Chicago, 1936. A black car moves through the city.
Not following the main street, it is driven into a side path, that ends in a small parking place. Men in smokings and fancy suits get out of it and start unloading some packages.

"Hurry with that stuff!", a tall man with a tight pony tail ranted. He wore a black suit, and a pair of paint shoes in the same color. You could clearly see, that the only work he'd ever done on his own, was pulling a pistol's trigger. And not only once.

"Yeah, yeah... Just very heavy...", another man gave back. He had short hair, and looked like a rat in comparison to his boss. His face was thin and pale, and his cheek bones sticked out quite visible.

"You wanna complain?", the Gangster Boss called out threatening.

"No, no... I'd never dare to do a thing like that...", the man gave back, clearly intimidated.

"Well, I hoped so." The Gangster Boss smirked crooked. Then he turned to a boy, who sat on the ground, his back leaning on the wall near the door. "Edward!"

"Huh?", the boy gave back. "What's up?" His voice wasn't the least bit shaky.
His almost shoulder long, dark brown hair was tousled and looked unwashed. One of his feet looked slightly deformated, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes had a hazel color and his statue was taller than it was normal for his age.
Also his face seemed very mature, but this was probably about the dirt that covered it. It showed some slight scars, obviously caused by abuse, that probably would be completely vanished in a couple of years. His nose seemed to be too big for his face and his lips were thin.
He wore a seemingly old shirt and torn up jeans.
Nothing of this were signs of a good treatment, but the way he talked and acted made him seem so confident that you wouldn't ask, how he felt. Also he seemed repellent to other people. But also this, you would take as normal. You would have already guessed that something wasn't alright, so you wouldn't ask, because you knew, that he wouldn't talk to you anyways.

"Go ahead! Help 'em to hide the stuff!", the Gangster Boss barked.

"Yeah, gonna do that...", Edward got up. Now you could see him in full height. He almost was taller than the Gangster Boss, though he was yet only eleven years old. "Say... Haven't talked 'bout payment, yet", he then added.

"Mhm, we'll do that later. Now get your ass inside and do your job!" The Gangster Boss frowned. "Or shall I kick your ass in?", he added, when Edward showed no reaction.

Edward raised his hands in sarcastic apology. "Alright, alright... I get goin'!"

"Do that!", the Gangster Boss groaned. He had never talked to such a disobeying person before, but Edward was good, in the job he was supposed to do.
He never got asked any questions. And if, he wouldn't answer them.

Edward limped inside, a grin on his face. He knew that the boss got riled up anytime he had talked to him, but he enjoyed getting on his nerves. He wasn't afraid at all, for he knew, the boss needed him. Without him, he would have gotten caught already and without doubt, the boss knew that too. Unfortunaly, you couldn't say the same went for the other gangsters. They saw him as an annoying insect, that only wouldn't get squeashed by them, because the boss said so.

"Boy! What are ya waitin' for?"

"For you to screw up!", Edward smiled at the man.

The gangster's voice rose heavily. "Watch your mouth, you dirty lil' rat!"

The boy smirked. "I'm taller than you, so take the 'little' back, please."

Mumbling and whispering was to hear from the gangsters. Partly impressed, partly angry, but Edward didn't care anyways. He hated all of the men he worked for. In general he hated everybody and especially himself. He was ugly and mean and... he was anything, he had ever hated and ever known.

The gangsters and Edward started unpacking the packages. Bottles, filled with strong liquor came to sight.

"Now, boy, pour it into the cans."

Edward looked confused. "What for?"

"Well, to trick the cops!"

The boy chuckled. "That won't work anyways. Ya really think, they wouldn't check the cans?"

"Of course they will! So, you'll hand them the one with tea!"

"Yeah, of course..." Edward raised his eyebrows and gave a sassy grin.

The gangster grabbed him at the collar of his shirt. "You understand me?"

Edward nodded and the gangster let go of him. "Good..."

Later, when the gangster bar was filled with drunken people, who did use the illegal opportunity to booze, Edward had to do the barkeeper. He handed drinks to people, who were drunk already, and to those, who planned on getting so. A dangerous job. To both, him and the gangsters.
If they would hire the wrong one, he might talk too much and tell someone about the smuggle, maybe even tell names.

"They're comin'! A police control! Three houses away!"
A gangster ran inside, breathing heavily.

"Edward! Next guests that come inside... Give 'em tea!", the Gangster Boss commanded.

"I aint dumb!" Edward rolled his eyes and grabbed the tea can, then he got sidetracked by a drunk, leaning against the counter.

"More of 'e stuff!", he babbled and the scent of alcohol crawled through Edwards nose.

Edward frowned and gave back: "Wait... Just have to change the cans."

"So what's wrong with this one?", the drunk breathed.

Just in this moment some police officers entered. Edward, who saw them out off the corner of his eye, stuttered a "nothin'... Nothin' Mister..."

"So, then where's the problem?"

The drunk grabbed the can and pulled something of it into his cup and gulped it down at once. Then he grimaced. "What the hell is that s'posed ta be? Tastes like water!"
He took the the can, liftet the lid and spat in it. Edward's eyes widened, but soon he had himself under control again, when the police officers reached the counter.

"A tea, please", one of them said with a smile. When Edward went ahead to grab the can, the man spat in, the police officer laid his hand on the boy's arm.
"In principle, I don't like drinkin' someone's spittle, do I?"

Edward shook his head slightly. "I... I'll fix up new tea... It's empty..."

The officer's grip tightened. "You sure?"

Edward nodded, but the officer grabbed another can.
"Seems to be quite full..."

"Then, I guess, I was mistaken...", Edward gave back. He watched the officer pouring some of the liquid in a cup and taking a little sip. He grimaced heavily. "Too spicy, when you ask me..."

"Nobody did!" The boss's eyes sparkeled in anger. "If you don't like my tea, get the hell outa here!"

"I'm gonna go nowhere, Mr. But you are! In handcuffs to jail!"

"We gonna see that!"

The officer smirked. "Don't think, you can escape. The house is surrounded."

The boss grinned back. "Oh, we've our aces up in our sleeves too. Fire!"

Everything that happened now, seemed to be in slow motion. Edward watched some gangsters pulling out machine guns and firing in the counter's direction. Bullets fizzed through the air and closely past Edward's ears. The policemen and the boozer got hit and the floor got covered with gore. Edward realized blood splatters on his face, probably of one of the men that got hit.

Suddenly the boy felt a sharp pain in his upper chest and shoulder. Warm liquid ran down his arm and his shirt turned red. He caughed up hardly and his lungs felt like bursting.
The world around him turned foggy and he fell. Slowly, and without hearing a thud, he hit the ground. No noise was heard by him either, when a group of police men ran inside and started shooting at the gangsters.

One of them kneeled down beside the boy and laid one hand on his wrist. Then he called something out, but the only thing, Edward could understand was 'still alive'.

The boy's sight went black.