Johnny gnawed the last shred of meat off the bone, patted his belly with satisfaction, and smirkedâheâd made another ten dollars today.
Life was good. He had paid two quartersâ worth of protection fees recently, meaning he didnât have to worry about those expenses for the next six months. At first, handing over the money had stung, but as John had assured him, it wasnât money disappearingâit was just being paid in advance.
Glancing at the apprentice wiping down tables in the corner, Johnny scoffed before heading to his room. He was in a great mood tonight; consistent sales always did that for him.
He lay down on his bed, placing the cash box under the nightstand, and turned on the radio to listen to a serialized drama.
Radio dramas were a staple entertainment for the Federationâs working class. Televisions, while available, were costly, and lower-income families didnât have the luxury of time to sit in front of them. Most worked from early morning until exhaustion claimed them at night. For those who did enjoy television, peeking through store windows on the way home sufficed.
Some stores strategically placed TVs in their windows to attract passersby. Why buy a TV when you could watch for free?
The drama, co-hosted by a male and female narrator playing the storyâs characters, used rich dialogue and voice acting to immerse listeners completely. It was one of the most popular programs, airing from 8:30 to 9:25 p.m.âa solid fifty-five minutes, enough to entertain without disrupting sleep schedules.
Johnny, his belly full of greasy, sugary food, began to drift off as the narrators spun their tale. Half-asleep, he heard footsteps outside and growled, "Damn brat, what the hell are you doing wandering around at this hour?"
"If you donât get to bed right now, youâre skipping breakfast tomorrow!"
The footsteps ceased immediately, and Johnny turned over, slipping into that half-dreamy state he relished.
Outside, under the dim glow of the nightlight, the apprentice stood with five young men around his age in the bakery.
The group tore into leftover bread from the day, particularly the high-end varieties. Topping their slices with ham, they devoured the food ravenously. It was as if their purpose tonight wasnât theft but indulgence.
The apprentice joined in. Despite working in the bakery for months, heâd never tasted the nut bread or the mouthwatering ham slices. He ate with reckless fervor, as though consuming not just bread and ham but also his hatred, disgust, and despair.
When the group had their fill, the clock struck ten, and faint snores began to emanate from Johnnyâs room.
The apprentice wiped his mouth. "Thereâs only one bed inside, and his daughter hasnât been staying here lately. The moneyâs with him. I know Johnnyâhe canât sleep unless he can see his stash."
"I donât want a share," he added, "but I have one condition..."
The leader of the group licked his fingers. "I know, youâve said it a million timesâbreak both his arms." He motioned toward the cabinets. "Now help me pack up this bread. And those ham slices, too."
"Damn it, this bastard makes them so damn good!"
The others chimed in, agreeing that the bread was incredible. Theyâd heard rumors about the bakeryâs quality but had never been able to afford it. Even the slightest markupâa penny more per poundâwas enough to deter their families.
The apprentice quickly packed the goods, then retreated to his room, locking the door and burying himself under the covers. His heart pounded in his ears, but for the first time, the darkness brought him peace rather than dread. He felt secure, even excited.
Meanwhile, the leader twisted the doorknob to Johnnyâs room and found it unlocked.
He exchanged a surprised look with his crew.
What they didnât know was that Johnny saw the apprentice as a broken dog, incapable of defiance. Johnny never worried about him and assumed he would slink away at the first shout of "Get out!" With the windows locked, he felt secure in his fortress.
The room was pitch black and eerily quiet.
Someone bumped into something, sending it clattering to the floor. Johnny jerked awake and snarled, "Whoâs there?"
He switched on the light.
The scene froze for a moment. His hand hovered over the nightstand, while five young men stood before him, each holding a club.  n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om
A chilling realization crawled up Johnnyâs spine. Just as he tried to react, the leader swung his club directly at Johnnyâs head.
Johnny raised an arm to block the blow, but the impact snapped the bone with a sickening crack. He howled in pain, clutching his broken forearm as he scrambled into the corner where the bed met the wall, screaming for help.  ðãâ¦Åð±Æð
One of the men quickly shut the door, trapping the sounds of chaos inside.
"Whereâs the money?" the leader barked, jumping onto the bed and pressing Johnnyâs head against the wall with his foot.
Fear consumed Johnny. The pain from his broken arm was nothing compared to the terror these young facesâstill carrying traces of innocenceâinstilled in him.
His mind blank, Johnny stammered the first thing that might save him. "In my pocketâmy coat pocket. Iâm injured; take whatever you want. Just donât hurt me!"
The leaderâs foot pressed harder, eliciting another agonized scream. "If youâre lying, youâll regret it."
Two others rifled through Johnnyâs coat, pulling out a handful of crumpled bills. "Just fifteen bucks."
The leaderâs expression darkened. He turned back to Johnny. "I meant the cash from your shopâhundreds of dollars. Donât play dumb!"
Johnnyâs heart sank. "I... I donât know what youâre talking about. Thereâs no such money," he lied, hoping to protect the rest of the stash in the cash box.
The leader stepped back, giving Johnny false hopeâonly to raise his club high and swing it down with all his might.
Instinctively, Johnny raised both arms to shield himself, despite one already being broken.
Another sickening crack filled the room, followed by his bloodcurdling screams. His obese body jerked violently on the bed, flailing as if trying to escape the unrelenting blows.
The gang pummeled him mercilessly, their inexperienced hands swinging with reckless abandon. Clubs blurred as they rained down on Johnny, reducing him to a sobbing, pleading mess.
"Iâll talk! Stop! Itâs under the pillowâstop hitting me!" he wailed, his voice cracking with desperation.
The leader kicked aside the pillow and yanked off the blanket, revealing a battered tin cookie box.
He opened it and inhaled sharply.
Johnny, who hadnât cried during the beating, suddenly burst into tears. The money meant everything to himâits loss was a wound far deeper than any broken bone.
The others crowded around, their faces lighting up with astonished glee at the sight.
The leader didnât bother counting. He snapped the lid shut and stuffed the box into his coat.
With a nod, one of the others began thrashing Johnnyâs arms again, battering them until they were grotesquely misshapen.
Satisfied, the leader gave the signal to leave.
As the sound of retreating footsteps faded, Johnny, sobbing uncontrollably, began screaming into the night. "You miserable bastardsâget back here!"