The old bum was raving incoherently when we found him, lying there underneath the overpass in his own piss and vomit, dressed in a ragged old sweater and a pair of old, torn up black jeans. His feet were clad in a pair of old, cast off running shoes that had been mended with dirty, peeling strips of duct tape. His hair was long, dirty, and more than a little gray, even though the fellow didn't look much older than thirty five. He had on a pair of fuzzy mittens with the fingers cut off, revealing the scabbed and worn flesh underneath. He clutched a bottle of cheap liquor between the stubby fingers of his left hand and his face was covered with welts, scabs and cuts.

The funny thing is that we almost missed him altogether. It was still early on a Saturday night and we'd just been kicked out of the dance hall because Tony got into an argument with some guy over a chick. Tony had asked the tguy to step outside with him, and when they guy had refused Tony had just laid right into him. He'd actually gotten in four or five good swings before the bouncer showed up and stopped the fight. Tony was so fired up he was just about to lay into the fuckin' bouncer, too, but we all convinced that we should just go.

We were all riding a pretty righteous dexedrine high, so we wandered out into the streets, looking for a party or a brawl or something. Tony was still fired up, jittering all around the sidewalk and trying to pick fights with people. He was making me really nervous, but I didn't dare say anything to him. Tony was crazy, real crazy. You never knew when the fucker was going to start swinging his fists around. He was a lot bigger than me too. I was only fifteen and pretty skinny, so there was no way that I could beat him in a fight.

After about an hour of wandering the streets, I was about ready to call it a night and head home, but then as we were crossing the Dallas street overpass, Charlie told us to stop, that he heard something. We all heard it, too, loud raving and ranting from underneath.

Tony's eyes lit up with a kind of mad fury and then he climbed over the side of the overpass. Charlie and Jack followed him right quick. I went down too, not exactly because I wanted to, but because I didn't want them to think I was pussy.

We saw him then, the old bum, still babbling on like he didn't even see us.

"Just some old rummy," Jack said, flicking ashes from the cigarette he was smoking onto the bum. "Nothin' to cream your jeans about."

"Get a load of that stench," Charlie said, grimacing. "Smells like a dead woodchuck in the middle of the summer." He prodded the bum's leg cautiously with his foot. "Ain't you got any self-respect, old man?"

The bum just ignored him.

Jack bent down and snatched away the bum's bottle of liquor and took a drink. He looked just about ready to puke afterwards.

"Jesus, tastes like something you'd put in your fucking gas tank." He hissed, putting the bottle down beside the bum.

Tony knealt down and snapped his fingers in front of the bum's face. No movement.

"His brain's totally fried." He said, then he stood up and gave the bum a good hard kick in the side with his steel toes.

"Don't kick him." I said, the words coming out automatically.

All three of them veered on me, wide-eyed.

"What did you just say, Sonny, huh?" Tony spat, advancing on me. For a second I was sure that he was going to take a swing at me. "Did I just hear you give me a fucking order? Get this clear in your head: I give the orders around here."

He gave me a shove for good measure. All I could do was nod. Going up against Tony while he was this high was one step below suicide.

They turned back to the bum. I noticed that Jack had a big, shit-eating grin on his face at the sight of me getting told off. I fisted my hands in rage. I'd beaten his ass before and I could do it again.

Tony knealt down in front of the bum again, but this time he had his switchblade in his hand. He opened it with a click and held the blade right up against the bum's face. The bum still took no notice of us.

"He looks like he could use a haircut," Tony said, stroking the bum's long, greasy hair with the blade of his knife. Then he pressed it right against the bum's throat. "How about I start right here?"

The rest of us froze. None of us had ever seen Tony cut anyone before, but we knew that he had it in him. We waited for the inevitable spray of blood that would come when Tony slit the old rummy's throat, but it didn't come. Tony took the blade away from the bum's throat and closed it up.

"I wouldn't dirty my knife on this fucking maggot." He said, dropping the closed weapon into his pocket. "Still, though, it does seem like we should take this out, you know? As a favor to society."

Before we could laugh over the concept of a hoodlum like Tony doing a favor to society, Tony stood up and dealt a savage kick to the side of the bum's head. The sound was like an axe blade chopping through a wooden log. The bum fell over on his side and started twitching like he was having a fucking seizure or something.

"Oh, Christ." Charlie breathed. "Do you think he's dead?"

Jack went up and kicked the bum in the ribs. His eyes were alight with the same kind of mad fire I'd seen in Tony's eyes earlier.

"He's alive."

The bum was a live, alright. He started moaning about someone named Norma, asking her to turn up the heat.

"Pathetic." Tony said.

He picked up the bum's bottle of liquor, sniffed it, and then upended it and poured it's contents all over it's owner, getting some of it everywhere.

"I'll turn up the heat, alright." He muttered darkly.

He struck a match. I had an urge to run, just run away as fast as I could, but I was rooted to the spot. The bum stopped moaning. He looked up adn I met his eyes. They were small and almost weasel-like, threaded with red lines, almost totally obscuring the brown irises. His eyes were full of fear and a kind of terrible knowledge of what was happening to him.

Tony flicked the match. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the old bum. It landed on the front of his sweater and in one sudden shout of orange flame, the bum lit up.

I don't think any of us were really expecting that to happen, not even Tony. Jack was so surprised that he jumped back and uttered a high, girlish shriek that would have earned him a few knocks had we not all been so captivated by the sight of the burning hobo.

The bum screamed briefly when the flames went up, but he went silent as they began to spread. A rich, sweet, almost pleasing odor filtered heavily into the air, the odor of burning flesh. We all stood there, stood there for damn near twenty minutes, as the flames raged on. When they finally died down, the bum wasn't recognizable anymore. He was just a shapeless lump of charred flesh.

I felt sick, but also sort of exhilirated, because I'd always wondered what it would look like to see something burned alive.

We emerged from underneath the overpass, all of us looking pale and sick with the exception of Tony. He was laughing and dancing around even worse than before, talking about how the bum had looked after he'd lit him up. Then he started talking about how we'd finally build a rep in the neighborhood and no one would fuck with us anymore. The rest of us didn't speak, just kept on walking.

Eventually, the seriousness of what I'd been a part of occured to me, and I asked Tony what we were going to do when the police came knocking on our doors.

"Man, do you realize how many unsolved murders there are in this city every day? You think the cops are gonna bust their asses over some lowlife bum? We're in the clear, man. Relax."

That made sense, sort of, and it did actually put my mind at ease.

We walked until about ten o'clock, when we found a house party over on Walker street. It was still pretty early so the party was still in full swing.

Tony went around, bragging about what we'd just done to anyone who would listen. I don't think a lot of people believed him, but still, it was a pretty dumbass thing to do. I could tell that Jack and Charlie felt as uncomfotable as I did, but none of us were willing to go up and confront Tony about it. After what we'd seen him do tonight, I don't think we'd ever have the guts to confront him about anything ever again.

I kept trying to slip out of the house and away from the party, but every time I went for the door, Tony grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed a fresh beer into my hand, pulling me back in.

After a few hours, when almost everyone, Tony included, was passed out, I finally slipped out of the house. I was a nervous wreck on the way home. Whenever a cop car passed I felt like ducking out of sight. I could have used a cigarette to calm my nerves, but I couldn't light one. Whenever I managed to get a flame out of my lighter I was too disturbed by the sight of it to light up.

My mom was a real heavy sleeper, but I was real quiet when I got home anyway. I crawled into my bed, certain that I'd never get off to sleep, but eventually I did.

I skipped school the next day, playing sick when my mom knocked on my door at seven. After she left I went into the living room and turned on the local news. There were no reports about the homeless guy. Tony was right, I guess.

I crawled back into my bed, unable to get back to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about the bum's eyes before Tony had flicked the match, the way he'd seemed so aware of what was about to happen...

Over in the next room, the phone started to ring, and I knew that it was either Tony or the police. I didn't have the energy to deal with either. I just rolled over and let it ring.