Nick's Journey Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Nick's Journey ~ Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Maxine ~ Excerpt

  About the Donatelli series

  BONUS STORY ~ The Frogtown Flasher

  Backlist

  Author Bio

  Author's Note

  NICK’S JOURNEY

  An Introduction to the Donatelli Series

  by

  Sue Fineman

  Nick’s Journey

  Copyright © 2011 Sue Fineman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Sue Fineman.

  Published by Amazon KDP

  Seattle, WA

  Electronic KDP Edition: November, 2011

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

  (An introduction to the Donatelli Series) An abused and neglected boy of twelve, Nick Donatelli runs away from New York City and his alcoholic mother. He makes his way across the country to L.A. and finds a loving home with his aunt and cousins. But their neighborhood streets are controlled by a gang, and Aunt Sophia won’t have those monsters picking on her kids.

  A bonus short story, The Frogtown Flasher, is included.

  Chapter One

  Nick’s stomach growled. He opened the refrigerator, but all he found was a little piece of dried-out cheese covered with mold. His mother had gotten a welfare check yesterday, so where was the food? “Ma, didn’t you go to the grocery store today?”

  “No. Eat some peanut butter.”

  “We don’t have any.” He’d eaten the last of the peanut butter three days ago.

  She’d passed out on the living room floor last night, and he wasn’t big enough to move her, so he covered her with a blanket and left her there. This morning she’d dragged herself to the bathroom, smoked a cigarette, then flopped down on the only bed in the apartment.

  “I’m hungry.”

  She groaned. “Shut up. I have a headache.”

  More like a hangover. Again. Every day it was the same thing. She’d start drinking in the afternoon and keep drinking until she puked or passed out. Then she’d spend most of the morning in bed, complaining about a headache.

  His stomach growled again. He got free lunch at school, but one meal a day wasn’t enough, and today was Saturday. He was hungry all the time, and he’d gotten so skinny he could barely keep his jeans up.

  Loud snoring filled the tiny apartment. He pulled his shoes on and grabbed his coat. He had to find something to eat, even if he had to steal it.

  The sole of his shoe had broken loose in front and flapped when he walked. The shoes were too small, but they were the only ones he had, and he couldn’t go barefoot in the winter in New York City.

  He walked for blocks, digging in trashcans and dumpsters, looking for something to fill his empty stomach. In the alley behind a café, he stepped in a dirty puddle and freezing water seeped inside his broken shoe. “Aw, shit!” His toes squished in his wet, cold shoe.

  On the street, a man driving a flashy car stopped beside him and the window rolled down. “Hey, kid, you need some money?” the man called.

  Nick didn’t answer.

  “Come with me and I’ll give you a pocket full of money.”

  Nick backed up a step, remembering stories he’d heard of other boys being lured into a car and raped. He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but he didn’t want it to happen to him. The man held out a twenty dollar bill, enough to buy a meal at the café plus some bread and peanut butter for tomorrow. Nick reached for the money, but the man grabbed Nick’s arm and wouldn’t let go. The kid fought and screamed, “Let go of me,” but people ignored him. In this neighborhood, people minded their own business.

  A police car drove slowly down the street and stopped behind the flashy car, bubble lights flashing. The cop in the passenger seat opened the patrol car door, and the guy in the flashy car let go of Nick. While the cop talked with the guy in the car, Nick ran away, the twenty crumbled in his grubby fist. He tripped on his shoe, and before he could get back on his feet, the other cop grabbed his arm. “Come on, kid. Get in the patrol car.”

  “But I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

  The cop shoved him into the backseat. Nick had dropped the money when he fell and his stomach hurt. He wanted to cry, but crying wouldn’t help. He’d learned that a long time ago.

  “Where do you live?” the other cop asked.

  “Why you wanta know?”

  The other cop leaned in and said quietly, “Tell us where you live and we’ll take you home.” When Nick didn’t speak, the cop asked, “Don’t you want to go home?”

  Not especially, Nick wanted to say, but he didn’t want to go to jail either. He gave the cop his address, and they drove him home. Instead of dropping him off like Nick expected, they came inside and followed him up four flights of stairs. The apartment was filthy, the kitchen empty, and Ma was still snoring up a storm in the bedroom. And the whole place reeked of scotch, puke, and cigarette smoke.

  Two hours later, after the cops bought him a burger and a milkshake, the social workers took custody. By bedtime, Nick was settled in a foster home. His second.

  <>

  Months later, Sophia Donatelli had just tucked the last of her brood into bed when she got a collect call from her nephew. Nicky always called her at strange hours, but she couldn’t complain. The boy had a rough life. If she lived closer, she might be able to help him, but she and her kids lived clear across the country in Los Angeles.

  “Hey, Nicky, how are you?”

  “Okay. I was in a foster home for a while, but now I’m back home with Ma. She told the judge she’d stopped drinking, but she didn’t stop. At least she’s not doing drugs. Some of the kids I know, their moms are hooked on drugs.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. I hear her coming, so I’ll hang up now.”

  “Call me anytime, Nicky. I love you.”

  The line clicked and Sophia heard the dial tone. Nicky had hung up so his mother wouldn’t know he’d called her.

  Her heart went out to the boy. He was nine, the same age as her Tony, so young and vulnerable. His father had run off years ago and left the boy with an abusive drunk, a woman who didn’t deserve to have a nice kid like Nicky. She didn’t take care of him, didn’t feed him right. Didn’t love him like a mother should love her children. If she had the money, Sophia would go to New York and bring him home with her. But with Vincent gone and six kids to feed, she didn’t have anything extra.

  Sophia’s kids were still mourning the death of their father. They missed him so much, and so did she. Vincent had been such a good father, but an accident at work took his life. His co-workers took up a collection, enough to pay for the funeral. They didn’t have any life insurance, but she’d applied for Social Security for herself and her kids. With that money and her baby-sitting income, they got by.

  Her oldest son, Vinnie, attended high school and worked part time as a bag boy in a grocery store. He made enough to buy his own clothes, which helped the family budget. Maria had just started high school, and Gina was in junior high. The two younger boys, Tony and Angelo, attended elementary school, and her youngest, Alessandro, would start kindergarten next year. Vincent had been so proud of them all, and so was she. They were good kids.

  Before Vincent died, they’d talked about moving to Washington Sta
te, somewhere safer than the gang-ridden streets of L.A. Vincent had gone on a business trip to Tacoma the year before he died and picked Gig Harbor as the perfect place for their family to settle. He said it was a pretty little town on Puget Sound, a smaller community with a low crime rate, a nice place to raise a family. They’d been saving her baby-sitting money for the move, but she couldn’t move her family now. Not without Vincent.

  Every night since her dear Vincent died, she cried into her pillow. The priest said Vincent was in a better place, and she knew he was, but she missed him so much she could barely drag herself through the day. She had to hold herself together for her kids. With only one parent, they needed her to stay strong. She tried to be positive, but it wasn’t easy.

  Kneeling beside the bed, she thanked God for giving her six healthy, bright children. She prayed for Nicky, and she prayed for the strength to get through another day without her beloved husband.

  <>

  Two years passed. The social workers came to visit Nick’s apartment now and then, but they always made an appointment, so Nick’s mother knew when to expect them. Before their visits, Nick cleaned the apartment and his mother bought a little food. She hid the scotch, but anyone with a nose could smell it on her. The breath spray she used couldn’t cover that stench.

  One day Nick tripped over his mother’s shoes and bumped her bottle. It spilled all over him, on the floor, on his mother, and on the old sofa where he slept most nights. She screamed and lashed out, hitting him in the face with the nearly empty bottle. He fell against the wall, stunned from the sudden, intense pain in his head. Blood poured from a big cut over his eye and ran down his face. He staggered to the bathroom and locked the door while his mother continued her angry tantrum in the other room.

  It took him a long time to stop the bleeding from the cut in his eyebrow. The bathroom was splattered with blood and he knew if he didn’t clean it up, she’d hit him again. But every time he bent over, the bleeding started again. Wrapping an old towel around his head, he held it with one hand and wiped up the blood with the other. By the time he finished, the towel on his head was soaked with blood.

  The front door slammed, Ma going out, probably to the liquor store. She didn’t have money for food, but she always had money for scotch and cigarettes. Didn’t she care that his head hurt so bad he felt like throwing up? Didn’t she care that he was still bleeding?

  Two days later, Nick pulled a ratty stocking cap down low over his forehead and walked to school. His head still hurt, and he felt a little dizzy, but he was hungry, and he’d eat lunch at school. His teacher made him take off his cap, and when she got a good look at his face, she sent him to the school nurse, who took him to the hospital emergency room.

  A nurse shaved his eyebrow, then a doctor sewed him up and sent him for X-rays. Later, Nick heard the doctor talking to the nurse outside the exam room. “Hairline fracture, and the cut over his eye went clear to the bone. Someone hit him hard.”

  The nurse replied, “Poor kid. He should have been brought in when this happened.”

  “Call CPS. There’s no way I can send this kid home.”

  “They’re already here. The school nurse called them.”

  They kept Nick in the hospital overnight, then sent him to another foster home. His third.

  He spent the rest of the school year in the foster home. He would have been happy to stay there forever, but his mother had gotten out of jail and wanted him back. She didn’t get any money from the state without a kid living with her. Without money, she couldn’t buy her scotch. Nick told the judge he didn’t want to go home, but the judge sent him home anyway. Different apartment, same smell.

  As soon as Nick was alone with his mother, he said, “If you ever hit me again, I’ll run away and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Fine,” she snarled. “Go. Get out of here. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”

  “No, you just need your scotch.”

  She hit him so hard he slammed against the wall. But at twelve, he was big enough to fight back. He shoved her onto the ratty sofa, then grabbed her purse. He took all the money she had, knowing it wasn’t enough to get him where he wanted to go. She came at him again, and he shoved her away. He grabbed his coat and backpack off the floor and ran out the door. His mother’s swearing filled his ears as he trotted down the stairs. She called him every nasty name in the book, and he didn’t care, because he hated her. All these years, he’d been hoping his father would come back for him, but he didn’t, and Nick couldn’t wait any longer. He had to go.

  He used the landlady’s phone and made a collect call to Aunt Sophia in L.A. He had the phone number memorized, but he didn’t know her address. She wasn’t home, so Maria told him where they lived. He wrote down the address and shoved it in his pocket with the money he’d taken from his mother’s purse. If his aunt didn’t want him, he’d find somewhere else to live. But he’d never go back home to his mother. He’d had enough.

  Chapter Two

  Sophia carried two bags of groceries into the kitchen.

  Maria said, “Ma, Nick called.”

  She put the bags on the counter. “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to know our address.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No.” Maria helped her unpack the grocery bags. “He sounded upset.”

  “Maybe he’ll call back.” Sophia prayed for the boy every night, but she couldn’t do much for him except offer love and moral support. Nicky needed to know someone loved him, because his own mother didn’t show him any love.

  The boys trooped in from school, hungry as always. Gina was on the front porch with her latest boyfriend. She was too pretty for her own good. Maria was pretty, too, but Gina was clearly the star. Boys flocked around her like bees to honey, but Gina knew the rules. No boys in the house. No car dates until she was seventeen, and no gang members. She didn’t want those monsters around her kids. They terrorized the whole neighborhood.

  Gang activity in the neighborhood grew steadily worse. A kid down the block was beaten real bad last week. If Vincent hadn’t died, they’d be living in Washington by now, where she wouldn’t have to worry so much.

  Vinnie had graduated from high school last month and moved into an apartment a few blocks away with two friends. They’d fought about him leaving home, but she couldn’t stop him from leaving. He was eighteen, old enough to decide what he wanted to do with his life. She knew he didn’t like living in a tiny bedroom with his three little brothers, but she couldn’t afford a bigger house.

  <>

  Nick took the bus to New Jersey and hitched a ride with a nice old lady all the way to Richmond, Virginia. He told her he was going to visit his aunt in L.A. but some big kids stole his bus ticket. When she dropped him off at the bus station, she handed him a hundred dollars.

  He grinned. “Thank you.” He watched her drive away, then bought himself a sandwich and a glass of milk, brushed his teeth in the men’s room, and stood in line at the ticket counter behind an old man with a bald head and scruffy beard. The old man bought a ticket to Memphis, Tennessee.

  Nick stepped up to the counter and the clerk asked, “Are you travelling alone?”

  “No, I’m with my grandpa.” Nick pointed to the old man who now stood by the vending machines. “He said I could buy my own ticket.”

  “To Memphis?”

  “Yeah.”

  Minutes later, Nick settled into a seat by the window on the big bus and let the rumble of the engine lull him to sleep.

  It took a whole day and night to get to Tennessee and hours longer to find a ride with a trucker. Nick gave his sob story about losing his bus ticket and rode free all the way to Tulsa. The man even bought him breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast, and a pile of something white.

  Nick pointed to the white stuff. “What’s that?”

  “Grits.”

  The trucker put butter and salt on his grits, so Nick did the same. He tasted them. Not bad. Not great,
but they went down easy enough.

  “Where you from, kid?”

  “New York. My ma died and my aunt sent me money for bus fare out to L.A. But some big kids stole it from me before I could buy my ticket.”

  “Uh huh.”

  The trucker didn’t sound like he believed Nick’s story, but it didn’t matter. He’d come as far as he could with this guy.

  Nick chewed a bite of bacon. “You know anybody going west?”

  “Maybe.” The trucker cocked his head. “You be careful who you ride with, you hear? Some men out there ain’t as nice as me.”

  “I know.” He’d be careful all right. Living in bad neighborhoods or foster homes, he’d learned how to defend himself. If anybody messed with him, he’d fight back.

  “How’d you get that scar in your eyebrow?”

  He didn’t want anyone to know what really happened, so he said, “School fight. You should have seen the other kid.”

  The trucker laughed. He paid for their food, left a big tip, and handed Nick a twenty. He motioned to a big man with a tattoo on his neck sitting at the counter. “Hey, Jake. You going west?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “This kid needs a ride.”

  The man swallowed a bite, looked Nick over from head to toe, and asked, “How far?”

  “How far you going?” Nick asked.

  “Amarillo, Texas, then I’m headed north.”

  Nick nodded as if he actually knew where Amarillo was. “Amarillo is good.”

  If he had a map, he could find Amarillo. Maybe the trucker had one. At least he was moving in the right direction. West.

  <>

  One night, Sophia found Gina’s bed empty. She saw her younger daughter on the street corner with two boys from a gang. One boy was trying to put his hands under her shirt. When she pushed his hands away, the other boy held her arms. Gina kicked at them, and the boys laughed. Sophia stormed over and screamed, “Stop that. Leave her alone. Don’t you ever put your hands on my daughter again.”