Treason

The transfer from light of day to dusk is always more prounced in a city than it is in the suburbs, and is especially true for a big city like New York. As the late September sun disappeared behind tall buildings, their shadows emitted a chill, long before darkness prevailed. It was a child's sundial - a signal to go home for dinner. On 15th Street in lower Manhattan, the cockroaches, being lured by the garbage put out for the morning pick-up, were beginning their routine of crawling out to the sidewalk. Danny McCoy had found their homes in the wooden stairs and cracked concrete leading up to the apartments over the store fronts. The entire block, except for one place, had colonies, and Danny knew where every one was. This was his entertainment before returning to his new address. Danny's stuttering increased with each change of school as he had to get past the taunts of his less than understanding classmates. 'Why don't I stutter when I'm thinking?' He had no one to ask, but he did know the day it all began. Six years ago, the worst day of his life; both of his parents were killed in an auto accident and there were no other living relatives, or any that would come forward - foster care began. He often looked for a safe place to cry. 'I don't stutter when I cry, either.' Not being wanted, unloving foster parents, and unfriendly peers made being by himself the lesser of evils, and his first choice. The sign said, "The Honor Boxing Club," and was the only building on the block that did not have cockroaches. Danny McCoy looked into the club through its open doorway. He heard one voice above all others, speaking with a 'thick' Spanish accent.