12

The total was more than Rina had expected, eight dollars over budget, but she carried an extra ten in another part of her wallet for emergencies like this one. She handed the crisp bill to the checker, who snapped it in her hands.

“Fresh off the press,” the woman said, placing it in the register.

Rina smiled, held out her hand for the change, then stuffed it in her purse hurriedly. Wheeling the shopping cart out of the market, she began the long walk back to her car. The lot was emptier now. When she’d arrived earlier in the morning, there hadn’t been a space on the paved area. She’d had to park in a dirt extension full of broken glass and hope that her tread-bare tires would remain intact. The shopping cart was hard to push; a wheel was stuck, and it was loaded down with bags of groceries. She gave the thing a hard shove and something kicked in.

She couldn’t understand how she’d run so afar from her budget. Maybe she was having more company for Shabbos than usual, or perhaps her boys and their friends were eating more. Certainly, her appetite had decreased ever since the mikvah incident. She’d lost four pounds, and her curves were beginning to angulate.

Stopping in back of her battered Volvo, she flipped open the trunk. It was full of junk: old sand toys that the boys hadn’t used for years, newspapers that had yellowed with age, torn paper bags, and an empty juice bottle. She pushed the trash aside and began to load the groceries, but upon hearing sharp footsteps, stopped abruptly and looked up.

There were four of them-punk kids. Teenagers with greasy long hair, glassy eyes, and wise guy smirks. They were dressed similarly-jeans, black T-shirts emblazoned with images of Satan, scuffed up Wellington boots. The one who approached her was of medium height and build, with a weak chin and blond fuzz for facial hair. She had seen him before but had always avoided direct confrontation. Now he was giving her a lecherous smile that showed yellow buckteeth. His left arm sported a tattoo of a knife in a heart, and from his right ear dangled a gold hoop. He pulled out a cigarette and offered her one.

“No, thank you,” she said quietly.

Her eyes scanned the area for signs of life. In the distance was a woman with two small children.

“Can I help you load those bags, Miss?” the kid said. “Miss Jewey. Miss Kike. Miss Kikeyikey?”

The other three started to giggle. Rina attempted to ignore them and go about her business, but the punk encircled her arm with grease-stained fingers and yanked her away from the open trunk. Still gripping her tightly, he pulled off the kerchief she was wearing and let out a hoarse laugh. His breath was strong and stale.

“You’re a cutey, little Miss Jew bitch. Those big blue eyes…Nice black kike hair…Where’s your purse, honey?”

He took the bag off her shoulder, but released her arm.

“Let’s see what you got in your goody bag,” he chuckled. “Oh, boys, will you look at this.”

He pulled out her two dollars.

His comrades hooted with delight.

“I don’t think a rich Jew bitch like you would mind makin’ us a little loan, would you? Plenty of bread where this came from. Just gotta spread those nice legs for that rich fucker husband of yours and your purse magically fills up, don’t it.”

She gave him a hard, impassive stare.

He stuffed the bills in his pants pocket.

“Lookie here. What do we got? We got pictures. These two tykes your little ones?”

She said nothing.

“More little kike tykes.” He clucked his tongue. “You fuckers are taking over the world, ain’t you? First you take our money, now you move in our town and act like you own the place…”

He pulled the photos out of the plastic sheaths, tore them into pieces, ate one, and scattered the rest.

“She got any Jew dope in there, Cory?” One of them asked the leader.

“Nah, you don’t want Jew dope. It’d make your nose hang down to your cock.”

The punks howled.

“What else you got, honey? You got a pen. A nice one. Gold. Only expensive shit for you Hebee Jebees, huh?”

His eyes scrunched up and he moved his lips as he read the inscription.

“To Rina.” He looked up at her. “With love from Yizjack?”

“You people have dumbshit names.” He tossed it to one of his friends. “How fucking sweet! Little Jackshit gave you a pen!”

He searched further and pulled out a small pocket prayer book.

“What the fuck is this? Looks like a secret code to me. You some commie spy, rich bitch Hebe lady?”

He took out a knife and began slicing the pages. Rina’s eyes became wet with fury.

One of the others peered into her shopping bag, pulled out a bottle of club soda and started shaking it rapidly.

“Hey, man, I’m kinda hot. Are you kinda hot, Cory?”

“Man, I’m real hot,” he snickered. “I’m hot to trot with Jew baby.”

“Hey, maybe this’ll cool you off.”

He unscrewed the top and let out a gush of carbonated water, drenching them all in the process. The boys doubled over in laughter, having so much fun that they decided to repeat the procedure. After they’d emptied all the bottles, they moved on to the other groceries. Cory, clearly the leader, threw each of his friends an egg.

“I’m hungry.” He grinned. “How ’bout you, honey? You want some scrambled eggs?”

He cracked open the shell and emptied the contents in her trunk. The others elected to throw theirs against the car.

Cory belched out loud, filling the air with rancid fumes.

“Hey,” he said, “I heard egg in the hair was real good for split ends.”

He cracked an egg on her head. She stood there frozen and let the goop ooze down her face and neck. She wiped yoke from her eyes and waited for the next assault, trying hard to retain details of what was happening.

“Don’t take it personal, honey.” He cracked an egg over his own head and the boys followed suit. “Is this what you people mean by an egghead?”

An older man strode up. He was in his middle fifties, but solidly built, and appeared to be in good shape.

“Why don’t you boys beat it?” he said fiercely.

“Why don’t you knock it off, you old fart, before you get your motherfucking skull bashed in?”

The man took a swing at the punk, but the boy easily ducked the punch. Rina tried to run away, but was grabbed by Cory. The other three pounced upon the man at the same time. She screamed and Cory cupped a dirty hand over her mouth.

“Don’t waste him,” Cory shouted, holding Rina tightly. He was incredibly strong. “Not yet anyway.”

He leaned his back against the car and pulled Rina to his stomach, grinding his pelvis against her rear. Nausea surged through her gut. Two of the boys grabbed the man, pulled him upright and managed to restrain the writhing figure in their arms. He let go with a bellow, turning red as he struggled futilely in the boys’ grips.

“You fucking asshole,” the boy said as he landed a punch on the man’s nose. Immediately, out poured bright red blood.

Rina cried out again, and the boy stuffed a filthy headband in her mouth. She gasped and started to gag.

“You be a good little bitch, and I’ll take it out.”

He pulled out the piece of cloth. She spat and screamed again.

A moment later they all heard sirens.

“Cops!” Cory yelled.

Rina took advantage of his diverted attention and stomped hard on his instep. As he yelped in pain, she spun around and knee dropped him. Cory recovered quickly, but not fast enough. Though his friends had managed to flee successfully, he found himself surrounded by patrol cars and cops. Overcome by panic, he pulled out a knife, grabbed Rina and brought the blade to her throat.

“Police officer! Freeze!” a cop shouted, pointing a gun. “Drop the knife! Drop it! Drop the knife! Drop it!”