The Hotshot

“I hear you,” Truman singsonged. Dodging around the lion, he feinted left, then doubled back, changing directions once more. The confused teenager barreled into him, nearly knocking him down, and Truman grabbed the bags. “Here. Why don’t I take those?”

“Believe me,” muttered the teen over his shoulder, grabbing his skateboard and running down the steps, “You can have them. I don’t want that kind of stuff!”

Truman chuckled, imagining the kid opening the bags and examining his haul—only to realize he’d stolen two bags of T-shirts, Pokémon toys, Batmobiles and the like. Relieved, he saw Trudy rounding the corner and lifted the bags. “Got them!”

Something had definitely gotten jostled. It was too dark to see, but Truman dug a hand into one of the bags until his fingers locked around whatever was vibrating. Lifting it from the bag, he squinted at the object. It was about six inches long and about two inches thick at the base. “Some kind of fighter jet,” he supposed. “Or an alien rocket ship.” Yeah. It looked like one of those flesh-colored toys that came with a paint set, so you could decorate it yourself. Usually, the colors were green and black, for camouflage. When they were kids, his brother Sully used to love this stuff.

Still fiddling with the gizmo, he mistook the approaching footsteps for Trudy’s and glanced up. “Hey, what’s this thing anyway?” he asked, staring into the dark. “One of those remote-control rockets?”

“Them’s Trudy’s,” a deep male voice said. “Don’t you be messing with Trudy’s bags, boy. You give them back.”

“What?” Truman stepped toward the light, simultaneously realizing that the base of the toy twisted, and that a huge black man was in front of him. No wonder he hadn’t seen him. The man’s skin was the exact color of the darkness.

“Don’t you be messing with Trudy,” he said again.

The second before the man’s fist connected with his jaw, Truman gasped. It was impossible, but all at once, he realized he was gripping a penis! Staring in shock, his first thought was that he wasn’t gay, so this couldn’t be happening. His second was that this wasn’t an appropriate gift for Trudy’s nephews. His third was that Trudy Busey had been down here, buying herself a vibrator.

“Wait, Leon! Don’t hit him! He’s a friend!”

But Trudy’s voice came too late. Shock had left Truman defenseless, and when Leon’s next punch slammed his temple, everything went black.

“HOLD STILL,” TRUDY whispered.

Truman winced. He wasn’t sure, but thought she was smoothing his hair. Whatever she was doing, it felt like heaven. “Where am I?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his head pounding.