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"You're seriously not going to make me hold hands when we cross the street," Bajcetic groaned as he and Thiago approached the main avenue. The coffee shop that they planned to meet Tsimikas at was on the other side, separated by a river of cars and other pedestrians. "I'm eighteen, aren't I too old for this?!"
"You're never too old to be taken care of, I say." Thiago took Bajcetic's hand in his own, ruffling the youngster's hair. "Now let's cross the street before Rococo’s closes.”
Bajcetic gave in, letting Thiago walk him across the street. In his opinion, eighteen was far too old to have his teammates help him across the street. It didn’t matter if the aforementioned teammate was Thiago, whose father had been teammates with his own father—he was nearly grown for Christ’s sake! He shouldn’t have to deal with this.
A thought crossed his mind, and Bajcetic was only too eager to shake it off. Besides their overprotective ways, Thiago and Tsimikas were good guys. They watched over Bajcetic and kept him out of trouble. But it would be nice to have some freedom for a change…
“Hey, check out those jackets!” Bajcetic pointed towards the store window of an H&M’s branch, where several denim and leather jackets posed along with their plastic models. “Can I go check them out, Tio?”
“Well…I don’t see why not.” Thiago pointed to his watch, handing Bajcetic some bills. “Twenty pounds should be enough to pay for a reasonable jacket. Stay in lighted areas, and don’t go anywhere else but the store, and—”
“Tio, I’m fine!” Bajcetic pocketed the money and strode away, waving to Thiago when he was already quite a distance away. “See you in half an hour.”
Thiago waved back, wearing a twisted half-frown. “Don’t be late.”
*
On the rest of the way to the coffee shop, Thiago couldn’t help but worry about Bajcetic going to the store alone. Sure, he was eighteen; but Bajcetic was also the definition of stubborn defiance. He would do anything to prove that he was grown up, even though he was still a teenager. And that would surely lead to trouble.
He relaxed a bit upon entering the coffee shop, inhaling the scent of rich coffee and sweet pastries. It wasn’t hard to find Tsimikas, munching on a cinnamon roll while jamming to the music from his earbuds.
“Yooo Thiago, my man!” Tsimikas high-fived Thiago, sliding a plate of pastries to him. “These pastries are fire. Where’s Stefan?”
“He wanted to look at some jackets at H&M. I told him to be back in half an hour.” Thiago sighed, taking his seat at the opposite end of the table. “Is it wrong for me to keep such a tight leash on Stefan?”
Tsimikas shrugged, removing his earbuds and placing them back in the case. “I don’t know. He’s eighteen, and some of us were living alone by then.”
“Granted, but that’s how so many threw away their lives. The kid has so much potential and the humility to go with it.” Thiago absentmindedly picked at a cheese danish, leaving small fork-holes in the filling. “I promised his dad and mine that I’d take care of him, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I let something happen just because I wasn’t paying attention.”
Before Tsimikas could say anything, the all too familiar sound of a crowd made itself known to the pair. A couple of voices called for people to calm down, but the crowd ignored them.
“What the heck…” Thiago dropped his food and quickly stood from his chair, nearly knocking the table over. “Kostas, come on, we have to go.”
“Into that crowd? Are you mad?”
Thiago grabbed Tsimikas by the wrist, pulling him out of his chair. “The crowd’s going towards H&M’s.”
Tsimikas gasped as it dawned upon him. “That’s where Stefan is.”
*
Bajcetic squirmed in the fitting rooms, rubbing against the ropes tying his hands together. He screamed for help, but it was muffled by the thick jean jacket wrapped around his mouth.
All Bajcetic had done was pick up a jacket and try it on, in broad daylight, right next to the rack. But some random shopper had jumped on him from nowhere, tied him up and hid him in a fitting room. Bajcetic begged to be let go, but his abductor refused to do so until he got a ransom. The amount he’d requested made Bajcetic dizzy; or it could’ve been the lack of air, he wasn’t so sure. It was by sheer luck that another man trying to get into the fitting room had spotted and recognized Bajcetic, calling for the store manager.
It’d all been a blur after that. All Bajcetic could hear were police sirens and yelling from every direction, none of it distinctive or good.
Even if Bajcetic’s hands were untied, he couldn't call anybody for help because the mugger had stolen his phone and wallet. And the store was far enough from Rococo’s for Tsimikas and Thiago to not even hear the crowd.
Ayudame, por favor.
Out of nowhere, Bajcetic spotted a semi-sharp metal edge on the fitting room door. It was probably part of an old doorstop, but it was good enough for him. Inching towards it like an oversized caterpillar, he rubbed the ropes against it until they were free. The metal piece fell off the door, but he didn’t care now that his hands were free. Even though his legs were bound as well, he could still drag himself out with his arms and call for help.
Bajcetic pumped the air in victory, then winced, immediately regretting it. The mugger had definitely sprained something in his left hand, and both of his wrists were marred with raw, red rope burns. Upon further inspection, he discovered that his left hand was swollen, stiff and bruised badly. Groaning, Bajcetic reached for the doorknob with his right hand—only to find that it had been locked from the outside.
Dammit! He banged his head against the wall, letting out a stream of curses that even Klossner would have blushed upon hearing. Luckily, the jean jacket muffled his profanity streak, but it couldn’t prevent the tears from stinging his eyes.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
*
“Have you seen a teenager around here?” Thiago asked the store manager. “He’s about this high, with brown curly hair and skinny like a six-year-old.”
The manager shrugged, trying to push them away. “We haven’t seen anybody like him, sir. Now could you excuse me—”
“That kid was with us!” Tsimikas exclaimed, pointing towards the store door. “He went in there a few minutes ago, he’s easily distinctive. Are you sure he didn’t see him?”
“Might’ve seen him. What was he wearing, chaps?”
Thiago could’ve punched the guy for how casually he handled the situation. “Black leather jacket, black skinny jeans. A Liverpool baseball cap sort of like the one their gaffer wears—”
“Hold up a minute, chaps! I saw the la’ right in this store!” A burly man with a giant beard walked up to them, dragging a bound and gagged man behind him. “This ‘ere wrongun had him tied up in a fitting room right under me nose. Looked like a certain Stefan Bajcetic.”
He glanced at both Thiago and Tsimikas, gasping in surprise. “And the both o’ you are Liverpool players also, I take it!”
“Please sir, there’s no time for photos,” Thiago shouted over the increasing din. Apparently, the crowd had overheard their identities. “Just tell us where Stefan is.”
“Fitting rooms, I think the third one.” The burly man took Thiago and Tsimikas’ hands in one of his huge ones, and there was still room for more. “I’ll get you through the crowd. And in the meantime, chap,” he glanced at the store manager, whose jaw had dropped to reveal a mouth of yellow-green teeth, “take this mugger to the cops.”
And get them through the crowd he did. He hustled his way through the crowd, dragging Thiago and Tsimikas along with him. In nearly no time at all they were inside the store. Thiago pulled away immediately to search for Bajcetic, but Tsimikas stayed behind a bit longer.
“Thanks, bro.” Tsimikas shook hands with the burly man, clapping him on the shoulder. “You really helped us back there. Say, could I get your name?”
“Hank. Worked for years as a photographer for Everton. I decided to go out on the town today, but…”
“Hold on a freakin’ minute!” Tsimikas exclaimed. A little too loud for Hank’s liking apparently, because the photographer took a couple of steps back towards the door. “ You’re an Everton fan? Then why are you helping us?”
“Normally, I should be breaking the two o’ you’s legs.” Hank stuck out his hand for another handshake, mouth pressed into a tight smile. “But me mum always told me to do the right thing. And when I saw the bloke attacking the kid, I just…it kinda kicked in.”
Instead of shaking Hank’s hand, Tsimikas punched him in the back again. “Seems like not all Everton fans are bad after all.”
*
Thiago had thought that finding Bajcetic would be easy. Hank had told them that he was in a fitting room. But then he realized there were three sets of five fitting rooms and cursed the living daylights out of the whole franchise. Probably not the most productive thing to do, but relatable.
“Stefan! Stefanito!” Thiago called out. He searched under display cases and clothing racks in case Bajcetic had gotten out, but he had no luck. That was, until he heard soft, incoherent sobs from one of the fitting rooms. Thiago’s instincts kicked in as he unlocked the fitting room’s door; and his instincts were well-placed, as Bajcetic was curled up right behind the door.
“ Stefan, hijito!” Thiago knelt on the dusty floor, gently untying the jacket from around Bajcetic’s mouth and nose. “¿Ay, pobrecito, qué te han hecho a ti?”
“T- Tio!” The teen sniffled, burying himself in Thiago’s arms. “ Lo siento, I should’ve never gone to the store, I feel horrible.”
“ No, no cariño, no es tu culpa. I should’ve trusted my gut instinct before, I’m so sorry.” Thiago carefully lifted Bajcetic’s left hand, wincing at how swollen it was. “We should get this bandaged once we get back to Kirkby. Do you think it’s broken?”
“No, it’s just sprained .” Bajcetic clung to Thiago like he was eighteen months old instead of eighteen years. “Where’s Kostas?”
“Right here, little man!” Tsimikas popped up out of nowhere with his usual goofy grin. But that disappeared when he saw the state Bajcetic was in. “What the hell happened here?”
“Kostas!” Bajcetic shakily got to his feet, hugging Tsimikas tightly.
“ O, paidáki , you’re okay now.” Tsimikas ran his hands through Bajcetic’s hair, ignoring the fact that the youngster was a whole three inches taller than him. “Are you okay now?”
“ Somebody mugged me, and sprained my wrist. But then this nice man rescued me. Tio Thi, do you think the boss will be mad at me for this?”
“Why should he?” Thiago stood from the floor, brushing the dust off his jeans. “I don’t think the boss will be mad at any of us, Stefanito. In fact, he’s going to worry about you just as much as we’re doing now.”
“But in the meantime, I’ve got something for you.” Tsimikas reached into his pocket, taking out Bajcetic’s phone and wallet. “Hank took them from the mugger and gave them to me. He saved you Stefan, even though he’s an Everton fan.”
Bajcetic blushed slightly, taking the items and stuffing it in his own jacket pocket. “That’s really nice of him.”
Thiago sighed in relief, ruffling Bajcetic’s hair as well. “Then I guess you can write him an equally nice thank-you note when we get back home.”
“I have his number, so we can send it to him.” Tsimikas carefully lifted Bajcetic’s injured wrist, using his own scarf as a makeshift sling. “Now, let’s go home. Everybody will be worried about you.”
“Si, Tio Thi.” Bajcetic yawned, clearly tired from the afternoon. “And Theíos Kóstas.”