option c

Chapter 4

"Frankie, would you fight whoever I asked you to?"

Frankie stopped his retreat. Black hair shiny and worn like a helmet from the peak of his forehead to his collar, Frankie gave me his toughest look. "Ah, Rosie. Don't get me in trouble again, but you know I would." I sized up my friend in that moment, noting his 14 year old attempt at facial hair, his arms too long for his torso, the scuffle marks on his trousers left over from the day's skirmish. I wasn't overly optimistic, and for the second time, opened my mouth against my better judgement.
"Well, I just wondered if maybe you wouldn't just for me, and because I specifically ask you to, see if you couldn't fight Father Filipepi?"
"What!?! Rosie, your kiddin me! The priest? Don't you know what happens to people who hit priests? Ah, no way, you're nuts!" And Frankie turned to go.
"No, wait, Frankie, wait. Listen for a second. You know your father won't let us be friends, and you know that means my father won't let us neither. But the whole reason your father don't like me is because I take you to Mass. Just listen. What if you hit Father Filipepi and then your old man won't think you are getting soft and maybe you and I can be friends? C'mon, Frankie. For me?"

It seemed like a good plan at the time. The last thing I wanted was for my father to leave the mob. He would certainly go back to sailing and my worst nightmares still included visions of the shoreline opening its black mouth to slurp me in. Our plan was formed and not even my father's voice in my head could dissuade me, "Rosie, you know I don't speak my mind, Rosie (pause for moustache twirl). But never, never, ever hit a priest."

We decided to stage the fight the next day. Frankie and I stopped in at the church after school and we sat quietly on the pew, waiting in the coolness of the building for Frankie's turn to confess. I sat nervously repeating my Hail Mary's, trying to ignore the canon ball in my stomach at the thought of what we were about to do.

"Ah, Francisco. Good to see you, son." Father Filipepi's voice broke our agitated silence. "And Rosie, welcome. What can I do for my two favorite sinners this afternoon?"

a) Frankie wasted no time. Perhaps it was the use of his full name that gave him the extra gall, but without answering the question, he swung his fist in the direction of the Father's face.

b) I had opened my mouth to answer when heavy footsteps approached us from behind. I knew with a profound dread exactly who it was before Father Filipepi said, "Mr. Lanski, what a surprise!"