Anthony pushed the lawnmower in the South Florida heat and swatted at the flies that were circling his head. He ignored the laughter from the pool party next door that was so loud he could hear it over the sound of the mower. It had taken the soon-to-be teenager two months to hitchhike from Oklahoma to Florida, and after arriving he'd quickly found work on a landscape crew comprised mostly of non-English-speaking men. He was okay with that. He didn't want to answer questions about his family or rather lack of one. They'd assumed he was from a poor background and instead of going to school, worked to help support his relatives. It wasn't unheard of, and so far, nobody had cared enough to pry. He was paid a fair wage for an honest day's work, and he was certain that due to his size, they'd assumed he was older than he was.

Anthony rarely had to sleep on the street, and if he did, he knew how to stay out of public view. He was especially good at casing houses that only had part-time residents. He knew how to break in and make the best use of the unoccupied homes without getting caught. His father had taught him well.

Turning off the mower, he stopped and pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. The pool party next door got louder, and he could hear the party host slurring his words as he tried to talk the women into taking their bathing suit tops off. Anthony could tell by the hooting and hollering they were complying with the man's request. He was disgusted by weak women. He'd observed how his father treated women and instead of feeling sorry for them, Anthony resented them.

They’re all imbeciles, he thought to himself as he gazed out over the expanse of the yard he was mowing and focused on the yacht that was docked behind it. The clown next door had an even bigger boat tied up behind his house. He despised them. Despised them all.

Anthony decided immediately after his arrival that he disliked Miami and would be leaving as soon as he could earn enough money to travel comfortably. Until now, he'd been mailing cash to his uncle's house in Oklahoma. He always included a small note saying that he was okay and for them not to worry about him. He also made sure his aunt and uncle knew what little cash he sent was to be given to Nisha. He'd felt responsible for her after having a last talk with his uncle, Robert. He started up the lawn mower and let his thoughts drift back to that conversation.

"Is it true? Is it true what RJ said about my mother?" he asked his uncle a few hours after hearing his cousin's nasty comments.

Robert had been standing at his tool bench with his back to the boy. He set down the wrench in his hand carefully and slowly turned around to face his nephew.

"How much of my conversation with RJ did you hear, Anthony?"

"It doesn't matter, Uncle Robert. I heard what he said. Is it true? Was she a prostitute?"

Robert looked past Anthony's shoulder and sighed. Looking back into his dark eyes, he answered, "I don't know."

"Tell me the truth. I told you the truth when you asked me where I got the part for Rosemary's car," Anthony challenged.

"I am telling you the truth. I don't know if your mother was a prostitute. The other things RJ said were true. Your father did bring her back here to us when she was pregnant. He left with you and your mother when you were still an infant."

Robert turned his back to Anthony, dismissing the boy, facing his tool bench again. He reached for a screwdriver and started fiddling with a part that had been left next to his toolbox. He would do anything to avoid looking his nephew in the eyes. Their family carried a shame, and he'd felt like a hypocrite talking to the boy earlier about honor and pride. He'd done his best to do what he thought was right. But he also didn't know if there was truth to the family secret. Still, Anthony had the right to know. They couldn't be certain because of Rosemary's history with men, but Robert's instinct told him it was most likely true.

When Anthony didn't respond to the last comment, Robert swallowed thickly and turned back to face the boy. There was more, and Robert had to tell him what he knew.

Anthony’s eyes widened when his uncle explained that he was almost certain Nisha was Anthony's half-sister and the real reason Anthony’s father, Daniel, left was to avoid not only the responsibility of a second child, but statutory rape charges. Robert had no doubt that Rosemary had been willing, but that wouldn't have mattered. She had been underage.

The lawnmower he’d been pushing started to stall, pulling Anthony from his thoughts and back to the present. He yanked on the choke to revive it and was grateful when it came back to life. The sooner he finished this lawn, the better. He abhorred working in Ocean Manor Estates, the upscale neighborhood that was home to South Florida's most affluent residents. His mind wandered back to that pivotal conversation with his uncle.

When Robert told him that the family suspected Nisha was his half-sister, Anthony's heart swelled with pride. In the two years that he'd been living in his uncle's home on the reservation, he'd come to love Nisha. He smiled when he thought of how she'd been a fighter. She may not have been winning them before Anthony came along, but she was a feisty little thing, and he realized that he was proud to have a sister. If in fact she was his sister. There was no way to know for sure.

Daniel Bear being Nisha's biological father was a secret that was known by only a few on the reservation, yet was never discussed out of respect for the Tribal Chief. Robert explained to Anthony that the family was not ashamed of Nisha, but rather the man that was unfaithful to his wife and left a pregnant teenager to raise an infant daughter alone.

"As far as your mother leaving you and your father, I can't tell you when that happened, Anthony, or where she went. That is the truth." His uncle looked at him with a sad but relieved expression. He'd been carrying the burden of Nisha's suspected paternity for years. He'd done his best to help Rosemary. He at least made sure the child had clothes to wear and food in her stomach. But due to the cost of his wife's healthcare, he’d not been able to do much else.

Anthony digested everything his uncle shared and pondered his situation before replying. He’d come from deplorable living conditions. When his father died, Anthony was certain his dad had never loved him, and only kept the boy with him as a means for survival. When Daniel realized that Anthony had inherited his mechanical skills, he made sure his young son knew how and what type of auto parts to steal.

They'd been nomads, always moving from city to city, never planting roots. Anthony couldn't understand why a man with his father's abilities couldn't hold a job, but Daniel Bear carried around a bitter and resentful attitude that would manifest itself in the worst ways after he'd been drinking. They'd wandered the country and occasionally found odd jobs with mostly white people who treated them disrespectfully.

Shaking off the sour memories, Anthony reflected on his current living conditions. Wary and a bit skeptical at first, he'd finally embraced his new life with his uncle's family. He'd made mistakes, but was learning about honor and pride and honesty.

Warming up to RJ was a challenge and probably always would be. Aunt Carolyn's health was a concern, and Anthony hoped what the doctors predicted wasn't true. That the cancer was expected to slowly drain the life from her. He was becoming attached to his aunt, the only woman he'd ever respected, and didn't think he could bear the pain of her dying. Believing that RJ was right and that the family didn't need the complication of raising another child when Aunt Carolyn was so sick, he'd come to a decision. He would leave. Feeling somewhat relieved, yet sad, he convinced himself it was the right thing. He didn't want to be more of a burden than he already was. Taking a deep breath, he decided to share what little he knew about his mother before he walked out of his family's life forever.

"I already know about my mother leaving," Anthony stated.

"So your father told you about her leaving or do you remember it?" Robert asked, his curiosity now aroused.

"He didn't have to tell me," Anthony answered, his voice void of emotion. "I helped him bury her when I was eight."

Shaking his head as if it would help to ward off sad memories of that specific talk with the uncle he’d left behind in Oklahoma, Anthony detected movement in the yard to his left. He looked over and saw that a woman had come out to the backyard and was making her way past the oversized pool and heading in his direction. He turned off his mower and walked toward her as he took in her ridiculous appearance.

She staggered toward him with a martini in one hand. She was wearing a white bikini with a white fur coat over it. A fur coat. In Florida? She had on red high heels that were clicking loudly on the concrete patio and bright red lipstick which was smeared on her left cheek. Her bleached blonde hair was teased ridiculously high. He guessed that she was the owner of the home he was working at and had just returned from her neighbor’s pool party.

“Boy! Oh, boy, come here. I want to talk to you,” she slurred.

Anthony stiffened and stood still. She came to a stop in front of him. When she started to lose her balance, he reached for her arm to steady her. She pulled away from him like she’d been burned.

“Are you a real Indian?” she asked him. “Like a real, tomahawk throwing, cutting off scalps Indian?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this. “I’m a full-blooded Native American,” he retorted. “And I have to finish mowing your lawn. My boss will be back to pick us up soon.” The other two men on the crew were trimming bushes in the front. Anthony preferred the mower. Pushing it wasn’t easy, but it kept him strong and helped burn off the pent-up energy of a rambunctious kid on the brink of his teenage years.

“He’s an Indian!” she shouted. “I told you he was an Indian!”

Anthony was startled by her echoing scream and was momentarily stunned when she yelled over his head toward the fence. He turned around to where she was shouting and realized the privacy fence had a hidden door between the properties. It was now open, and several partygoers had gathered and were gawking at them.

“Bring him over here so we can get a better look at him!” came a woman’s voice Anthony recognized, but knew better than to acknowledge. “Does he have a feather in his hair? I can’t see from here.”

Anthony heard a man reply dryly, “You can go to the Seminole reservation any time you want and get an eyeful, Fran.”

To which Fran replied with disgust, “Ugh! I wouldn’t be caught dead near that filthy place.”

Anthony had heard enough. He started walking. Ignoring the shouts and comments from behind him, he didn’t even stop to tell his coworkers that he was done. For good. He would hitch to where he had his few belongings stashed and make his way up to Fort Lauderdale. He’d find other work, and maybe since the Seminole reservation was closer to Fort Lauderdale than it was to Miami, he wouldn’t be such a novelty. The Miami elite had ignorant, preconceived racist opinions. This wasn’t the first time he’d come under their scrutiny, but he would make certain it was the last.

He wandered the streets of Fort Lauderdale for two days before he made the decision that as much as he enjoyed the solitude of landscaping, he wasn’t making enough money in Miami to finance another move. Fort Lauderdale would not be any better. He would have to use his knowledge of car parts. There was good money to be made in parts—the right auto parts.

Anthony scouted on foot for three more days before he came across a garage he thought was worthy of the expensive parts he could supply. When he noticed the types of vehicles they specialized in at Lawrence’s Auto Repairs, he decided on a plan. The first thing he did was break into their garage and steal some tools since he didn’t have any of his own. He then made his way to the fanciest dealership in town. They had one night security guard, and Anthony observed the man’s routine for a couple days before he took action. While the guard took his two-hour break in front of the television in the customer waiting area, Anthony quietly went to work. It was so easy it was almost ridiculous.

His bag heavy with expensive stolen parts and tools, he headed back toward Lawrence’s Auto Repairs. He was certain they would buy the parts, and hoped they wouldn’t be too hard on him for “borrowing” their tools. It was five o'clock in the morning and he was feeling chilled, despite the balmy weather. He needed to warm up before the garage opened and he could approach them with his goods. But where?

He finally arrived at Lawrence’s and stood at a distance, observing. He laid his bag down on the ground and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. It was then that he noticed something. The shop was closed, but there were cars out front. It had to be about six o’clock by now. He could guess that some were left by clients who had dropped them off either last night or first thing this morning. Cars that would probably have keys hidden under the mat or in the visor.

The third car he tried opened right up and his assumption paid off—he easily found the hidden keys in the overhead visor. Tossing his bag on the passenger seat, he climbed in, started it and turned on the heater. He planned to sit there for a few minutes and let the warmth seep in. The sun would soon be up to burn off the cool, damp air and he could go back to watching from across the street and figure out who he might need to approach with his wares.

Suddenly the car door swung open, and he was roughly grabbed by his shirt and ripped from the car. He started to stumble but quickly caught himself as he was thrown against the hood and held there face down by someone he couldn’t see. The sun was bright, and the air had warmed up. He must’ve fallen asleep waiting in the car.

“Looks like we got us a squatter, Red,” he heard a man say. The same man that was keeping him pinned to the hood. It was hot from the motor running, and his cheek was starting to burn.

“Let him up, but don’t let him go,” answered another voice.

He was pulled to standing and spun around to face who could only be Red. He was a tall, imposing man, rough in appearance. He was wearing a black T-shirt and had tattoos covering both arms. Anthony focused on something red that was sprouting out just above his collar. It looked like a tattoo of a pointy red stick. He would later learn that it was a devil and the stick was its tail creeping its way up Red's neck.

Red eyed him up and down, then reached into the car and across the driver’s seat.

“Whatever he has it’s heavy,” he stated as he retrieved Anthony’s bag from the passenger side.

He reached in and pulled out a part. He held it up and looked it over. Then he glared at Anthony and asked in an even but menacing voice, “Did you steal this from me?”

Trying not to show any fear, Anthony answered him honestly, “Only if you own the Mercedes dealership down on Las Olas Boulevard.”

Red burst out laughing. “Good thing for you I don’t,” he told him. “What else you got in here?” he asked, and before Anthony could answer him, Red dumped the contents of the bag on the ground.

He squatted and started looking more closely at the parts. He picked up one of the tools and, noticing the markings, stood and brought it dangerously close to Anthony’s face. “This is from my garage.”

“I only borrowed it,” was Anthony’s immediate and truthful reply. “I don’t have any tools of my own. I was going to ask if you had better ones you might loan me.”

Red believed him because if the boy intended to keep the tools, he wouldn’t have brought them back with the parts he wanted to fence.

“It was a stupid move, and you could’ve gotten me in trouble,” Red reprimanded him.

Anthony looked at him questioningly.

“My tools are all marked. If you left one by accident at the dealership, they’d eventually trace the theft back to me. You didn’t leave one of my tools there, did you, boy?” he asked as he got too close to Anthony’s face. His breath reeked of cigarettes and coffee.

“No. They’re all accounted for. I have a system. I know how many tools I go in with and how many I leave with.”

Red stood back and didn’t say anything, but nodded his head slowly.

“Where you from, kid? You live on the reservation?” he asked, slapping the tool against his open palm.

“No, sir.”

“Let me guess. No family. Runaway? Living on the streets?”

What did he have to lose? “Yes,” and before Red could pry further, “from Oklahoma.”

“Want a job?” Red asked.

When Anthony didn’t answer right away, he added, “You have a serious talent. One that could prove to be quite lucrative for me. I’ll give you a fair wage and a place to stay.”

The man who’d been clutching Anthony’s arm let him go and stepped back.

Anthony nodded, never breaking eye contact. “Yeah, I’ll work for you. I could use a place to stay.”

Red addressed the other man. “He can stay with Greg upstairs. Make sure he gets unmarked tools. Get him set up.”

Anthony glanced at the man who only nodded.

“Dusty will get you taken care of. You need a ride somewhere to get your stuff?” he asked Anthony.

“Yes,” Anthony replied. He’d hidden his small number of belongings behind an abandoned building downtown.

“Dusty will handle that too,” he said as he slapped Anthony on the shoulder. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Anthony,” he answered quickly.

“Welcome to the family, Anthony.”

Before Anthony could reply, Red added, “And, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“If I ever catch you stealing anything from me again I will personally remove your testicles and feed them to you one nut at a time.”