The Watching Of Trotter

by good2begone

This is the continuing story of Neeko and Trotter.

To be “in the know” parts 1 and 2 are linked below.


Surviving on the streets is learned the hard way.

Neeko and Trotter are still learning.

The 2 boys are relaxing under the tree in the park. They are both amazed that not only do they have similar disabilities in common (1 can’t talk, 1 can’t hear), but they also have pasts in common (scars from knife wounds).

Neeko is watching a dog catching a frisbee thrown by its owner. When out of the corner of his eye, he sees Trotter frantically trying to open his backpack.

He looks over and much to his surprise, he sees Trotter take out a cell phone, flip it open, sigh, and hit a few keys on the number pad.

Trotter looks up and sees Neeko staring at him with big eyes. He pauses for a second and motions like he is wadding up a piece of paper and tosses it, then puts his thumb to his ear with his pinkie toward his mouth.

Implying-“This is a throwaway phone.”

Neeko taps on his own temple and shrugs-“Why?”

Trotter gets his pen and paper and writes for a minute or 2 then hands it to Neeko.

‘ I work sometimes for “the hangman”. He calls. I do what he asks. He pays me. Nothing bad. I am just a watcher. I gotta go.’

Neeko shakes his head back and forth-“He’s bad”

Trotter nods and runs his thumb against his fingers making the money sign. He then picks up the pen and paper and writes and address and a time on it, and writes, ‘meet me here at this time.’

He then puts the pen and paper back into his backpack, pulls out the rest of the licorice and 2 half eaten pieces of chicken wrapped in old foil and hands them to Neeko. Then picks up his backpack, waves goodbye and trots off out of the park and around the corner.

Neeko looks at the address and the time and thinks,

“Why does he want me to meet him there at midnight? People like us don’t belong there at any time….”

He notices it will be dark soon and decides he better find a place to rest for a while. He needs to be alert as the night drags on.

It’s the hardest time to survive.

Trotter arrives at the Hangman’s apartment a little after dark.

He climbs up the fire escape, per instructions, and knocks on the window as he was asked to.


The shades are pulled back and the window opens. Before Trotter can climb in, he is yanked in and onto the floor.

The Hangman shuts the window loudly, closes the blinds quickly, and starts berating Trotter.



He picks Trotter up by the collar and sets him in a chair, which is no easy task with Trotter being over 300 pounds.

Trotter just sits there and takes it.

The Hangman sits opposite Trotter, lights up a joint and takes a big hit.

He exhales and rubs his hand over his head, smiles, then calmly speaks.

“I like you, Trotter. No back talk….not any talk.” He says and then laughs heartily.

“Did you get your priest feast at the shelter today?” He asks.

Trotter nods, “yes”

“Good. Since your late, I don’t have time to feed your fat ass.” He says as he puts the joint down and returns to filling the clip for his 9 mm.

He snaps the clip into the butt of the gun and clicks the hammer and holds it in front of Trotter’s face.

“Can I trust you to do something important?… life fucking depends on it.” He says as he peers at Trotter from behind the hammer of the weapon.

Trotter frowns and gives him a nonchalant nod for yes.

The Hangman sets down the gun and pulls out a wad of cash from his pants.

“I will pay you….$45….to watch for me….but not for police this time. I need you to watch for Rasta.”

Trotter’s eyes got big and his heart began to race. Rasta was the man who gave Trotter the 6 inch scar across his neck.

“I know you know him. So it should be an easy job for you to spot him. I am going to give you a walkie talkie….I know you don’t talkie…but you can walkie. I want you to hide in the alley directly across the street. When you see him…hit this button. It will make a noise to alert me. I’m taking over his business. He just don’t know it yet.”

He then hands Trotter the walkie talkie and counts out the $45 dollars. He begins to hand it to him then yanks it back and smacks him across the face with his free hand.


“When Rasta is taken care of….you will get paid…not before…you think I am fucking stupid enough to give some homeless fuck, money BEFORE the job is done? Take your walkie talkie and go to the alley and wait. When you see him, hit the button. Then wait some more. When he is dead. You get paid. Got it?”

Trotter was holding back tears from the stinging in his face, but showing weakness was not an option. Getting paid for watching was easier than what others had to do for money.

He nodded yes and headed back out the window, down the fire escape and into the alley across the street to wait.

He crouches between an overfilled dumpster and strewn around boxes.

The walkie talkie made a sound and the Hangman’s voice came through it

“Are you there and ready?”

Trotter hit the button once to acknowledge.

“Good. Just sit there and fucking wait until you see him”

Trotter was good at sitting quietly in alleys and dark places. Living on the city streets was no cakewalk. He learned early on to stay as invisible as possible at night if he planned on surviving it.

He had only been there a few minutes when from behind him he felt the barrel of a gun press up against his skull and the hammer being pulled back.

Trotter closed his eyes and tensed up.

The voice from behind him was familiar.

“Ay, Mon. Da fat boy is watching for da hangman. I taught I kill da fat boy an ere e is. You watching for me I bet. Too bad I be watching longer den you. Han me da radio. Yo days watching for da hangman are dun.” Rasta says quietly from the darkness behind the gun.

Trotter holds up the radio and hands it behind him.

As he lets go, Rasta pulls the gun away from Trotter’s head, turns it around, and knocks him out with the butt of the gun.

As he was losing consciousness, one thought went through his head-

“I hope Neeko is having a better night than this.”


to continue on to Part 4 click > here <