Introduction: Nothing is simple. Charlie Donizetti has the misfortune to find his parents, aunt and uncle murdered by two small time hoodlums. He is discovered, but manages to get away. So begins a life hiding underground, and surviving by his wiles. It is not an easy or pleasant life; however, it does have some high points.

This is another story in the Cynthia Chronicles series. Other stories in the series are An Incremental Journey, Cynthia and the Reluctant Girlfriend, Cynthia and the Dumpster Diver, Cynthia and the Moment of Truth, Cynthia and the High School Years - Part I, Cynthia and the High School Years - Part II, Bobbie and the Glass Ceiling; and Randi and the College Professor,. The time frame of this story parallels Cynthia and the High School Years.

Once again I must thank Holly H. Hart for her encouragement and invaluable help in proofing and straightening out my poor English.

This work is copyrighted by the author and any publication or distribution without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter 1

Charles Donizetti had been cutting down the back alleys of East Boston to avoid the gangs of bullies that seemed to gather outside school like shoals of piranhas waiting for a crippled fish or beast to feed on. Now he just wanted to get to his parents store so he could help out, and do his homework if business was slow. Business usually picked up around four in the afternoon when some of the housewives and early commuters in the Italian-Portuguese neighborhood would do their last minute shopping before dinner. Another busy time was in the morning; however, Charles was most often in school at that time.

For some reason, his parents had named him Charles much to the consternation of his grandmother who much preferred to call him Carlo, the Italian version of Charles. Some of his classmates called him Chuck, but he hated that nickname. He preferred Charlie, which he secretly spelled Charli, and pronounced Shar-lee, which was short for Charlene. No one knew about that, though. The bullies didn't pester him because he appeared 'gay' or 'fem'. They just did it because he was available, and couldn't fight back very well.

Charlie made his way down the back alley. This was the quickest way for him to get to his parents' store, and it probably saved him a bit more than a block to go the way he did. He immediately sensed something was wrong as he approached the back door of the store. First of all, there was a car parked at the back door, and the door was unlocked. That door was never unlocked except when trash and recyclables were being taken to the row of dumpsters across the alley. That was partly Charlie's job. Either his mom or dad would unlock the door for him after making sure the alley was clear by peering through the peephole. The door would be locked behind him, but he had his own key for re-entering. The deliveries were always made through the front door, except for very rare occasions. It was just a lot safer that way.

The Donizetti's little store did well, at least well enough. They sold canned goods, fresh vegetables, cold drinks, and a few sundries. They also had a small meat business. It was difficult to compete against the big chain stores; however, a portion of one row was given to necessaries. That part of the store wasn't a money maker. A series of glass cases lined one wall. That was for the beer and soft drinks. Across that aisle was a small selection of wine. They didn't sell hard liquor. A small meat counter lined the other wall. Charlie's father, Giuseppe, was an excellent butcher, and had connections that allowed him to sell some of the finest fresh meats, prosciutto, and cold cuts in the area. Their small selection of olives and cheeses never remained very long.

Matteo Donizetti, Giuseppe's brother would help out behind the counter on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Sundays were for church. Charlie's Aunt Zerlina also came in during the busy days when her children were in school. All in all, it was a good little mom and pop operation.

One other thing helped bring the money in. There wasn't a sign advertizing the fact; however, the Donizettis cashed payroll checks. They would charge $3.00 for cashing a check, but would drop the cashing charge if the customer made a purchase. There were two safes: a large safe with an electronic combination in the small office, and a smaller safe between the two cash registers at the front of the store. There was a slot in the top of the safe where cash could be dropped when the amounts in the registers reached a certain point. After closing, Giuseppe would remove the cash, and transfer it to the larger safe. They never left the store at night with deposits for the bank. Those were made at varying times of day either by Giuseppe or Floria Donizetti. The routine would change slightly mid-month, at month's end, and on Fridays for the people who were paid weekly. They would hold back on cash deposits during those periods so that there would be enough cash on hand for the check cashers. Many of the people in the area lived on a cash basis as banks were not to be trusted.

Charlie pushed the slightly ajar door open, and peered into the back storage area where some of the extra canned goods and non-perishables were kept. The lights were off. They were seldom on during the day. The bar that secured the door was on the floor to one side. That wasn't right. It should be leaning up against the wall out of the way. He brought the door back to its previous position.

The floor was a concrete slab, so his footsteps weren't easily heard. He could hear some muffled conversation coming from the area of the small office.

"Shit, Pilonetti, why'd you have to waste them?"

"Because they knew who we are, that's why, asshole."

By this time, Charlie's eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light. He could make out the bodies of a man and a woman near the restroom. He didn't have to look any closer. They were his parents, and the spreading pool of blood confirmed what he already knew. They were dead. He recognized the voices, too. They belonged to Ottorino Pilonetti and his wart, Sandrino Luca. Pilonetti had worked briefly at the store as a bag boy and helper. His father had fired him for theft. He probably should have turned him in to the police, but he hadn't. Things might have turned out differently had he done it, but most likely, they wouldn't have.

His attention was diverted by the sound of somebody pounding on the front door. The murderers had obviously locked the front door and turned off the lights. It was only a matter of time before someone would realize that the store shouldn't be closed.

"It's about fucking time," Pilonetti exclaimed. "Get that cash, and let's get the fuck out of here." Obviously, they had just opened the safe.

Charlie knew he had to get away, and get away quickly. He turned to run and tripped over the door bar, falling flat on his face. Then he caught a glimpse of two more bodies in the passage leading to the front of the store. They had killed his aunt and uncle, too.

"What the fuck was that? Shit, it's the kid. Kill him."

Charlie was not about to let that happen. Scrambling to his feet, he raced for the rear door and the alley beyond. There were a couple of muffled pops, but he felt nothing. He cut through a hole in the rear fence of the Silva's yard. A bullet pinged off the chain link fence post by his head. Having had to use various routes in the past to escape the gangs, Charlie knew a number of 'secret' paths that would allow him to get many blocks away from the murderers. Maybe he could get to his 'special' place before they saw him. He knew this: the word would get out in the criminal underground, and there would be a price on his head. His cousins were now orphans, as he was. There was nothing they could do anyway. His house and his uncle's would probably be staked out. He would be dead meat if he showed up there.

He could hear the murderers' car speeding away, and it sounded as if they weren't looking for him. They were heading for the Interstate if he interpreted the sounds correctly. He was going to have to survive somehow. He knew who the killers were. Maybe he could do something about it someday, but right now didn't seem to be the right time. He, no, she was 12 years old. She would take care of herself for as long as it took. She had only one place to go: her special place.

She realized she had her book bag, and for a while she would just fit in as a student on his way home from school. When she got to her special place, she would take the steps she could to become Charli. After that Charlie would be no more; at least, not if she could help it.

Many boys and girls have their secret little spots, their places of refuge. Sometimes, it's a corner in a park, hidden away from the other visitors. Sometimes, the spot isn't so hidden or secret; just behind a closed bedroom door. Many times this is just a quiet spot where a child's imagination can flourish before the onslaught of adulthood is thrust upon them.

Charli's private refuge was something else. His parents had respected his privacy - his bedroom was his own; however, he could never have the privacy there that he really desired and needed. The discovery of his refuge had been one of those little accidents that just happens every once in a while. He had been returning home from visiting a friend, when he noticed some of his feared adversaries were playing stick ball right where he wanted to pass through. Trying to figure an alternative route home, he decided to circle the large automobile salvage and wrecking yard that blighted the area between the Interstate and their neighborhood. Under other circumstances, it probably hadn't been the best decision; however, it turned out to be a wonderful decision.

He thought about scaling the concrete wall alongside the highway; however, the wall proved to be too steep. A chain link fence with three strands of razor wire circled the salvage yard, but Charlie found that there was a narrow space between the fence and the concrete wall. The space was partially filled with litter thrown from the highway above, and weeds and shrubs that had somehow found a roothold in the meager soil at the base of the wall. It wasn't easy going, but he was able to gradually work his way around the perimeter of the yard.

Then he hit, at least in his imaginative mind, a figurative jackpot. The space between the fence and the concrete had widened a bit, where shallow concrete lined ditches collected water from the highway, and directed it to a larger drainage ditch that passed under the highway, eventually leading to the channel and the harbor. There was also a large concrete pipe that drained water collected from several large drains located in the salvage yard. There was a steady stream of water pouring from the concrete pipe into a pool that ran under most of the width of the highway. The drainage ditch didn't catch Charlie's attention as much as the narrow ledge above it and the metal door that led to who knows what.

The space below the highway was perhaps seventy-five feet wide, and thirty-five feet from the bridge deck to the pool below. A number of large steel beams supported the elevated highway, and these connected to steel members imbedded in the concrete abutments on either side. The doors, one on either side of the ditch had to lead to some place interesting.

Charlie's escape from the adversaries who hadn't seen him became far less important. This deserved further exploration. Shallow steps in the concrete led to the ledge and the door beyond. The door, much to Charlie's delight, opened easily with a little assistance from his Swiss Army Knife. The space beyond the door amazed him. It was difficult to see very far, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could see an extensive passageway that crossed under the highway above. This was going to require further exploration; however, due to the lateness of the day, he needed to get home.
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Chapter 2

Children have wonderful imaginations, and Charlie was no exception. The latch on the door to his cave had a fairly simple lock that could easily be removed from the inside. Over the next few days, he did just that. He took the lock to Federico Capio's hardware store.

"That's an interesting lock you have there, Charlie. What're you going to do with it?"

"It belongs on an old storage building that Uncle Vicenzo has. He was going throw it away and get a new one. I told him that you might be able to fix it. If you couldn't fix it, he gave me some money for a new one."

"Let me take a look at it." It took only a few seconds for a verdict. "Nah, this lock is beyond repair. Someone forced it. It isn't worth the trouble. Lemme see if I got anything in the back like this. Come on, let's take a look."

Hardware stores had always fascinated Charlie. Some would say that indicated the boyish side of his gender; however, Charlie, if asked, would have argued that gender had nothing to do with it. There was no reason that girls shouldn't understand the finer things about using tools, hardware, and carpentry. That was an artificial bias. The areas behind the counter and in the depths of small hardware store were a treasure trove.

"Okay, I know I got some old locks like this one around here somewhere. Most people nowadays would rather just use a good padlock and hasp. These old locks kept breaking. Crap, where did I put them?"

He started pulling long boxes out of shelves. Inside the boxes were smaller boxes and objects wrapped in old crinkly paper. "Ah, here they are," Federico said triumphantly. He retrieved several locks. "This one's not exactly the same, but it should work. See, the machine screws match. This one was made in Mexico, but that shouldn't matter."

"How much is it? Uncle Vicenzo only gave me twenty dollars."

"Crap, I've had this one for twenty years; how about five bucks?"

Charlie had the lock in place the next week. The key was on a leather thong around his neck. A duplicate key was hidden in his bedroom closet.

Over the next year, the space below the highway became Charlie's private sanctuary. He often spent hours there under the guise of visiting friends. Gradually, his stockpile of items began to grow. He found some girl's clothing left out for Goodwill. Some of the things fitted him. Others were too large, but they wouldn't always be that way. He couldn't do very much as it was quite dark inside, and he didn't want to leave the door open as it might draw attention to his special spot. Then some strange things began to happen.

The salvage yard was an interesting place. It probably covered fifty to sixty acres. Wrecked cars and trucks were brought into one area where they were stripped of usable parts. The remaining carcasses were eventually moved to the far side of the lot where they were literally ground into small chunks and separated into the various metallic components by a large machine. It was a noisy process, and a profitable one for the salvage yard owners. In addition to the salvaged autos, the yard also took in old appliances and machinery. Copper and aluminum had particularly high salvage value, and when the price of copper reached the point that thieves were willing to take all sorts of chances to steal copper and try to sell it elsewhere, the owners of the yard decided that they needed to take extra security precautions.

A chain link fence wasn't much of an obstacle for a thief with a pair of good bolt cutters. After losing a few hundred pounds of copper, the owners decided that the next step was to get a good 'junk yard dog'. They found the ideal dog in Bruno, a Rottweiler Bull Mastiff cross. Bruno was as mean as they came, and the dog had the run of the yard after closing and on Sundays.

Charlie's first contact with Bruno nearly scared Charlie to death. He was working his way along the fence, when out of nowhere a huge dog was threatening to come through the fence and separate his arms and legs from his body. The barking, growling, and snarling was almost enough to make Charlie climb the nearly vertical concrete wall.

'Go away, go away, this is my territory. I will rip you to shreds if you come through the fence. I must protect my master's property.'

Charlie quickly realized that the dog couldn't get to him, and that he didn't have anything to worry about; however, he didn't need the dog calling attention to his presence.

"Nice doggie. If you stop barking I'll bring you a snack next time."

'I don't want a snack. You must not come in here. I will protect my master's property.'

"Nice doggie."

'I am not a nice doggie. I will kill you.'

'Why would you kill me? I haven't done anything to you.'

'Alright, I was getting a bit tired of it, anyway. Besides, I didn't really mean it. Would you bring me a snack? They give me the same old stuff every day.'

That was when Charlie realized he was carrying on a non-verbal conversation with the massive dog.

'Are we talking, or is this just my imagination?'

'Okay.'

The massive dog sat on its haunches, its tail wagging the entire times.

'Roll over.'

'This is so demeaning, but I'll do it for you.' It did.

"So what do they call you?" Charlie said reverting back to the verbal.

'Bruno, but Momma called me her 'Little Pudgy-Wudgy'. I miss Momma.

'I like that.'

So began a wonderful friendship.

Charlie's girl cave wasn't much more than a shelter at first; however, things gradually changed. Even when it rained or snowed days on end the cave stayed dry. Charlie found a few old quilts and blankets, and they helped make things a bit more comfortable. The biggest problem though was the darkness inside. He wanted to do things like experiment with makeup and hair styles. He couldn't do that sort of thing at home. He was sure his parents wouldn't approve. They weren't gay friendly, and he knew they would classify him as gay, although he was very sure what he wasn't.

Sitting on the little ledge in front of the door to the cave he spotted Padrona making her rounds. She worked her way between the flattened car bodies. The route from one of the aisles that ran between the piles of rusting metal wasn't visible to the workers in the yard. Charlie met her at the fence.

'What's the problem, Charli?'

'See that light pole,' Padrona indicated one of perhaps fifty or more light poles that dotted the yard. 'When the men are working out in the yard, they connect to a box at the base. That pole is surrounded by car bodies. You could easily run an extension cord from that pole to your cave. All you have to do is get some lights and anything else you want in there.'

'I'm going to bring you something. Wait there.'

Padrona worked her way through the circuitous path before heading off to the shop in the distance. Five minutes later, she returned with a large coiled extension cord.

'The men said this one was no good. The insulation is supposed to be damaged, and they threw it out. Do you know anything about electricity?'

'This is easy to fix. I'll get a replacement plug from Capio's hardware. I think I can find something that will cut through this stuff,' Charlie said indicating the fence.

A week later, Charlie and Padrona were sitting next to each other on the ledge in front of the door to the cave. The cave was now well lighted.

Over the weeks and months, more things were added to the space. Floria Donizetti loved bargains, and she frequently took advantage of the sales at various department stores' cosmetic counters. One of the enticements offered for the purchase exceeding a certain amount was a package of a rainbow of various eye shadows. At another sale there might be free mascara or other beauty products. Floria would carefully stack all the extra beauty products at the rear of a shelf in the linen closet. Some would eventually end up with a less fortunate relative, others might be donated to the 'garage sale' their parish church would have every year. Charlie found it very easy to remove several of the packages, and relocate them to the cave. One of the nice things about several of the kits was that along with the various brushes and applicators, they had mirrors. Charlie was now able to practice applying makeup.

Of course, the makeup had to be removed before he could venture out or return home. Padrona would point out the places where the makeup had not been properly removed. She even assisted every once in a while with a well placed tip of her tongue.

Continued in Part 2. It was certainly something that Charli didn't expect; however, her parents' deaths have propelled her in a direction that will probably be filled with many trials. This talking dog thing is certainly interesting. Charli's greatest weakness is that she lacks experience. Well, she's going to get it now.