Chances by Jackie Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

a drugstore over on 110th Street, was the hangout. There Gino met with his friends and generally horsed around.
    “What happened with Zeko the Creepo?” Pinky Banana asked as soon as he arrived.
    He shrugged. “I gotta room in his place. Don’t mean we hafta be joined at the kneecap.”
    “You gonna see your old man?” Catto inquired.
    “Naw. I’ll give him a few days.”
    “Give him a few days and he’ll be back inside.” Pinky Banana laughed at his own humor, letting out a few loud farts for good measure.
    “Jeeze!” Gino screwed up his nose. “Ain’t it bad enough I got Catto on one side? Now you too!”
    Pinky Banana guffawed and eyed a cute little blond girl busying herself with an ice-cream soda. He contemplated a quick flash, but Gino, as if reading his mind, said quickly, “Not her. I got a hard-on for that one.”
    Pinky Banana and Catto rolled eyes at each other. Another conquest for Gino. What
was
his secret?
    The girl finished her soda and got up from the high barstool. She was pretty and knew it. She walked past Gino and his cronies, head held high.
    “Girl like you could get into trouble bein’ out alone,” Gino singsonged.
    She pretended not to hear.
    “Hey,” he said sharply, “don’t ignore me like I’m shit on the street.”
    A blush stung the girl’s cheeks, and she quickened her steps. Pinky Banana laughed.
    Gino slapped his hands together. “I ain’t in the mood to go chasing after some stuck-up piece.”
    They heard her scream two minutes later, a sharp panic-stricken scream from outside in the street.
    Gino moved fast, bounding on the balls of his feet, Catto and Pinky Banana beside him.
    Zeko the Creepo had little Miss Cuteness pinned up against the wall. She was squeaking like a frightened rabbit while his hands roamed all over her. Her white blouse was ripped down the front, revealing her bosom.
    “What you doin’, Zeko?” Gino asked softly.
    “Not your business—punk.” Zeko scowled.
    “Yeh? Well, I’m makin’ it my business.”
    Zeko thrust toward the frightened girl. “I’m not greedy. When I’m through y’can all have a turn.”
    “Get away from her, y’slimy creepo.”
    “Fuck off, Gino.”
    They were fighting before anyone knew it. Struggling and rolling on the ground. Kicking and clawing at each other.
    Gino was younger and shorter than Zeko, but stronger. He threw a good punch that busted Zeko’s lip. Blood came pouring out.
    “Y’dirty stinkin’ little rat,” Zeko snarled. He reached into his boot and produced a knife.
    They were both back on their feet now, warily circling each other. Pinky Banana and Catto had been joined by a neighborhood crowd who screamed for blood. Some were shouting for Gino, some for Zeko.
    Gino didn’t hear anything. He had one eye on the knife, one eye on Zeko’s every move.
    Zeko lunged suddenly, the knife cutting a vicious slash down the side of Gino’s cheek. The blood was more profuse than the pain.
    “You cock bastard!” Gino yelled. And the fury came over him, the all-enveloping black fury that he had felt the time he was attacking Brother Philippe. Zeko wasn’t Zeko any more—he was that lousy Paolo. Suddenly his strength was boundless. He grabbed Zeko’s knife arm and twisted and twisted, not even hearing the sickening crack the arm made, nor Zeko’s screams of pain. Pinky Banana and Gatto had to drag him off the howling Zeko.
    “I think you broke his arm,” Catto announced, not exactly sorry at the thought.
    The haze slowly lifted from Gino’s eyes. He shook his head, unsure for a moment where he was or what he was doing. He stared down at the whining Zeko. “Next time it’ll be your head,” he warned. He looked around for the little blond girl who had started all the trouble. She was long gone. Just like a dame.
    “We’d better go over to the hospital—get your face fixed up,” Pinky Banana suggested.
    Gino touched the dripping blood on his cheek. That’s all he needed, a stinking scar.