:: Article

Sweet 15

By Mike Deakin

“How old are you?” I asked, I sat motionless and tried to focus on the dark world outside the steamed up windscreen of the car, not daring to look at him.

“15,” he said in a flat voice. “I need to get moving soon; I’ve got school in the morning.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, the panic was beginning to bubble in the pit of my stomach and rise to the empty spaces in my chest.

“I see, you look older than that,” I managed. Like a slasher movie trailer, the scene that was to follow flashed through my head. I was powerless to stop it.

“I’m a little short of money,” he said.

“The killer strikes…” the words echoed in my head.

“So if you could see your way to letting me have something, you know for what‘ve done…” He trailed off, he too now stared out the windscreen. I lifted my butt off the seat and reached into my jeans for my wallet, I flipped it open and pulled out a twenty and handed it to him, I turned to look at his face, I wanted to see him smile or nod his acceptance. He looked at the twenty as if I’d handed him a dead rat.

I felt sick.

“Twenty? I normally get more,” he stated flatly, a practiced response.

“That’s all I’ve got,” I said. My words came out thin, strangled. “You never said you wanted paying, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have…”

“Let me suck your dick,” he finished for me. “It’s too late for that.” He spat out the words.

I was trapped, I knew it and like the expert hunter he was, he knew it too. I had no way out.

“That’s all the money I have on me,” I retorted. “I didn’t know I’d need any at all, you’ve tricked me.”

“You weren’t saying that when you shot your load,” he taunted. “Well, we’ll just have to see what they say down at the police station then.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “Police station?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ve still got some of your cum on my hands, they’ll be able to do a DNA test on you or something, I am only 15 after all.”

I sat staring at him, not daring to move; I wanted to punch the little cunt and toss him out of the car and leave him sprawled out in the dirt of the car park.

“Do you know what entrapment means?” I asked him, with as much menace as I could muster.

“Makes no difference, I’m still only 15.” The little bastard actually shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me.

In a flash of clarity, I new exactly what had to be done. I turned the ignition of the car and flicked on the lights. The car sprang to life and I cannoned out of the deserted car park.

“Where are we going?” He sounded unsure, my resolve was making him nervous, did he for the first time think I might be capable of doing him some harm, the prey turning on it’s hunter?

“Exactly what you wanted,” I replied, calm now, “we’re going to the police station, I’m not going to be held ransom by you or anyone.”

“You’ll go to prison, you’ll be knocked about as a kiddie fiddler,” he said, “you don’t want that do you?”

“I don’t care.” I just wanted an end to it. “I’ll just tell them what happened, hand myself over and that’s an end to it.” I tried to keep myself calm. He was starting to panic, he was trapped now in a moving car, but he tried not to show it, but I could tell.

We pulled up at a set of red traffic lights and he stared at me. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Deadly,” I said, I kept my eyes on the red lights, willing them to transform to amber. In a second the passenger door flew open and he was gone, leaving the door gaping and the cold night air flooded in.

“15 my arse,” I whispered to the empty night.

Mike Deakin teaches literacy to adults; he is 37 and lives in Yorkshire, United Kingdom and has never tested his own toes in literary waters. If the water’s fine, he may spend more time there.


First published in 3:AM Magazine: Wednesday, April 4th, 2007.