“Hey, Kid!”

The boy couldn’t hear him.  He popped his gum, and scuffed his toes in the dust.

Gage whistled, and the peroxide-blonde head snapped around.

“Hey!  You!”

“You talkin’ to me?”

“Is there anyone else here?”

The boy was curious, but wary, “Very funny, mister.”

“Wanna make an easy fifty?”

“I don’t know.  Doin’ what?”

“You wanna make fifty bucks or not?”  Gage beckoned, his husky voice straining to be heard across the wide space between them, “Come over here.”

The kid narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “I ain’t no rent-boy!”

Gage chuckled.  He hadn’t even considered how this might appear – an older guy in a dark car at midnight, trying to attract a young man’s attention at a deserted roadside pull-in.  He smirked, and growled, “Relaax, sweet-cheeks.  You’re not my type.”

The boy puffed his chest and peacocked aggressively, “You sayin’ I’m a faggot, mister?”

Gage rolled his eyes, and drawled, “Oh, Jeez, you want this fifty or not?”

“What I gotta do to get it?”

“Post this card here through that door there – the newspaper office.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yep.  Money upfront.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

“That’s my business.”

“Money upfront?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Mister, you’re dumb!  How you gonna stop me tossing that card and just running off with your fifty?”

“This oughta do it.”

The oiled and gleaming barrels of the shotgun slid out through the black square of open truck window to point directly at the teenager’s heart.  The kid took three steps smartly back across the dusty lay-by.

Gage explained, “You’ll walk straight over there and put the card in that mailbox, or I’ll blow a hole in you as big as my dick…and, trust me kiddo, that’s a huge fucking hole.  So, we got a deal or not?”

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