les jeunesse rebelle
Like most disasters in Milo's #life, this one had started on a rowdy evening in the market square where viciously eager young men were lured by the hysteria of sour politics. Revolution hung thick and gooey in the June humidity mixed the sweat of a coalesced bodies in close proximity. As customary, Milo had observed a general political fever bubble across the square for some time throughout the day in nothing more than low, heated mumblings until some one young and bold enough ascended a crate box podium and garnered an audience of equally sentimental enthusiasts. Then long, poetic speaches would ring on for hours across the Parisian rooftops and wide-eyed young peopled would flock to their source like mosquitoes to fresh blood.
The stage was all but primed for Milo's performance. He hung in the nearby alleyways and crouched on an elavated brick patio by LeMat's where he eyed the gathering crowd with amusement. Men and women. Blind, ignorant, so hopeful that they might produce change. His dark lips upturned into a soft smirk; he had given up on their premature theories of revolution long ago in favor of a far more rewarding career. He ran his articulate gaze over the crowd once more. In the bearing heat, men began to loosen their coats and women let their purses sag at their elbows, partially out of neglect as they strained their necks and pushed against other bodies to glimpse whatever speaker diverted their attention. Opportunity blossomed before him like a lush hibiscus on a summer's day.
"A beauty, ain't it." A raspy voice at his ear jolted Milo out of his watchful delirium and nearly sent him tumbling head first into a cart full of squashes before dropping two hands to steady his plumline. Blinking quickly and awkwardly trying to reposition himself, he recognized the broken corded laughter of Judus. The dark gypsy energed from the shadowy alley with a devious grin to match the gleam in his hungry, black eyes. Had his unruly midnight hair and knit cap not expertly concealed his scalp, Milo would have retaliated in a cranium thrust, a street fight move Judus had taught him years ago. Judus lowered his tall figure to crouch by Milo and slid a hand across Milo's bony shoulders.
"Ven was right when he chose you. You could always sniff out a good pick even in a bone dry street."
Milo drew in a sharp breath and tried to shrug his slim frame out of Judus' condescending embrace.
"I was about to move in."
Judus tightened his grip.
"Shut it, rat. You were wallowing in another sick daydream about philosophy or music. I know you, kid. Spend half the day watching, watching, watching but never on the move like the rest of us. Don't think I've been watching? Think again. The big man is disappointed."
Milo spit and twisted around to face his captore.
"Judus what the hell! I support the gang as much as anyone. If it weren't for me, the guard would have found the den months ago and you'd be dead. My tactics are none of your business."
He shoved the claw away and commenced in eyeing the crowd. Judus frowned joined him, scanning the dynamic mass of men and women for slivers of opportunity. Milo could almost hear the gears of calculation grinding in Judus head. He'd always been aware of Judus' disdain for him, his love of music that was slandered as "pansy" among the rest of the gang. Jaques and Dean had not cared as long as Milo returned to the den with sufficient pocketings, which were typically more than abundant. In fact, Milo's work was quite astounding, reeling in a day's worth of change that would take another member a month to pocket. Judus was suspiciously envious of the young gangster's sudden prestige and street prowess that was beginning to usurp his own hard earnned position in the den network.
"Well, rat..." He snorted. "If you're so loyal, then prove it. Right now."
"What do you mean?"
Judus leveled his eyes with Milo's and pointed to a young aristocrat woman in a blue dress stepping out of a coach and approaching the now massive crowd. A silver necklace around her porcelien neck flashed under the sun.
"Get the necklace. And bring it to the den tonight. If you don't have it, don't bother coming back."
As Milo turned to defend himself, Judus slipped off the patio and disappearred into the shadows of the alley before any salvation could hinder him.
