This kid would not get away from me. I'd been ordering hotdogs at a stand outside the arena when suddenly, the kid standing in line behind me snatched my wallet. The kid stole it straight out of the pocket of my shorts and then took off running.

I hadn't been paying much attention to my surroundings, so I didn't get a good look at him, but he sure was fast, faster than any kid his height should be. In a panic, I asked the hotdog vendor to hold on and started chasing after him.

While this kid was certainly fast for his age, maybe even fast for my age, he had nothing on a true athlete. I didn't bother shouting at anyone to stop the young thief and willed my legs faster. My surroundings passed by in a blur as I watched the kid weave his way in and out of the crowd that had gathered to watch the game, careful not to lose sight of him.

While one or two members of the gathering of fans made a halfhearted attempt at stopping him, for the most part, people paid him no mind as he ran through them. I was starting to really gain on him as he finally cleared the crowd and looked back with wide eyes to see me nearly right on top of him. I didn't bother tackling a child half my size, so I grabbed him by his arm and put it behind his back. At the same time, I stuck a foot in front of him, and he lost his balance, nearly toppling over. I grabbed my wallet out of his hand and pulled back his hood in one motion and was surprised to see long brown hair flowing from the face of a terrified little girl.

She was perhaps eleven or twelve years old with delicate features and brown eyes that carried a tinge of sadness. She said nothing as she struggled to free herself from my grip on her arm. I had no idea what had caused such a small girl to turn to stealing in broad daylight, but I knew it couldn’t be good. I found a little part of myself in the struggling girl. I had also been homeless for a time before being fortunate enough to meet Uncle Jerry in that backwater sidestreet dumpster where I had been searching for something to eat. He had taken me in out of the goodness of his heart and helped raise me for the last four years of my life.

I had been twelve back then, fresh out of money and living on the streets for almost six months. I had traveled to Toronto by bus, using almost all the money I'd saved up at my previous foster home to escape to the city where my friends had said was a place even unwanted children like us could find a place where we belong. In a weird roundabout way, he was right. I had found a home with Jerry, but there were many other little Josh's who had not found a home and still prowled the streets for any chance at an easy meal.

“Let go of me, or else I'll scream.” Said the girl in a small voice, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I reached into my wallet with my free hand, pulling out a five-dollar bill that I'd never see again, and handed it down to the girl. I released my grip on her arm and took a step back.

“You're free to go,” I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone of voice.

She only nodded in response and scurried off in the opposite direction, heading towards the more run-down parts of the city. I watched her leave and headed back to where the food vendor had been saving my two hotdogs. I handed him a five and said my thanks before taking my food and heading to the stadium entrance to find my seats.

I slipped my hands into my pockets and let out a long breath, watching it turn visible as the cold gripped it before vanishing as if it was never there. I took out my game ticket and walked down the large steps to find my seat in the still frigid arena before plopping myself down in a seat in the midrows beside a middle-aged man who looked like he could box a gorilla. Jerry turned to me and flashed a grin when I held up the hotdogs and handed the larger of the two to him.

“I was beginning to think you were lost. Who takes 20 minutes to grab hotdogs and sit down?” he joked in a deep voice.

Jerry had no wife or kids of his own, and I was his only real family. He was born to a prostitute, and his mother had left one day without saying anything to him. He had raised himself in the streets before becoming a member of a local gang that taught him how to fight. He had been taken in by one of the older members and raised in his home until the man was shot dead inside his apartment by a rival gang. Jerry had come home that day and found the man who raised him like a son in a pool of his own blood. Since then, Jerry had redoubled his efforts at learning how to fight and shoot at a professional level, becoming an assassin and hitman at the tender age of 19. Jerry had personally hunted down each member of the rival gang who killed his pseudo father and murdered them. I think part of the reason he took me in was that he saw a little of himself in me. He had started teaching me how to fight almost right away, and I was now a national martial arts champion for my age group in Canada.

He had always been open about his profession with me, sitting me down just four months after taking me in and telling me straight that he lived a dangerous life and that if I wanted to walk away, now was the time to do it. I had already grown attached to him and refused adamantly, saying that no matter what, I'd stick by his side. I was almost entirely out of his work life other than when some gangbangers tried to rob me. They had jumped me after I ran ahead of Jerry on a walk. They pulled knives on me and took me hostage when Jerry had shown up. Jerry pulled out a gun, and my kidnapper had held a knife to my throat.

“Empty your pockets or the boy here ge-” Jerry pulled the trigger while the man was still mid-sentence, hitting him dead in the forehead to my right. I had heard the bullet whizz past my ear and deafen me momentarily before I’d snapped out of my daze and ran to Jerry's side. When I looked back, I saw the man's companion's face twist in anger and reach for the bulge in his pocket,right before Jerry pulled the trigger once again. The man seemed not to register that he'd been shot before suddenly slumping to the ground with a thud.

It had been my first time seeing a dead man, and I had been traumatized for weeks. I didn't blame Jerry for shooting them. If anything, I was thankful he kept me safe, but the man I saw pull the trigger without hesitation was almost a completely different man than the one who had taken in a small orphan and raised them as their own. He appeared almost as a monster, his expression cold, and his eyes lifeless when he told the last man,

“Get your ass home unless you want to join them.”

It was the most chilling voice I'd heard in my life, and the third guy had thought so too, running away.I'd never forget the shivers that ran up my spine and the sweat that poured down my back at hearing not Jerry, the father, but Jerry, the murderer.

It was the first, and thankfully last time it's happened since.

I recounted the events that transpired at the hotdog vendor to Jerry, and his expression remained unchanged until I revealed the thief was a little girl.

“That's surprising; not many children can afford to make it by themselves these days. You did the right thing, giving her that five. To her, that five could mean the difference between life and death.”

He spoke as if from personal experience, and given what I knew he and I had been through, I knew it was true. I remember early on in my homeless days; an older man had come up to the little box I had been using as a room and handed me a one hundred dollar bill. The man had told me to spend it wisely before once again leaving me alone in my shabby cardboard box. I don't know what the man felt after his act of kindness, but I know that up until that point, I had never been more excited in my entire life.

We sat and watched the game together when suddenly his phone started ringing during the third period. I watched him glance at the caller ID and grimace.

“Sorry Josh, it's work; you finish up the game and head home. I might be late tonight.”

I understood that it couldn't wait and that it was important, but I couldn't help being disappointed anyway. Even though I tried to keep it off my face, he still noticed.

“Josh, I'm almost out. I promise you this is the last job I'll ever take. When the boss pays out what he owes, we can go wherever we want, do whatever we want. We'll be free.”

As disappointed as I was, I couldn't stop a grin from creeping onto my face. I looked at the man who had raised me for the last four years, shown me infinite kindness, and taught me how to survive.

“It's truly okay. Thank you so much for everything you've done for me, Father.”

While I had thought of him as my father, I had never said it to his face. I heard the word ring in my ear and felt like I'd finally crossed a boundary that had divided us since we'd first met. It felt like we were now truly family in every sense of the word. Finally, I'd found a home with a loving parent of my own. Despite myself, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I closed my eyes and embraced Jer- no, my Father. Never in my life had I seen him so emotional before. He pulled back from our hug and looked me in the eyes.

“Thank you, Son; I'll be home around ten.” I can't prove it, but I swore I saw a tear in his eye for a second before turning around and making his way out of the stadium.

I leaned back in my chair and allowed myself to think about all the wonderful ways the future could play out, the places we could go, the people we would meet. All of it I could do with my Father.