H*H*H*H

The dish shattered into pieces so small anyone in their right mind would have deemed it impossible to put it back together. Before, Hui would have tried to glue each piece. He was just that kid—you could fix a relationship with words, and you could fix a plate with some glue and patience. In this moment, however, Hui knew he had grown.  He realized that, rather than worrying about fixing the dish, he was too busy relating to the fine china that now covered the floor. As he cowered behind the couch of the family room, Hui stared wide-eyed at his mother’s fuming figure.

“You are not my son anymore.”

He was as shattered as that dish.

“Hui?” A voice called from the front door, growing louder with panic as a tall man ran into the kitchen. His hair was the same shade of brown as a chocolate bar, Hui would have once noted that it even smelled as sweet when he hugged the man. Now, however, Hui felt the strange sense that he would never take in the scent of his father again. His mother turned to the man in the doorway.

“Marsha! What are you doing to him?” His father returned the young teen’s gaze, waving Hui over to him frantically. “Son, come here—”

“Don’t you dare call him your son!” Hui’s mother yelled, pointing a fresh plate at the grown man. Hui could see her shaking. He wondered, briefly, if that plate would shatter too—if his father was feeling as shattered as the pieces lining the kitchen floor. “Hugh, you want a thief for a son?” The plate redirected its attention to the cowering boy behind the couch. “I just discovered that your son has been stealing from our family. Jewelry? China? You name it and he has been selling it online or to his sketchy friends for weeks! He’s trying to make money off our family heirlooms! Our history!” Her head whipped around towards Hui, and her tear stained eyes narrowed as she continued.

“He’s selling the only pieces of our family I’ve held dear since his ancestors passed! We feed him, clothe him, and give him a home but all he can do is sell it!” Her voice rose with each blessing she listed.

“Marsha,” Hui’s father said as he carefully approached his family. He gracefully avoided the shards on the floor, but, as Hui’s mother turned to look at his father, Hui heard shoes crunching over the china. “He was probably doing it with perfect reasoning, Marsha." His father cooed, "Although it wasn’t the right decision, and he should be scolded, you’re overreacting, dear. Hui is the best kid I know, he wouldn’t steal from anyone, let alone his family.”

Hui always knew his father was the reasonable one in his parents' relationship, but as Hui felt warm tears fall from his cheeks it hurt him to admit now that he knew his father was the only sane parent.

“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose, Mom! I was only trying to help us find money for a better car!” Hui cried out, pointing out the window. On the other side of the glass was the tan car in which his father had just arrived. Without even needing to focus hard on the build, it was clear the vehicle was held together by duct tape and zip ties.

“I didn’t think you cared about that heirloom stuff, Mom! I didn’t think you’d miss plates and jewelry if you could have a nice car!” The single tears turned into a stream, leaving tracks as they now poured down Hui’s cheeks. The teenager’s father smiled softly at the boy and took a step towards him. He opened his arms and Hui quickly moved from out behind the couch and towards the safety of the grown man. “I’m sor—”

“Get out.”

Both Hui and his father turned towards the woman standing before them. As Hui’s father dropped his arms, Hui stared at the plate in his mother’s hands. Without even needing to throw it at a wall, or a floor, or even at her son, Hui’s mother had managed to break the second plate. She truly hated him in this moment. She loved her materialistic heirlooms over her living, breathing son.

What hurt the most, Hui noticed, was not the dish shards that were digging through his socks or the acknowledgment that his mother cared more about antiques than her son. Rather, what hurt the most to Hui was that he realized he had known the truth of his mother's "love" for years now. As he took a step away from his parents, Hui tightened his jaw and stared at the woman he'd thought loved him. Deep within him, Hui felt a sudden urge to escape— he felt an intense amount of confidence build inside his chest.

Shakily, he breathed out.

“Fine.”

And with that, Hui left.

Without stopping to change his bleeding socks, Hui grabbed his sneakers at the door and yanked his jacket from its spot on a hook.  With only the regret of not hugging his father, Hui slammed the door behind him and ran— an action, he realized, as he found himself at the mouth of a highway, that was not one of his strong points. He didn’t figure it was a problem at the moment, though, as he lifted his thumb towards the oncoming cars. The surge of confidence within him kept him from second-guessing his decision to run.

A black truck rolled to a stop on the side of the highway and a grizzled man appeared from the other side of the window as he rolled it down. “Where to kid?” The man called, opening his passenger door for the teen. Hui barely considered his actions as he hopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door in an attempt to forget the previous hour.

“The nearest city, please." He mumbled, holding his jacket in his lap. "I just want to start fresh.” Hui stared at the jacket, attempting to hold back unwelcomed tears.

“You’ve got guts, kid. I haven’t seen anyone hitchhike for years. Funny— it’s actually what I did when I was around your age. It’s how I found my way to the city I’m running now if you can believe it.”

Hui stayed silent as the man spoke and the car returned to its route on the highway. The newly titled “thief” looked over at his driver. Hui took in the tattoos that ran up the man’s arms and quickly wondered if he had possibly chosen the wrong car. His eyes focused on a small H tattoo that sat roughly an inch below the driver’s right eye. It looked like he had laid under a typewriter and branded the H onto his face. The curiosity built up within the boy.

“If you don’t mind me asking, uh, why do you have an H on your face?” Hui questioned the man and was practically ready to tuck and roll as the driver hesitated for what felt like hours.

“Remember how I said I run this city we’re heading to?” He asked, turning his head towards Hui. The H on his cheek held Hui’s attention as the man spoke. “It stands for Honcho. The name’s Honcho, boy, and not to toot my own horn but you'd be glad to know it.” With a smirk, the man returned his attention to the road.

“H-honcho? Like…‘head honcho?’ What is this, a gang?” Hui chuckled, following the man’s gaze to the road. Although he knew some people regretfully got tattoos and make up some meaning so as to save themselves from embarrassment, Hui couldn’t help but think that the man could have done a better job than ‘honcho.’

“Exactly, kid.”

Hui’s head whipped towards the man.

“And I’d hate to break it to you, but I don’t exactly let hitchhikers go for free these days. I got a business running in the city, and you put me back another ten minutes on my ETA.” The man motioned to the back seat, and as Hui turned to look at the cardboard boxes, he found himself not wanting to imagine what exactly it was that they contained. “As a payment, though, how’s about you come work for me for a few days? I won’t pay you, y’know, since you’re getting a ride for frees, but I can give you food and shelter at The House while you do a couple of “errands” for me and my boys.” Hui felt his chest tighten. “Sound good, kid? I promise you’ll like it at The House. My guys won’t rough you up too much or anything like that.”

Hui stuttered. “W-what will I be doing?”

“Well, there has to be some reason you were on the road back there, right? What did Mommy catch you doing this time? Popping bike tires? Stealing lunch money? You ran away, kid, I could tell from what little you have on ya.”

Hui looked down at his jacket in his lap and tried not to remember the shattered dishes lining the kitchen floor. “I didn’t pop tires and I didn’t steal lunch money. I’m a good kid, I swear, I just—”

The man turned to look at Hui, and the young teen could have sworn the air grew cold in the truck as an icy stare locked onto him. “I asked what you did. Stop rambling.”

“I didn’t steal lunch money! B-but," Hui's voice became quiet as he admitted the next few words. "I did steal. Jewelry, china, family antiques—it was all for a good cause, I swear, it’s just she didn’t like that I didn’t ask—that I did it without her knowing.”

The truck grew silent as they sped down the freeway. Hui noticed the skyline of a city b on the horizon. He had never traveled very far from home, so he was unsure of the city they were approaching. If it was led by Honcho, though, Hui knew that it was going to be a “kill or get killed” type of environment.

He didn’t want to go there.

He wanted to go home to his father.

But now, it seemed to him that he had a debt to pay. There were no bridges requiring tolls but there was a toll in the business of Honcho’s taxi service.

“She didn’t know, eh?” Honcho rubbed his chin, breaking the silence. Hui noticed the tattooed H scrunching as the skin moved with the man’s hand. “Well then, Kid, from now on you’re my new novice pickpocket. You start tomorrow with your first job. Make it good,” He glanced over at Hui and smiled. “and you’ll pay off your debt to me within a few weeks. If you like it, feel free to stick around. Food and board in exchange for your talents.”

As they approached the city bridge, Hui nervously looked up at the skyscrapers. He was filled with apprehension.

“Just know, kid, if you cross me, you won’t be going over this bridge ever again.”