Ice Man and the Silver Fox

Killing him was as easy as squashing a bug. The old man’s scrawny neck felt like a piece of leather as he clasped his hands around his throat. A shuddered ran through his body as he tightened his grip.  The old man’s eyes bugged out of his head, his tongue hung from his mouth and turned blue.  He could feel the man’s heart stop beating before he went limp.

Sixteen-year-old Dominic Falcone turned over on the sofa, haunted by the same dream that visited him nightly. Accustomed to the sound of rats scurrying through the interior walls of the four-room apartment, Dominic fumbled for the quilt that had fallen to the floor.  After plumping his pillow he rolled onto his side and just as he was about to drift off to sleep he heard a noise. Instantly alert, he sat straight up.  From the light of the flashing red neon sign, blinking incessantly from the bar across the street, Dominic could see that the bedroom doors at the far end of the room were closed.  Satisfied that his mother and two younger brothers were safe, he sat quietly. A few moments later he heard the noise again. Rising quickly from the sofa he moved quietly across the cold linoleum to the open archway that led to the kitchen. Just as he reached for the light he heard another sound coming from outside. Crouching low he grabbed a baseball bat that was propped against the wall and crawled to the window. The light from the Street lamp illuminated the alley and surrounding area enough that he could see the outline of a small body. As his eyes adjusted to darkness he recognized the red and blue plaid coat that belonged to his brother, Frankie.

Dominic breathed a sigh of relief. He relaxed his grip on the bat and laid it on the floor. Remaining in a crouched position he continued to watch his younger brother who was sitting on the top rung of the fire escape. The twelve-year-old boy appeared mesmerized by the colored lights of a Christmas tree shining through the window of an apartment across the alley. Dominic felt a rush of tenderness when he saw that Frankie was tightly clutching the only treasure he owned, an old battered saxophone minus a mouthpiece. The instrument had belonged to Mr. Delveccio; a neighbor who had been a professional musician and had always treated the three Falcone brothers like his grandchildren. When the elderly man died, two years ago, Mrs. Delveccio had given his favorite instrument to Frankie.       

Shivering in the cold Dominic raised the window until it squeaked. "Are you nuts? You''re going to freeze to death out there."

Frankie wiped tears from his face with the sleeve of his coat before reaching for Dominic''s outstretched hand.

When Dominic pulled him inside and turned on the overhead light his worse fear became a reality. Frankie''s bottom lip had a half-inch gash, clotted with blood and his left eye was swollen shut.

Dominic’s hands shook when he took the saxophone from Frankie and laid it on the table. "When did the old man do this?" He asked angrily.

Frankie lowered his clear brown eyes. “This morning after you left.”

“Mother Frigin.” Dominic slammed his fist against the top of the counter. "Someday, Frankie.  Just you wait and see.”

“No, Dom.  Don’t do anything. You’ll only make him madder and Mama will git it too.”

Anger brightened Dominic’s face to a deep red.  He wrapped his arm protectively around his younger brother’s shoulder. “Come on. I better get you cleaned up before Mama gets up."

As they walked to the end of the dimly lit hallway Frankie glanced up at his big brother and instantly felt better. He followed Dominic into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet seat. He tried hard not to flinch as Dominic cleansed the dried blood from his lip.

When Dominic finished he glanced around at the dingy yellow walls that were peeling paint. "I hate him," he said flatly. "Someday, we’re gonna get away from him and that’s a promise."