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  When the man left, Mr. Tesla took Naz down an empty aisle to let him know in private that he knew he did not get the grub killer from the back because in MeeChi’s there was no back. Mr. Tesla continued by expressing his gratitude to Naz for preventing the loss of a loyal customer to one of the Mega Chains. He handed Naz twenty dollarsfor what he called“Naz’stroubles,” and then another twenty dollars for what he called“unfinished business.” He told Naz to go and pay for the grub killer wherever he got it from and that he would see him the next day about that job.

  Before Naz left MeeChi’s, he pulled a handful of sunflower seeds out of his pocket, put them in Antonio’s cup, and thanked him. Antonio didn’t respond. Naz thanked him one more time, but there was still no response. He smiled at the bird and then walked out the door. As he was leaving, he heard Antonio say, “You’re welcome,” and laughed.

  He couldn’t remember ever feeling so good, at least not since his mother had died. He had forty dollars in his pocket—more than he ever had before—and he had prevented the loss of a loyal customer to the Mega Chains and in the process earned himself a job at his favorite market: MeeChi’s. All in a day’s work, he thought, as he walked down the street feeling very proud of himself.

  Then it hit him. His day’s work was only half complete. That was the easy part. How would he square the situation at Piccolo’s? He didn’t even know the owner there. Maybe he could get Mr. Tesla to call. No, he got himself into this so he had to get himself out of it. Maybe he wouldn’t do anything. It looked like he had gotten away with stealing the grub killer. If he could just lay low for a few weeks, or even a month, and not go in Piccolo’s, it would all blow over, and it would be just like it never happened. But he himself would know. Somewhere along the way he had developed a conscience. In his mind, if he didn’t go back to Piccolo’s, he would then be no more than a common thief and no better than the drug dealers on the street. He finally decided on just handing twenty dollars to a cashier at Piccolo’s as if he had found it near the register. That way it would be as if it had never happened, and his debt would be paid. He could live with that.

  It was the slowest he ever walked in his life, but he seemed to get to Piccolo’s faster than when he had run there almost an hour earlier. When he walked into Piccolo’s, it was just as it was before with no one noticing him. The store was half full, and everyone seemed fairly busy so he figured his quick fix would be a piece of cake. He stood in line as if he was going to purchase something. He figured to make it look legitimate he should buy something, so he picked up a candy bar while he was in line. The closer he got to the cashier, the hotter he felt all over. His heart seemed to beat even faster than it did when he was running. But how could that be? he thought. He began to hear the voice mixed in with all the voices around him.

  Just before Naz got to the cashier, he separated the two twenties that were in his pocket. He put one back in his pocket and palmed the other one. When he got to the register, he handed the candy bar to the cashier, and she rang it up. He pulled the twenty out of his pocket and gave it to her. While she was making change Naz dropped the other twenty on the floor. Just as he was about to reach down, a man in back of him told him he dropped his money. Confused, Naz picked up the money and handed it to the cashier, while she was trying to hand him the change for the other twenty. Finally, for the first time she looked up at him and recognized that he had just been there an hour before. He was caught. She pushed a button on the other side of the register, and in what seemed like seconds a tall man came from a booth near the front of the store. He had dark eyes and dark, long, stringy hair.

  Naz’s greatest success had just turned into his most embarrassing failure. He was about to pay for the grub killer all right, with his freedom. He wouldn’t need that job anymore because he was going to jail, and Meri would be alone. The walk to the booth was even longer than the walk back to Piccolo’s as people began staring and pointing at the boy who was caught stealing a bag of grub killer. He actually felt relieved. It was over now. He was a criminal, a juvenile delinquent, something Meri’s father had told him he would end up being anyway.

  In the booth, the stringy-haired man picked up the phone and began to dial. Naz figured he was about to have his third run-in with the police, and he was fairly confident this third time would be no charm. Instead, it would be the third strike in a game he had played well but ultimately lost. Suddenly the man stopped dialing and looked at Naz suspiciously. He was confused. He wanted to know why an eleven-year-old boy, or anyone else for that matter, would steal a bag of grub killer and then come back an hour later with the money to pay for it. He was going to give Naz one chance to explain. Naz had nothing to lose so he told the truth. The man put the phone down for a minute, then picked it up again. He called Mr. Tesla to confirm what Naz had told him. Naz watched as the man was having an unusually long conversation with Mr. Tesla. Naz remembered hearing words like resourceful, impeccable, and altruistic, words he wanted to look up in a dictionary when he got home or back to school.

  In the end, four of the Market Merchants: MeeChi’s, Piccolo’s, Bellarusso’s, and Mercado’s hired Naz as a supply link to make sure they stayed supplied through the sharing of resources and settling up once a week. They employed Naz between two and three hours a day after school and on Saturdays on an on-call basis. For Naz’s part, he received significantly more money than he would have received had he worked for only one of the markets, and even then he would’ve had to work a lot more hours. The Market Merchants also paid for the use of two phones for him and Meri. And so the Market Merchants became an inseparable part of the world of Naz Andersen.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MR. TESLA & MEECHI‘S

  MEECHI’S was more like a home to Naz than any of the foster homes in which he had lived, and Mr. Tesla was the closest thing to a father that Naz had ever known, or at least could remember. When Naz came in with the bandage on his neck the tone of the argument between him and Mr. Tesla was more that of a father and son than an employer and employee. While running his errands Naz always made MeeChi’s the first and last stop of the day. That way he could get a snack right after school or therapy, and often Mr. Tesla would treat him and Meri to dinner before they went home in the evening. Naz felt important at MeeChi’s. Mr. Tesla trusted him with everything, and that sometimes made the other employees jealous.

  Like Piccolo’s, MeeChi’s had a large booth in the front of the store that was elevated. You could see almost everything in the store through a large two-way mirror. The booth was more like a room. There was a surveillance system of cameras that fed into ten monitors mounted on the wall next to the two-way mirror. There was a control panel just beneath them. Next to the wall, opposite the monitors were a refrigerator and conventional stove with a microwave oven on top. There was also a small television on a dresser. Next to the dresser was a desk. The booth also included a small cot. In the middle of the room was a small table with a worn picture in an old frame as its centerpiece.

  The picture was of a much younger Mr. Tesla with a full head of hair. He was standing next to a woman who was slightly taller than he was. The two looked happy and content, Naz thought, and he assumed the woman must have been Mrs. Tesla but was afraid to ask. Looking at the picture made Naz think of his mother and of Dr. Gwen’s loss, and this often put him in a somber mood. Whenever he sat at the table, he always sat with the picture facing away from him. But the picture had a purpose. Knowing it was there was a constant and stark reminder to him of the harsh realities of the Exclave, and every day it kept him mindful of what he faced in his world.

  Dr. Gwen’s words were still on Naz’s mind when he walked into MeeChi’s after his therapy session. He walked right past Antonio as the bird bobbed his head up and down in excitement.

  “Naz is here. Naz is here,” said Antonio.

  “Oh, hey, Tone,” said Naz, looking back at the bird as he walked to the booth.

  Tone didn’t respond. More often than not Mr
. Tesla was busy on the store floor, checking inventory, greeting and attending to customers, or assisting his employees. But unless it was an emergency or absolutely necessary for Mr. Tesla to be on the store floor, he always made his way to the booth when he thought Naz was coming, which was usually just after school let out. When Naz walked in the booth that day, Mr. Tesla was busy working at his desk.

  Without even looking up,Mr. Tesla said,“And who are we today? Sam, Naz, or …”

  “Naz, Mr. T,” Naz replied, cutting Mr. Tesla off.

  “And Mr. Tesla will do … Naz,” retorted Mr. Tesla.“And you need to teach that stupid bird of yours some manners.”

  “Mr. Tesla! He’s not stupid, he’s stubborn, and the last time I checked, on the certificate you gave me, his last name was Tesla.”

  “That can be easily rectified. He doesn’t even greet the customers anymore. And what’s with all those weird, new sounds that he makes: a siren, a phone ringing, a dog barking? Last week several customers ran out of the store because they thought the smoke alarm went off, but it was only Tony. Did you teach him all that stuff?”

  “Tone, Mr. Tesla… Me? I can’t make sounds like that.”

  “Tone, Tony, what’s the difference? He won’t answer to either one. Did you get my list today?” Mr. Tesla pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He looked at the phone as if it were a foreign object and began shaking his head.

  “Always do. You can trust the technology, Mr. Tesla. It works.”

  “These things are amazing.” Mr. Tesla continued fiddling with the phone.

  It was Naz’s idea that all of the Market Merchants he worked for should send him a list of the items they would be exchanging with one another in a text message. The merchants would have the goods prepared for Naz to transport by the time he arrived. Depending on the size of the load, Naz would then determine the mode and speed of transportation. The merchants had surprised Naz with a brand new bike for Christmas two years earlier, and he sometimes used this as well. But Naz’s favorite mode was his legs and his favorite speed was running—fast.

  Naz took off his book bag and placed it under the table.

  “By all means, make yourself at home,” said Mr. Tesla.

  Naz smiled and looked down at the bundle on the floor next to the door.“Anything breakable?” asked Naz as he walked to the refrigerator.

  “No, but still be careful. There are some small electronics.”

  Naz looked in the refrigerator and pulled out a red soda pop and a ham and cheese sandwich that was wrapped in clear paper and said,“Fuel.”

  “Don’t be bashful; help yourself.”

  This had become the daily routine for Naz and Mr. Tesla. There were only slight variations in the meal Mr. Tesla prepared for Naz, and their verbal jabs and/or pleasantries with each other. Naz sat on his usual side of the table where he couldn’t see the picture, unwrapped the ham and cheese sandwich, and began eating.

  “Any homework today?” asked Mr. Tesla.

  “I suppose.”

  “Plan on doing it?”

  “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t, depends on if I have time.”

  School came easy to Naz. It was boring to him. He hated it and did just enough to get by. He knew if he half-paid attention in class, did well on all his tests, quizzes, and classroom assignments, he would pass all of his classes, and that was good enough for him. To him, homework just wasn’t a priority. Mr. Tesla, along with Dr. Gwen and all of Naz’s teachers would always say Naz wasn’t living up to his potential. Naz wondered, what was his potential? He barely knew who he was, how could he have any idea what or who he wanted to be. So he lived day-to-day, in the moment, as he liked to say. He didn’t put much stock in structure or rules that he viewed were only there to constrain him.

  Between running back and forth to school and running for the Market Merchants, Naz used up plenty of energy; therefore, he could eat like a horse. He ate the ham and cheese sandwich in less than two minutes, put the bundle of goods on his back, and headed out of the booth with the soda pop in hand.

  “See you in about two hours, Mr. Tesla.”

  “Be careful, no more knife fights.”

  Naz gave Mr. Tesla a thumbs-up.

  Before Naz left the store, he put some sunflower seeds in Tone’s cup and bid the bird farewell. He waited for Tone’s reply, but again the bird was silent. Naz chuckled.

  Naz took different routes to the various merchants and never the same route twice in a row if he could at all help it. That way, the gang leaders and drug dealers who tried to recruit kids his age to gang bang and sell drugs, and anyone else who was interested in his dealings couldn’t get a bead on him.

  Naz’s first stop was a half mile east into Section 29 where he would drop off and pick up at Piccolo’s for Ibrahim Moussa, the tall, dark-eyed, stringy-haired proprietor who had first helped set up Naz’s unique arrangement with the Market Merchants, now known as the Market Quadrumvirate. From there it was two miles north into Section 30 to Mercado’s, owned by the eccentric Mercel Cardonias, the most successful of the merchants in the Quadrumvirate. Next Naz would take a break and pick up Meri from Higginbotham, which was about a mile-and-a-half southwest of Mercado’s and a mile southeast of Bellarusso’s, which was Naz’s last stop before returning to MeeChi’s.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BELLARUSSO’S

  BELLARUSSO’S was owned and operated by Richelle Bella and Frances Russo. Richelle and Frances had a special place in their hearts for Meri and wouldn’t let Naz run his errands there without her. There were always two bundles packed when Naz arrived: one for him and a smaller one for Meri. And they always paid Meri instead of Naz. For all intents and purposes, it was Meri’s account, and Naz was just there to help her. Naz didn’t mind. He thought it was good for her. She now had her own money, and the responsibility made her even more mature than she already was. But when Meri, Richelle, and Frances began to discuss the possibility of Meri making some shorter runs on her own, Naz made it clear that was out of the question. Naz figured that he could take care of himself, but even in broad daylight the Exclave was a no-win scenario for a nine-year-old girl carrying potentially valuable goods, commodities, and money on her person.

  “What took you so long?” asked Meri as she stood on the school steps and removed her ear buds.

  “This is the same time I got here yesterday,” replied Naz.

  “Right, late!”

  “I thought I told you to wait … insidethe school.”

  “You did, but it’s boring in there. There’s nothing to do once chess club is over, plus it’s more exciting out here.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  From Higginbotham to Bellarusso’s, Naz walked for the first time. The fifteen- to twenty-minute walk gave him and Meri a chance to talk about what happened at school that day, Miss Tracey, and anything else they wanted to talk about.

  Once Naz and Meri arrived at Bellarusso’s, no matter where Richelle and Frances were in the store or what they were doing, they always found their way to the front. They were anxious to see Meri, give her a big hug, and ask her a series of questions. Naz didn’t mind so much that they ignored him. What bothered him most was that it took so long. Naz had one rule for working for the Market Merchants, especially when Meri was with him. He absolutely had to be home before sundown; the Exclave was no place for two kids—or anyone else for that matter—to be on the streets at night.

  When Naz and Meri walked into Bellarusso’s that day, Frances was working one of the registers, as she often did. When she saw Meri, she immediately left her register, ran over, and greeted her with a big hug.

  “How’s my Firecracker?” Frances asked.

  “Fine, Miss Russo, how are you?” asked Meri.

  “Girl, I thought I told you to call me Miss Francy.”

  “You did. I just keep forgetting.”

  The customer at the register was noticeably losing his patience.

  Moments later,
Richelle appeared from nowhere, also giving Meri a big hug.“You guys are a little late,” said Richelle as she looked at her watch.

  “I told you,” said Meri, looking at Naz with a sardonic grin.

  The two ladies turned to see Naz, as if they had just noticed him for the first time.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Naz, I didn’t see you standing there,” said Richelle.

  “We should’ve known,” said Frances. “It’s always the weakest link,” she continued referring to Naz in a half-joking manner.“We ladies have to stick together, you know.” She winked at Meri.

  The two ladies had been best friends as far back as they could remember. They started Bellarusso’s with the insurance money Richelle received after her husband had been murdered over fifteen years ago. Frances never married. Between the two women, they had seven children—all boys and all working at Bellarusso’s. It was no wonder they took such a liking to Meri.

  “How was school today?” Richelle asked Meri.

  “Our day was good,” said Naz, before Meri could answer. “And I think we should all get back to work.” He pointed to the gentleman who was just about ready to lose his temperat the register.“Because I wouldn’t want to be latefor my last delivery.”

  They all turned in surprise and looked at Naz. Frances walked back to her register to finish assisting her customer, all the while nodding her head in approval. Richelle and Meri stood with their mouths open. This was a first. Naz usually never spoke up or out about anything.

  “The silent soldier grows up,” said Richelle. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a small bundle and handed it to Meri. She then reached in her apron, pulled out a small envelope, and handed it to Meri. Naz reached behind the same counter and pulled out a larger bundle and put it on his back.