Tales from the Sidewalk: The Don
Ricardo rode through the ghetto, his face a hard mask. The limousine’s AC was broken and the sun seemed to delight in turning the black car into an oven. He didn’t like it but it had to be done, AC or no AC. He was getting old, losing his grip on the city. His boy would never be much more than a glorified hitman. He didn’t like that either, but there was little he could do now.
A commotion outside grabbed Ricardo’s attention. “Tomas, stop the car.”
It was to Tomas’ credit that he did nothing more than obey.
Two boys wrestled on the ground where the hot asphalt met the gutter, oblivious to the fact that they had attracted attention. One was a negro, the other a spic, but something about them moved the aging don to act.
Ricardo stepped out of the car and broke them up with a few well placed strikes of his cane. “Knock it off.”
Both kids separated, rubbing arms and legs that smarted.
“Ow, wha’ da fuq?” The black kid growled.
The mexican stared balefully.
“My name is Mr. Gravaldi. Do you know who I am?”