'You didn't outrun me,' I said. 'I took a break and waited for you to catch up.'

Rivera walked over toward Gonzalez, putting one hand around her shoulder.

'I hate clowns,' she said. 'They're not funny, you know? They only think they're funny.'

'What they did to Hector, that ain't funny, neither,' Gonzalez said, brushing the heel of her sneaker against my leg. 'But I bet they laughed.'

'Gimme your belt,' Rivera said. 'We're gonna teach this clown to be serious.'

The park was empty, except for an old rummy sleeping under a pile of newspapers on a bench. My face and arms were glazed with sweat and my right leg twitched from tensions. One of my shoelaces had come undone and I couldn't breathe free of pain.

Gonzalez stood over me and opened her straight razor. She leaned down and grabbed the top of my white shirt and cut it in half, stopping just above my pants.

'This is for Hector,' Rivera said, swinging the belt above her shoulder.

'Hurt him,' Gonzalez said. 'Make him hurt.'

Rivera's lashes landed across my face and neck, the pain causing my eyes to well with tears. She then lowered the gate of her swing, my chest and stomach now taking the force of the blows. My chest was soon red, the sting as hard as anything I'd felt, a steady torrent of belt against flesh.

Rivera landed one last blow and stopped.

'You wanna piece?' she said to Gonzalez.

'He ain't man enough for me to whip,' Gonzalez said, looking at me with a smile.

'Thank you,' I mumbled.

The first rock landed next to Rivera's feet. The second hit her above the thigh. Gonzalez turned her head and caught one on the arm. The two girls who were holding me down let go and moved away.

'We're goin',' one of them said. 'No more of this.'

I looked past Gonzalez, at the fence behind the sprinklers and saw Michael and John climbing over. Tommy stood facing the fence, tossing rocks over the side.

Gonzalez looked down at me, her eyes filled with hate. She took a deep breath, bent closer to me and spit her bubble gum above my right eye. She took two steps back and let out two kicks to my groin, the hard rubber of her sneakers finding a mark both times.

'So long, fucker,' she said. 'Be seein' you again.'

When they got to me, Michael and John lifted me up, hands wrapped under my shoulders.

I was slow stepping my way out of the park, toward the bar on 52nd Street. The inside of my chest felt as seared as the outside. But more than anything, I was humiliated.

'I don't want anybody to know,' I said.

'Might be in the papers tomorrow,' John smirked. 'Not every day one of King Benny's boys gets his ass bopped by some girls.'

'It would've been better if they killed me,' I said.

'You're right,' Tommy said. 'Much easier to explain.'

'This only proves what we always knew,' Michael said.

'What?'

'You can't fight for shit.'

'I hear they make guys have sex with 'em,' John said. 'You know, force 'em.'

'Now I'm sorry we came along,' Michael said. 'You might have finally gotten laid.'

'I think I'm gonna faint,' I said.

'Ugly sex is better than no sex,' John said.

'Anybody asks, tell 'em a gang from Inwood came down and kicked my ass,' I said.

'Which gang?' Tommy asked.

'The Cougars,' I said. 'They're pretty tough.'

'How about the gang from the School for the Blind?' John said. 'You could say they bumped into you on the street. You had no choice. You hadda fight 'em.'

'There was eight of them and only one of you,' Tommy said. 'The deck was stacked.'

'And they had dogs too,' John said. 'You didn't have a chance.'

'All I know is the Count of Monte Cristo never got his ass kicked by a girl,' Michael said.

'He was lucky,' I sighed. 'He didn't know Janet Rivera.'

King Benny shuffled the cards, large espresso cup to his left, drawn window blind shielding his face from the sun. I sat across from him, chest near the edge of a small round table, hands folded, 7-Up bottle at my side, waiting for the game to begin. I was eleven years old.

'Sure you wanna play me?' King Benny asked.

'Why not?'

'I cheat.'

'Me too,' I said.

'Good,' he said and opened the deal.

The game was sette bello, Italian black jack, and the stakes were low, a penny a win, nickel on a two-card hit. We were in the middle of King Benny's club, three empty tables around us, the door behind us locked. White dust particles, heavy enough to hold, curled their way up toward the hanging overhead lights. A jukebox played Sinatra and 'High Hopes'.

'Hungry?' King Benny asked, tossing me two cards.

'No,' I said. 'Thanks.'

'Sure?'

'I'm sure,' I said.

'What's it gonna be?' he said, nodding toward my cards.

'Give a hit.'

King Benny flipped a card from the top of the deck, his eyes on me.

'You're over,' he said. 'You're into me for a penny.'

'Double or nothing,' I told him.

'A sucker bet,' he said, dealing out a fresh set of cards and sipping from his coffee.

I lost the first ten hands we played, King Benny picking up the pennies and piling them next to his cup. He kept the deck of cards in his right hand, dealing with one finger, his eyes always on me, never on the table. He shuffled the cards every other deal and ignored the phone when it rang.

'You always end up with a six,' I said. 'How is that?'

'Lucky,' he said.

'Got any pretzels?' I asked.

'Behind the bar,' he said. 'Help yourself.'

'Want anything?'

'What time is it?' he asked.

'Quarter to five,' I said, looking at my Timex watch, a swag present he had given me.

'Too early,' he said.

King Benny never ate before seven and only slept for two hours a night. He always carried a thousand dollars in twenties and singles in his pants pocket, never wore a gun and was said to have a brother in jail, doing natural life on a double murder charge.

I sat back down, picking at a bag of salt pretzels. He sipped his coffee, shuffled the cards and leaned back in his chair.

'I hear you got trouble at home,' he said, putting the cup back by his side.

'It's nothing.'

'If it was nothing,' he said, 'I wouldn't have heard about it.'

'My father owes money,' I admitted.

'Who this time?'

'The Greek,' I said. 'He's six months late on the payments.'

'How much?'

'Three thousand,' I said. 'As of yesterday. Goes up every day.'

'Yeah,' King Benny said. 'It does.'

'The Greek sent a coupla guys over late last night,' I said. 'Scare him a little.'

'It work?'

'Scared or not,' I said, 'he doesn't have the money and can't get it from anybody else.'

'No,' King Benny said. 'He can't.'

'He's hiding out,' I said. 'Until it blows over or he makes a big score.'

'Guys like your father never make big scores,' King Benny said. 'They just keep guys like me in business.'

'Will they kill him?'

'No,' he said. 'He'll just wish they did.'

'I got sixty bucks put aside,' I told him. 'My mother can come up with another forty. That should be good for something.'

'Forget it,' King Benny said.

'I can't forget it,' I said. 'He's my father.'

King Benny shook his head. 'The loan's been squared.'

'Who squared it?'

'You did. This morning. The Greek picked up an envelope with three grand and a note from you. Him and your father are even.'

I didn't show any real emotion. That wasn't allowed. All I said was, 'I can't pay you back right away.'

'You don't have to pay me back at at all,' I was told.

'Why'd you do it?' I wanted to know. 'You never liked my father.'

'Still don't,' King Benny said. 'He lives or dies, don't mean a thing to me.'