before her father was born.
***
Minos still kind of liked this stretch of Broadway. Even though it had changed, lost its funky, one-of-a-kind character. Even though the best places, like Meteor Man, were gone. Change is usually for the worse, Minos thought. But he liked how he still knew his way around both sides of the street: he knew where to find wallets, cheap jewelry, funny T-shirts, Pagan trinkets, CDs, cigarette cases, dirty magazines, even exotic knives. He knew the stores for rich kids, like the Gap or Urban Outfitters. What was bothering him then? What it was, he decided, was that he missed the old Broadway Market. He missed the candy store, and the newsstand with papers from all over the world. Most of all, he missed the men’s underwear place, Meteor Man, and the Rubber Rainbow Condom Company which used to be upstairs and was very cool. He wasn’t sure why he missed these things, but he did. The Oxygen Bar had been upstairs, too, but Minos thought it was, at best, some kind of joke. Breathing fancy air was a fool’s game.
What he still liked about this stretch of Broadway—the one big thing—he realized, were the people. Especially the kids. Weekends there were always kids, passing through, checking it out. All kinds of kids. That’s what he liked, yeah. He thought the kids from everywhere else tried to look like they belonged here, and sometimes that made them weirder looking than the real street kids. There were ordinary people, too—tourists, parents, suburban kids, local high school kids, college kids, shoppers. In fact, statistically speaking, most of the people cruising Broadway were mainstream. But it wasn’t their place, and they knew it. That was what drew them here. The street folk set the tone. Leather, metal, piercings and tattoos meant to shock, and, always the hair, the wild and crazy hair. Some days, it was like getting a little glimpse of the marketplace from Star Wars, some of the kids were so wonderfully weird-looking. Which was good for Minos. He fit in. He belonged here. He was the genuine article, the real deal. Minos was a grown-up version of a wonderfully weird-looking kid. Grown-up on the outside, anyway. On the inside, he was like the other kids, more or less. He smiled, liking how he could feel old and young at the same time. This was a good place for it, too. Often, he would sit at one of the little tables in the coffee shop and watch the kids go by.
Minos sat, checking out a handsome boy with green hair. Before long, he was thinking about the boy he’d lost. He thought he might turn green with envy, remembering how Minos, the Cretan Bull King, had gone to the Delphic Oracle to find his missing son. Unbeknownst to the Bull King, his son, Glaucus had gone into the cellar at the palace, where he’d fallen into a great jar of honey, head downward, and drowned. The Oracle had said, “A marvelous creature has been born amongst you: whoever finds the true likeness for this creature will also find the child.” The Bull King learned that a heifer-calf had been born that changed its colors three times a day—from white to red and from red to black. He brought his soothsayers to the palace and Polyeidus of Argos said, “this calf resembles nothing so much as a ripening blackberry,” and Minos sent him to find Glaucus.
Polyidus found Glaucus drowned in the jar of honey. Minos demanded Glaucus be brought back to life and locked Polyeidus in a tomb with Glaucus and a sword. A serpent approached the boy’s corpse and Polyeidus killed it with the sword. Another snake came and seeing its mate dead, this snake slithered off and returned with an herb that brought its mate back to life. Polyeidus used this same herb to miraculously resurrect Glaucus.
Minos loved that story—the serpent, the resurrection of the boy, and especially the part about the wondrous heifer-calf. He could bring that heifer-calf here, to the new market, Minos was thinking. The kids would stop by and watch it, pet it, maybe get stoned and hang out, ooing and ahing as the calf changed colors. Never knowing its meaning.
Today, he had business, the Master’s business. He stood up, then began walking his walk, keeping it slow, head down, sort of a shuffle. He walked straight past The Smoke Shop, then flared out his long leather coat and straddled one of the high stools at the Space Station.
The Space Station was out-of-date-high-tech sci-fi. Sleek futuristic lines, metal, space-age shapes, and those cool, stark colors—black, silvers and greys. The tables were like ice-cream cones, pointed at the bottom, sliced off by cold flat surfaces where the ice cream should have been. He scanned the vegetarian menu, considering what to order. There were three drinks he especially liked. He chose the Moon Beem, a concoction of orange, papaya, banana, ginger and bee pollen, watching when the guy behind the counter got a good look at his face. The kid just nodded—okay by him—and went about his business. Minos was wondering where the kid got his big hoop earring when he heard the sound, a light snapping. When Minos turned, there was Snapper, looking pretty much like he remembered him.
Just seeing the finger-snapping, scheming tease made Minos really mad. Snapper was nineteen now, tall, graceful, and irresistible to men and women. He carried a leather bag, like a purse, on his shoulder. He was one of those people who could get away with things, make them look easy. Dangerous things. Yeah. Because of his looks, he could fool people. Even take advantage of them. As far as Minos was concerned, Snapper was a boil on the Master’s fair skin, a boil that needed lancing.
When he sat beside Minos, Snapper winked. “Hey, ugly buddy.”
Minos just stared. No one could get under his skin like Snapper. He reached inside his leather coat, took out a package, set it on the counter. He watched the slut snap his fingers, check it out.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. El Jefe—” Snapper winked when Minos looked puzzled. “Your boss—he made a mistake. And mistakes, they are sometimes hard to fix. Even for a big cheese. You know?” Snapper tapped the package then put it in his purse. “I’ve been thinking what we have here is a beginning, a good beginning.” He nodded once, slowly. Minos could hear his fingers snapping under the table. “See you soon. Maybe next time, you wear something, you know, not so colorful. Okay?” Another wink, and he was gone.
There it was. When Snapper left, Minos shuffled along behind him, keeping back, watching. His mind was working now too, super fast. He didn’t like it when Snapper called the Master names, like boss, or El Jefe—whatever that was—or big cheese.
At the entrance to Urban Outfitters, Snapper met another boy. He was really good-looking, like the Snapper, only buff with this shoulder-length, red-orange hair. And the boy’s very cool hair had these perfect wavy curls, like in a shampoo commercial. Minos knew this boy, though he couldn’t remember his name, or where he’d met him. Maybe it was in another life, he thought to himself, then he smiled on the inside at his private joke.
The boys went south, down Broadway, past the Greek Restaurant. Minos followed from across the street, shuffling along just fast enough to keep them in sight. He was good at that, moving his feet in quick steps, head angled down to avoid any eye contact. They went past the taco place, past Seattle Central, stopping in at a new trance and techno spot that looked to him more like a man-sized video game, finally turning west on Pine then south toward the Blue City Café. At the café, the redheaded sweetie gave Snapper a hug. Snapper gave him a book from his purse, then the sweet-looking boy went inside. When Snapper turned back down Pine, Minos shuffled after the finger-snapping slut. He was going to talk to him, he decided, and fix this. The Master was always busy, and so kind, so forgiving, he couldn’t take proper care of himself. He needed Minos for that. Okay, he’d make this problem go away, and then he’d have time to play. He had an idea for a new game.
***
Corey was waiting at a Broadway coffee shop, sitting at the window, watching the street. She liked it here: liked the parade of color and style, the wild hair and clothes, the “hot” spots, the fringe. Her work often led to this odd adolescent mecca. Corey found runaways, and for homeless youth, Broadway was a place to hang.
This evening, she waited for Snapper, a runaway and a friend, who wanted to talk with her. As she waited, Corey was thinking, absentmindedly rubbing
