Cold Fury

his face was masked, I could tell he was grinning. There was no time to do anything but shove my little brother behind me as Poor Kevin pulled himself toward the gondola-we were halfway to the top and it swung wildly under his weight until he was inside. The metal car was built to hold six people, and he filled the entire space with the smell of rancid meat while wagging his finger at me. “You, you, you!” he squealed, and I felt Lou cower against me as Poor Kevin said, “Rodents and Ferraris and Ferris wheels. . you’re just all over the map, aren’t you? And lookie here, if it isn’t little brother! Aren’t you gonna say hello? What’s the matter. . rat got your tongue?”

I stared with ghiaccio furioso frigid and bubbling in my gut. “Stay back,” I hissed, but he repelled it, blinking it away while cracking his big knuckles.

“’Cause I’ll tell you something, a rat got part of mine!” he shrieked, and before he could touch us, I dropped to the floor and swept his ankles. He went down heavily on his back, the gondola careened wildly, and I knew it was all useless. The masked demon was my fate-he always had been, right from the beginning. Even as I fought on, I was having the type of sensory revelation that a person on her deathbed must experience seconds before she exits her body, knowing suddenly that it’s going to happen-I knew, too, even as he staggered to his feet and I peppered the evil sock puppet’s face with a flurry of rights and lefts and he took them like a giggling speed bag. I could hammer away all day, I could bite, kick, and run, but in the end he would grab my neck and squeeze me to death. And then something landed on top of us like a load of bricks. We all froze-Poor Kevin staring at the roof, me in a crouch, Lou against the wall. Poor Kevin stuck his ski mask over the edge, craning his neck this way and that, only for a pair of boots to kick him in the jaw so hard he flew across the gondola. The boots were followed by thick legs as another bulky man swung inside. “Uncle Buddy?”

“Geez, I really hate heights,” he said, his whole body shaking.

“You. . you jumped?”

“From the gondola above,” he said, with another violent shudder. “Don’t ever do something like that.”

Poor Kevin stood shaking his head like a wet dog, and when he looked up, his crazy eyes popped crazier through the ski mask holes. “You schlub!” he cried. “It’s really you, isn’t it? Buddy Roly-Poly Rispoli! Buddy More- Cannoli Rispoli!”

“Poor Kevin,” Uncle Buddy said with a sigh.

“Oh, how I’ve longed for the day when I could tear your arms from your body and beat you retarded with them!” Poor Kevin bleated. “I mean, more retarded! I dreamed about it when I was in the hospital!”

“You mean the nuthouse,” Uncle Buddy said.

“Nuthouse, loony bin, cracker shack, you name it, I escaped it, and now here we are, just me and the Rispoli three! It’s gonna be fun, like killing rats!” Poor Kevin squealed, breaking into a sick little jig.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered to Uncle Buddy.

“After you left the house, I picked up your trail and followed you,” he said grimly, staring at Poor Kevin. “I wanted that damn notebook so badly. It’s all I wanted. And then I saw him.”

“Buddy-Buddy, two-by-four, can’t fit through the bakery door!” Poor Kevin sang in his schoolmarm falsetto.

“My brother would never forgive me if I let him hurt you,” Uncle Buddy said. “And I could use some forgiveness.”

“Buddy-Buddy, two-by-four, I’ll use your ass to mop the floor!”

“Yeah, you mopped the floor, all right, you mutant!” Uncle Buddy barked. “And if it wasn’t done the way I wanted it done, I made you mop it again!”

Poor Kevin stopped dancing. In fact, it was first time that I ever saw him stand completely still. “Oh yeah, well. . you’re fat,” he said.

“What’s he doing?” Lou said. “He’s only making him madder.”

“Uncle Buddy,” I hissed, but he ignored me, moving carefully toward the door of the gondola.

“You rolled dough for shit, too, you know that?” Uncle Buddy said. “You screwed it up every time, and every time I had to go back and make it right.”

“Not. . every time,” Poor Kevin said.

“Absolutely the worst baker I ever met. . even worse than your old man! All the paisani on the block knew it, and they all laughed at you behind your back.”

“Not. . everyone,” Poor Kevin said, and he was moving again, his big body twitching under the plaid suit like it was crammed full of small, angry animals.

“Hey, kids, you know the only thing this freak ever baked that was worth a damn?” Uncle Buddy pointed at him and guffawed. “His face!”

Poor Kevin stood bristling, the ski mask moving on his neck like a bobble-head, and he shrieked like a pig in heat and charged. My uncle went into a crouch, and then at the last minute dropped to the floor and snagged Poor Kevin’s ankle. The freak stumbled to the door of the gondola and it popped open. He was half in, half out, making circles with his arms and squealing, and I couldn’t help myself-it was instinct-I grabbed him by the greasy suit coat and pulled him back inside.

“Sara Jane, no,” Uncle Buddy said slowly. “You shouldn’t have. .” But he didn’t finish his sentence because Poor Kevin kicked him in the mouth. Uncle Buddy rolled, spitting blood as the maniac tried to stomp his head, but Lou leaped from the wall, pushing him off balance. Poor Kevin backhanded my little brother, and he spun like a bleeding top into my arms. I set him gently on the bench and turned to my uncle, who was displaying his primary talent as a boxer, taking blow after blow from Poor Kevin that would have dropped a lesser man.

“Hey!” I screamed. Poor Kevin twisted his neck, and I broke the cardinal rule of boxing, sucker-punching him with everything I had.

The maniac’s neck twisted back and Uncle Buddy pounded him with a right.

When Poor Kevin’s head came back into view, I threw my left hook so hard that it knocked the ski mask from his head. In that long moment, I gasped at the flaming red R pressed into the gooey meat-lump that was his face. He made a slow pirouette-revealing scars like old bacon across his throat, skin holes where there should have been ears, and two lidless eyes as black as burned tar-just before he went down. I saw the terrible disfigurement that had driven him insane, and for a split second, I felt more than a twinge of sympathy for Poor Kevin.

My uncle stood back as if it were all over, but I’d been in similar situations with the masked freak before. Our gondola was almost at the top of the arc, and I was warning him to be careful when Poor Kevin jumped to his feet, grabbed Uncle Buddy in a headlock, kicked open the door, and flipped him out. Uncle Buddy grabbed the edge of the gondola and held on with both hands, his feet bicycling air. Poor Kevin leaned on his knees looking down at him and shrieked, “Spring’s almost over and summer’s too damn hot. . but at least you’ll have a nice fall!”

“Sara. . Jane. .,” Uncle Buddy gasped.

“And don’t forget to look back! These two will be right behind you!”

“Sara Jane,” Uncle Buddy said, “now!”

I was about to break my promise to Willy.

There would be a stain on my soul, and I suddenly did not care in the least.

I got a running start and pushed Poor Kevin out the door.

There was the whoosh of his body as it was sucked into the sky, it was silent, and then the gondola creaked and tipped precariously. Someone screamed somewhere far below. We’d reached the very top of the Ferris wheel’s arc as I looked out at Poor Kevin holding on to Uncle Buddy’s ankles, both of them swaying like an enormous pendulum. I scrambled for my uncle, screaming, “Hold on! I’ll pull you up!”

“Oh yes, please do, hero girl!” Poor Kevin shrieked. “Because when he comes up, I come up! Pull me in, kick me out again, and I’ll just keep coming back! I’ll never stop and. . I. . mean. . never!”

Uncle Buddy looked at me with a decision already made, his eyes crystal clear as he said, “Tell your dad for me. . your mom. . tell them. .”

“Uncle Buddy! No!”

He didn’t make a sound as he let go.

Poor Kevin screamed like a girl all the way to the concrete.

It wasn’t a Mack truck, but it would do.