The Swedish Bakery

Martin Kenna was in a bad spot. The Lingenbergs had been good to him but he knew if he didn't do what his older brother, Brendan, wanted him to do, which was to leave the back door to the bakery unlocked when he left on Thursday night, Brendan and his friend Double Trouble would beat the daylights out of him. Bren would probably only cuff him around a little but DT, Martin knew, would make him hurt. Once DT had it in his criminal mind to do something there was nothing Bren could do to stop him, even when it came to kicking the crap out of his would be-accompliceÕs little brother.

Martin had to talk to someone about his predicament, so he decided for the first time in his barely thirteen year old life to ask Father Ralph for advice. On his way to St. Rose of Lima, Martin Kenna ran into the Viper.

“Hey, Kenna, where you goin’?”

A cold drizzle began so Martin put up the hood of his blue parka. The Viper was hatless. His stringy black hair and his glasses were getting wet but the Viper didn't seem to mind.

“Nowhere special. Gotta see someone.”

“A bunch of us is gonna play football at the empty lot on Ojibway. You want to come?”

“Maybe after. It's gonna be muddy.”

The Viper grinned, revealing big green front teeth, and punched Martin Kenna lightly on his right shoulder.

“You can cut better in the mud,” said the Viper, “make tacklers miss.”

At St. Rose of Lima, Kenna entered the church and saw Father Ralph checking the rows, making sure the benches were clean. Martin walked down the aisle to the end of the row Father Ralph was inspecting and stood there.

“Hello, Martin,” said the priest, “what are you doing here at this hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about somethin’, Father.”

Father Ralph stood in front of the boy and studied his face.

“You can put your hood down, Martin, the roof doesn't leak.”