Tony Vainer

Hero

It was a cold December night. The moon hung in the sky, bloated and red like a blood-filled burlap sack, barely visible between the oppressive clouds. Down below, the mournful wail of police sirens split the air, muted by the otherwise still silence of winter. Through the mist, red and blue lights flashed to the chorus of lamentation that rose in a crescendo of surprise, fear, and disbelief. A thick blanket of snow covered the streets of Chicago’s South Shore, its pristine white surface marred only by the dark red blood pooling around the mutilated and dismembered corpse of a young man. Stepping out of the warmth of his police cruiser, detective Walter Donnavan surveyed the scene unfolding before him. Already a crowd was beginning to form, each straining to get a better view of the body on the other side of the newly formed police perimeter. Seeing this elicited a grim chuckle from the dour police detective. Funny thing what a murder can do to people. He had known this kid, had seen him many times over the years in the precinct for various petty crimes; had arrested him a few times, too. Nobody cared who he was in life, but his death filled them all with a morbid fascination.