Black Ice

“Looks like Shorty’s got himself a girlfriend,” T.J. sneers.

“Yep, well she is a girl,” I counter. “And, keep her out of this.”

T.J. signals his gorillas and two of them grab me roughly by my arms.

“Seems Shorty here really likes Little Miss Spicy Pizza Girl,” T.J. purrs as he walks up real close to Sonya fingering the gold and red-stoned, heart-shaped locket, dangling from her neck. The five bullies all laugh, as I struggle to get away and one of them punches me in the gut.

“Yes Sir, this is some nice stuff you got here, Shorty,” T.J. continues without let up, staring directly into Sonya’s eyes with nasty intent.

“Way too nice for a creep like you!” Sonya counters with disgust.

With a jerk of his wrist, T.J. snaps the chain holding the gold locket in place. Sonya gasps and grabs for her neck where only seconds before the locket had been hanging. Her eyes fill with tears as she keeps her hand on the spot where the locket should be. T.J. dangles it for all to see.

“Looking for this, Little Miss Spicy Pizza Girl?” he snarls.

Suddenly, a clatter echoes from the other end of the alley. T.J. peers into the darkening shadows of the alley leading away from the arena. He stands stunned and unbelieving, as Joe emerges from the shadowy service area. Joe’s eyes pierce T.J.’s with an unwavering dislike. He watches from a distance not taking his eyes off T.J. He is juggling a puck on the end of a hockey stick.

“Oh, well if it isn’t Pizza Joe,” T.J. announces with confidence. His merry band laughs at the swagger he is demonstrating for everyone’s enjoyment.

“Let them go,” comes Joe’s direct command, with no hesitation whatever.

“Why don’t you come and make me, Old Man?” T.J.’s arrogant and disrespectful retort.

“Do you know that a hockey puck is so hard that it could actually be used as a weapon?” Joe poses his cool, calm, quiet question to T.J.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” T.J. asks with disdain.

With one fluid motion, Joe fires off the puck at T.J. hitting him directly in the groin. T.J.’s knees buckle and he collapses on the ground, clutching his privates.

“Aargh!” T.J. is unable to form any words and remains on the ground rolling in pain, while his pack watches him with concern. No laughing now.

After many minutes, T.J. rises slowly to his feet. He then grabs the hockey stick laying across my bag and uses it forcefully to drop me to the ground. My nose is a red gusher! I’m in a world of hurt.

“You’re next, old man!” T.J. snarls with contempt. T.J. and his pals start to close in on Joe as he stands alone at the end of the alley. He never moves. He stands his ground against T.J.

A huge ruckus erupts as the exit doors in the back of the arena open and the alley fills with suited up hockey players all thumping their hockey sticks on the concrete. A constant Thump! Thump! Thump! Silence meets the appearance of the Detroit Ice Dragons, with their game faces on, determined to win this contest. The goalie drops his helmet’s protective mask over his face, and slams his hockey stick on the ground for effect.

“Is it Captain Crunch time, Coach?” the Ice Dragons’ goalie growls, directing his question to Joe, but keeping his eyes squarely on T.J.’s throng.