “You virgins—once you get that out of your system, you have some room in your brains for thinking.”
“Geez!” Martin whined behind him. “Dammit, Mikhail, do you have to say that so loud!” Martin’s voice dropped as Mikhail got closer to the diner, which meant he was smarter than Mikhail had first thought, because the pretty, feral creature crouched behind the diner eating someone else’s french fries may not have heard him.
Mikhail ignored her on the way in, but he did smile at Collin’s sister, Joanna, who
“What do you say?” Mikhail asked, curious.
Martin shrugged, and his smile was fierce and grim. Mikhail had not seen many black people before he’d moved to America as a teenager. He figured if he’d seen that smile when he’d been fifteen, he’d have run the other way.
“Last time, I said yes, then I leveled the guy,” Martin said with satisfaction. His face fell a little. “Not the way to pick up women in the South, though.”
Mikhail grimaced, feeling for him. Eighteen and not able to fuck? That was a crying shame! “Well, is a good thing you moved out here. From what I understand, the women here are much more promiscuous. You will not be a virgin for long.”
Martin straightened up so fast he knocked his head on the edge of the hood and yelped. “Jesus, little man! I’m not a… a… a… you know!”
Mikhail lifted a shoulder. “If you weren’t one, you’d be able to say it. Besides. Virginity is not a crime. Unlike being gay in some countries, it is actually considered a virtue.” Mikhail nodded sincerely. “You can use it as a selling point when you see a woman who may or may not be worthy of you.”
“May not be worthy…?”
The boy did not look stupid. Mikhail sighed. “Well, you are obviously a boy of great worth. If you can fix my van, you are your own weight in gold.” Mikhail looked up again at his tastelessly imposing height. “And that is saying something. Who’s that?”
Martin didn’t even look behind him. “That is who I wanted to talk to you about. Is she going through the trash cans?”
“Yes. There is not much trash… oh, good for her. She has found french fries.” It was appalling. She was a pretty thing, probably taller than he was, with skin not quite as dark as Martin’s. Her hair was coarse and black and brushed back into a soiled terrycloth band, and her face was a strong oval, with a small broadened nose and dramatically almond-shaped brown eyes. So a potpourri of genetics, one Mikhail had become accustomed to in Northern California. And in order to be like his beloved cop, he had learned to look beyond skin color and even gender, and to look to the more important things. Like the fact she was wearing two shirts, a sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans on this interminably hot summer day, and the fact she was scrounging in the trash for food.
“Martin?” he said, wondering how feral she was. He and Shane had set the children at Promise House on the daunting task of catching the stray cats in the surrounding property so they could take them to the spay and neuter clinic and effectively cut down on the population. Would this cat scratch his hand and bite? Would she bolt? Or was she sufficiently tame enough to be lured to safety with a little bit of food?
“Yeah?” Martin said, looking at the girl and nodding like he knew what was coming.
“Would you like a sandwich? You look faint and frail to me.”
Martin snickered. “Yeah, Mikhail, my blood sugar, it’s gettin’ real low.”
Mikhail scowled at him. “Someday,” he said with gravity, “you will get fat, and I will enjoy that moment more than you can possibly fathom. Pastrami, with pickles, sauce, and cream cheese, am I right?”
“Seriously? You remember all of that?”
“Pfft!” Mikhail waved him off as he trotted across the small parking lot that was used for Collin’s Car Repair toward the even smaller lot, which housed Collin’s mother’s diner. “You virgins—once you get that out of your system, you have some room in your brains for thinking.”
“Geez!” Martin whined behind him. “Dammit, Mikhail, do you have to say that so loud!” Martin’s voice dropped as Mikhail got closer to the diner, which meant he was smarter than Mikhail had first thought, because the pretty, feral creature crouched behind the diner eating someone else’s french fries may not have heard him.
Mikhail ignored her on the way in, but he did smile at Collin’s sister, Joanna, who