"I'll teach you to make rude gestures at me, you little bastard," the woman screamed as she taped the tiny thumbs tight to the hands. "You'll learn to keep your mouth shut and mind or I'll really give you what for!"
The four-year-old stared at it's mother with wide, frightened eyes as the woman shoved the child into a cotton chicken feed sack. The last thing the child saw before the woman pulled the drawstring tight was wild, crazy eyes staring back. Then the sack closed and the beating began. Mercifully the child lost consiousness but later, when it awoke, it was alone in the dark. Cold, hungry, thirsty and frightened beyond thinking, it was a little animal, shivering in the night in an old chicken shed, listening to the howl of the coyotes prowling closer and closer.
"I won't be bad anymore, Mommy," the child thought to itself. "I'll be careful. I won't stick my tongue out and put my thumb on my nose. I promise. Just come get me, Mommy. Please!! PLEASE!!!"
Heartbroken sobs filled the night.
(Section One)
Les grabbed the trash toter handle to pull it closer to the truck. It didn't budge. He tugged harder, swearing at the owners of the house where the toter was located. "Stupid idiots," he growled. "They know the rules. No more than 215 pounds. I'm going to report them." He reached for the notepad and pencil stub in his pocket and scribbled the address on the first sheet. There were already several addresses on it. It hadn't been a good day.
"Get a move on," yelled Donbo from the front of the truck. "We've still got Wessex Avenue and Tobler Place left. It's damn near 4 o'clock now and I have a date."
Grunting, Les pulled the toter to the back of the waiting truck and wrestled it onto the hydraulic lift. He stepped to the left side of the vehicle and pushed a button, activating the lift. Turning, he watched a carload of high school girls pull up to the house next door.
"Look at all that young stuff, Donnie-boy," he yelled over the noise of the hydraulics. With a practised grin he leaned nonchalantly against the side of the truck, took off his hard hat and ran a hand through the unruly natural waves of his sunstreaked hair.
Pretending not to notice, three of the girls giggled and ran into the house. The fourth boldly returned his grin and sauntered up the driveway, her gym bag slung over her shoulder.
"Jailbait trouble," Donbo yelled back at Les. "Like I said, get a move on. I wanna get done sometime this year. I ain't got time for you to hit on a bunch of trouble."
Les turned back to the truck and pushed a second button which operated the compactor. The lift, and the now-empty toter, dropped back to the street while the latest load was shoved into the mess already in the belly of the truck. He pulled the toter off the lift and gave it a shove toward the curb. Grabbing the handle on the end of the bed, he whistled at Donbo and jumped onto the lift himself as the truck grated into gear and rumbled off.
