(2012) Blood on Blood by Frank Zafiro Page A

of them at once.”
    “That sounds like Jerzy.”
    “Yeah, well, it was stupid. These kids were closer to my age than his and they weren’t posers from Rochester Heights out slumming or something. These were neighborhood kids, and tough.”
    “So what happened?”
    “About the time I saw what was going on, the fists started flying. I didn’t even think about it. I just ran down the alley and waded in. They managed to land a couple on him and get him to the ground, so when I got there, they were kicking him.”
    “And you rescued him.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “Pretty much. I had surprise on my side, so the first one didn’t see it coming. Jerzy had already caught one of them in the nose before they got him down, so that kid was out of commission. The other two must’ve seen what I was bringing because they turned tail and ran.”
    “Like Batman you were,” she teased.
    “Hey, it was four on one. That’s bullshit. Plus…”
    “Plus he’s your brother.”
    “Yeah.” I nodded. “You get it.”
    “Of course I do. I had three brothers, remember?” She smiled warmly at me. “That must be why he calls you Hero.”
    “Among other reasons.”
    “I’m surprised that didn’t bring you two closer,” she said. “Trial by battle and all that other shit.”
    I shook my head. “Actually, it had the opposite effect. He hated me after that for some reason.”
    She raised an eyebrow slightly. “Really?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know why. Maybe he resented the fact that I had to save his ass. He always had a problem admitting he wasn’t the baddest man in the world, even as a kid.”
    She nodded slightly. “I can see that.” Her eyes drifted up and past my shoulder and she smiled a sultry smile. “Hey.”
    I turned and saw Jerzy towering over me. I thought he might throw a punch right there for me sitting at his table talking to his girl, but he didn’t. Instead, he had this curious, self-satisfied smile on his face.
    “You met Ania, huh?”
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “Fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t she?”
    I nodded but said nothing.
    Jerzy waved me toward the door. “C’mon, Hero. Let’s talk.” Then he turned and strode away.
    I looked back at Ania. Her eyes still smoldered, but now they were on me. “Thanks for the conversation,” I managed to say, then stood.
    “Anytime, Mick,” she said. “I’m glad we finally met.”
    I cleared my throat. “Me, too.”
    Then I turned and followed Jerzy out onto the street.
    He stood, rubbing his hands together and blowing onto them. “Colder than a witch’s tit, huh?”
    I pulled my jacket closer around me and thrust my hands into my pockets. Jerzy gave the motion a wary glance, then smiled. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he said.
    “What day?”
    “The Sawyer brothers, standing outside a bar together, shooting the shit.”
    His tongue was a little loose. I could tell he’d been slamming them away since the funeral. I’d had a couple of shots myself, but they seemed to draw me into a better focus rather than muddy things up. It wasn’t what I’d wanted, but I was glad for it now.
    “What do you want to talk about?” I asked him, getting to the point.
    “Aw, come on,” he said. “You know.”
    I stared at him and said nothing. If he had a hand to play, let him play it.
    “Aw, Christ, Mick. You’re such a tight ass sometimes. You should loosen up.”
    “You got something to say or not? Because, if not, I’m leaving—”
    “To go where? Huh, Mick? To go where? Back to some shit ass small apartment? To sling hash at some dive? What good is that?”
    “Fuck you,” I flared at him. “Mind your own business.”
    He laughed. “Atta kid. Show some fire.”
    I thought about hitting him right there. He was drunk enough not to expect it. And I was faster. I’d be hitting him the third time before he felt the first one.
    How’d that be for some goddamn fire, Punk?
    Instead, I stood still and waited for him to