A Ragged Time

If Louis could be anywhere right now, he would be flying. Soaring through the clouds of cotton candy, conversing with the Canada geese as they flew south. He would go with them. Toward the toasty rays of sun, toward a beach with soothing waves, and away from the impending bitter Chicago winter.

But instead, Louis was gasping for breath as he chased after one of the few things in his possession, a bag containing two pairs of trousers, two shirts, and a banged up trumpet.

The savage air tore through his throat, jabbing at the flesh inside. His bare feet pounded on the cobblestone while his arms pumped as fast as they could. But that white boy in front of him must've been born to run because even though every shop was a blur as Louis passed by, his bag was leaving him behind. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that his muscles had long ago been eaten away by malnutrition, or maybe it was the ripped shirt clinging to his skinny frame doing nothing to prevent the cold from seeping into his bones.

Either way, when the bag turned the corner, Louis had a feeling that he had seen it for the last time. So when the thirteen year old skidded around the corner and found his possessions scattered across the alley, he wasn't sure what to think. Was it a trap? Was he about to get jumped?

Quickly, Louis gathered up his things, inspecting the trumpet for new dents. Only one. That was good. When he cautiously peered around the corner, his eyes widened as he recognized the buildings surrounding him.

Little Italy. The notorious Genna family's territory.

But what would the Italians want with his stuff? There wasn't anything valuable. Unless... Louis slapped his forehead. Sidney!

When his stuff had been stolen, Louis had left his little brother with their food rations. The Genna family wouldn't need the food, but any Italian, unhappy with their cut of food, could have pulled off such an easy scheme. Divide the group and then steal the most valuable thing. Why hadn't he thought of that before running across six blocks?

Cursing, Louis clutched his belongings and began to jog back to Garfield Park. His skin was not the right color to be casually strolling around Little Italy, but it was no use hurrying; their food was already gone. There was no way his seven year old brother would have been able to fend off a bird, let alone an actual person. Just as Louis was about to step onto Chicago Avenue, the cocking of a gun behind him prompted him to stop.

"Turn around, ragazzo. Slowly."

Four men were standing behind them. All of them looked the same with dark hair, dark eyes, and dark clothes, except for the one holding the pistol. He had ice blues eyes that promised a world of pain.

"Pl-please let me go." Louis wasn't above begging if it meant he could live. He'd learned that a long time ago.

"What're you doing in our territory?"

The boy let out a nervous laugh. "Well, someone stole my stuff, and I was runnin' after him, and-"

"Hey!" Two dark skinned men had their hands behind their backs as if reaching for a gun. "What are you doing with one of our boys?"

"He ain't one of yours. See," the man grabbed Louis's jaw and shook it back and forth, "he don't look as much like an ape as your kind." The blue-eyed Italiano's companions laughed at this, casually reaching for their packed heat in their pockets. "He's more of a monkey."

Throughout this exchange, his captor's grip had loosened, which was perfect because when the black man pulled out a revolver, Louis dropped to the ground, prepared not to die in the crossfire. He had always dreamed of dying in his sleep with a full belly and his girl sleeping next to him, not in some back street as a human shield.