The Iceman Read Online Free PDF Page A

he repeated as he went for the pole again.
    But this time Richie swung hard. Johnny raised his hand to block it and took the full impact on his forearm. The boy yelped and cursed, holding his smarting arm and curling into himself.
    Richie stepped forward and hit him again, this time over the head.
    “Hey! Stop!”
    Richie hit him again, harder. Johnny yelled louder. Johnny was pleading with him to stop. Richie hit him again, raising the heavy pole over his head and swinging it down onto his tormentor’s back as if he were trying to ring the gong at a carnival. Richie wanted him to shut up. The rest of Johnny’s gang would hear him, and they’d come down to help him. Richie kept hitting him. He wanted Johnny to be quiet.
    “Shut up,” he grunted through clenched teeth.
    But Johnny didn’t shut up. He was screaming like a girl now, and Richie bashed him again and again, swinging as hard as he could with each blow. Johnny finally quieted down, and Richie felt something he’d never felt in his entire life:
power
. He gained strength with each new blow as he saw Johnny fall down on his knees, getting weaker and more helpless. The rush of total control flew through his veins like a drug. It felt good. It felt great. He kept swinging, pounding Johnny sideways now, hammering his head the way Ted Williams hammered home runs. He couldn’t stop. He had to hurt Johnny. He had to show him. He was Richard Kuklinski, and no one messed with Richard Kuklinski. No one.
No one
.
    When he finally stopped, Johnny was flat on the ground, and it was hard to get a good whack at him in that position. Richie stood over him, breathing hard, waiting for him to get up so he could hit him again. He was out of breath, but he felt so good. He was exhilarated, in control, powerful. He’d shown Johnny. The wholegang would know not to mess with him anymore. He’d shown them.
    He climbed the stairs back up to his apartment and hung the pole back in the closet, then got into bed. He lay awake for a while, reliving the excitement of his triumph, then fell into a deep sleep.
    The next morning Richie’s mother yelled from the bedroom door, telling him to get out of bed or he was going to be late for school. He’d been sound asleep and he didn’t want to move, but the sound of men’s voices coming from outside drew him to the window. Police cars were parked in the asphalt courtyard. At least a dozen men were clustered around the spot by the incinerator wall where he’d left Johnny the night before. There were a lot of people from the projects down there, too, the usual busybodies trying to find out what was going on. Some of the kids from Johnny’s gang were talking to the cops, one kid sticking out his bottom lip and frowning, shaking his head no.
    “Richard, you’re gonna be late!” his mother yelled from the kitchen.
    “What’s going on outside?” he yelled back.
    “What?”
    “Outside. Down by the incinerator.”
    “You know that fresh boy Johnny from downstairs? Somebody killed him last night. Now hurry up and get dressed, or you can forget about breakfast.”
    Richie’s fingers were numb as he stared down at the courtyard. Johnny was dead? He hadn’t meant to do that. He’d just wanted to teach Johnny a lesson. That’s all. He hadn’t meant to
kill
him.
    “Richard! Are you dressed yet?”
    His stomach started to ache as he stepped back from the window, afraid that the cops would look up and see him. He went out into the hallway and opened the closet door. He inspected the pole, turning it around and around on its brackets. There was noblood that he could see. Maybe he
hadn’t
killed Johnny. Maybe someone else did it after he left. Maybe someone else found Johnny unconscious down on the ground and took the opportunity to get rid of him. It was possible. He did bully other kids, too. But somehow Richie didn’t really believe it. He knew he was the one.
    The cramps in his stomach got so bad he doubled over in pain. His mother kept