Boulevard by Bill Guttentag

staircase. “Be careful of the steps.”
    Even in the half-light, Robin could see a bunch of them had boards missing. The banister and wooden spindles were in just as bad shape.
    â€œHug the wall—you’ll be okay.”
    Robin followed Casey, staying within a few inches of her. They reached the top landing and walked down a hallway, also strewn with trash.
    â€œTill you figure out what you’re doing,” Casey said, “you can stay in here with me and Dream. If you want.”
    â€œYeah?”
    Casey pushed open the door—and screamed. Robin jumped back. Standing before them, in the dark, was a very thin, very tall guy in his twenties, rifling through a backpack. Crackhead.
    â€œHey! Yo!” Casey screamed out.
    The thief shot back, “Fuck are you?”
    â€œFuck am I? That’s my jacket you got on!”
    â€œToo fuckin’ bad.”
    That leather bomber jacket was the one piece of clothing she owned that had good memories attached.
    â€œMy coat, man—give it back!” she yelled.
    â€œWas your coat.”
    â€œCome on. I’ll give you twenty bucks. Give it back. Twenty bucks.”
    â€œLemme see it.”
    Casey reached into her pocket and found a crinkled bill. The thief looked at it. An instant later he grabbed her, pulling out a knife and jamming it against the side of Casey’s neck. She felt the point pressing against her skin. She was shaking all over, but she kept telling herself: Stay calm. Tough it out. It’s just a crackhead—
    He snatched the twenty from her hand.
    â€œAny more? You got more?”
    She gave him the rest of what she had—a couple more bills.
    â€œThat’s it?”
    The blade tightened against her neck. It was sharp. Its point was digging in, and she knew the crackhead would push it home and not think twice about doing it.
    â€œThat’s all I got, man!”
    This is it? This is how I die—a crackhead. Over a jacket?
    Casey felt the knife push in still harder, like it was going to break straight through her skin—any second … when Robin yelled, “I got sixty!”
    The thief looked over. The knife point lifted off her skin.
    â€œLemme see it.”
    Robin quickly opened her backpack and pulled out a bunch of bills.
    â€œHere.”
    Robin held out the money. The thief let go of Casey, and grabbed the money—when Robin kicked him fast and hard—right into his balls. The crackhead screamed and dropped to the floor, holding his balls in pain. The second he did, Casey bolted past him, and together the girls raced for the stairs. They could hear the guy following after them.
    They made it to the bottom of the steps, and the thief was just behind. Casey looked back over her shoulder as she ran, and saw he was pissed and getting closer fast. She turned back around—and saw Jumper and Dream.
    The thief saw them too. And froze.
    â€œFucker tried to rip us off!” Casey yelled.
    Jumper got a crazy look in his eyes. He lunged towards the banister and pulled off one of the loose spindles. The thief tried to run off, but Jumper instantly caught up and went psycho on him, beating the thief with the spindle—across his back, his stomach, and into his head.
    â€œGive it up, man—now motherfucker!” Jumper yelled.
    The thief tried to cover his face, but Jumper kept swinging the spindle until there was blood all over it. Finally, the jerk pulled off the jacket, threw back the money and scrambled out through the hole in the floor.
    Jumper triumphantly tossed the spindle across the room and said, “All those years in little league finally paid off!”
    Casey dropped down on the steps, trembling, but feeling an amazing rush.
    â€œYou know what she did, Jump?” Casey said, pointing at Robin, “Know what she did? She saved my ass by giving that asshole the biggest kick to the balls you ever saw! She’s all quiet-like, but when that fucker had a knife