A Ponte Called Avanti
“Well I get a damned phone call don’t I?” Mary, ‘Bloody Mary’ that’s who I am. I never go down without a fight, I’m always mad.
“Scuzi, Signora Marina?” the tall scrawny Venice Caribenier patted my heavily bruised shoulder. “Si, yes you do. Should I fetch your rat?” I felt his flesh crawl as the filthy words leaked out of his mustached mouth.
“Si, si grazie Signore. Can I make my phone call now?” I put on my best, ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here’ smile. It seemed to pay off.
“Si Signora.” He handed me his cell phone. It wasn’t the newest model, but it would work. I reached into the back pocket of my new ‘Zana-Di’ jeans and pulled out a small, twisted, silver fork.
“Scuzi Signore Caribenier,” I held out a small bloody and mud plastered hand with the glittering silver fork on my palm. “I stole this too.” I thought about loosing Prosper. His little head crushed between my step-father’s fingers, a puddle of crimson blood and oozing gray brains forming at his little paws. A small whispered “No” escaped my split lips.
“No!” I turned around grabbed Prosper’s rickety wooden cage and wheeled around to face the thin police man. “I’m not going with you! Get away from me damn it!” My face was a red burning firing smart ass comments about him while backing up to the edge of the ponte.
“Come now perri.” His whiskered face was now a foul grimace. Fairy?! He called me a fairy?! No way José, was I a fairy.
“Bitch!” I screamed at the top of my lungs and let my small fist sink into a none-existent gut. I had hit his ribs. I jerked my throbbing hand away from him and swung a bandaged leg over the side of the bridge.
“You, you,” He was doubled over gasping for breath, for why I do not know; ‘cause I didn’t hit him that hard. “listen angelo.” He protested, his bushy hair pulled back into a sloppy pony-tail. OK first I’m a fairy, now I’m an angel? Come on people! I’m a thief not a saint!
I swear it was at least five minutes before he broke eye contact with me. I sat there studying him, he wasn’t that old, at least twenty or twenty-five. He was slightly tan and had NO stomach at all. He was pathetic.
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