Free Big Jack Is Dead by Harvey Smith

ice fought with disgust. Carnival music played from speakers mounted to the top of the van. The music had a slurred, metallic quality because the same song played all day long, several days a week. Whenever Jack heard the song, sometimes from blocks away, snow cones and rotten teeth came to mind.
    Jack's mother carried his little brother Brodie on her hip like a sack of potatoes, shifting him to the opposite side so she could move her cigarette to the other hand. She waited as Jack finished at the snow cone van. When he turned back toward her, she said, “Come on,” and walked away.
    He bit into the ice and trailed along in her cigarette smoke, following her closely. The van pulled away and Jack listened to the music fade behind them. It was Friday, just after school, and Jack was happy to be with his mother.
    Halfway across the street, someone yelled, “Hey! Ramona!”
    Jack's mother turned around, shifting Brodie again. Twenty-two, she was slim and pale, wearing a flowered blouse and a pair of shorts. She was barefoot.
    Mr. Bornado was coming across his front yard. He was over forty, but glowed with unnatural health. His hair was cut very short, making his neck look bullish. His skin was so deeply burned from working out in the sun that it was the color of an old football. He wore only a pair of frayed cut-offs, hanging under his beer gut like tribal rags. A fleshy splash of scar ran up his chest and over his shoulder like melted wax. All the kids on the block said it was from machine-gun fire, dating back to Korea. Mr. Bornado smiled at Jack's mother, revealing a wide gap between his front teeth. She stood in place in the street, waiting for him to close the distance. Though he was stocky, his body rippled with muscle just beneath a layer of fat.
    “Hey, how are you doin'?”
    “Fine,” she said.
    “You got your boys out gettin' snow cones.”
    “Yeah.” She smiled at him and took a drag.
    They all stood in the middle of the street under the sun, surrounded by a naked sky. As a station wagon approached, Mr. Bornado pulled Ramona over to his side of the street, drawing her along gently by her elbow. She allowed herself to be led as if the gesture was an act of chivalry. They continued to make small talk on the sidewalk in front of Mr. Bornado's house. At times they spoke softly in their gossip voices, which caused Jack to perk up his ears without appearing to pay attention.
    Ramona put Brodie down on the cement after a while. “Take your little brother back to the house,” she said.  
    Jack was still working on the last of the snow cone. His mouth was stained blue. Taking Brodie by the hand, he waited for a truck to pass then led him across the street. Negotiating a path around a pile of dog shit, the boys looked back across the street at their mother. She and Mr. Bornado were laughing. Jack stepped up onto the brick stair and forced his way into the house, struggling with the weight of the front door. Brodie followed.
    A blanket of chilled air engulfed them. The air conditioner ran nearly twenty-four hours a day during the summer, keeping the house uncomfortably cool. Jack turned to close the front door, but his father's voice came from somewhere in the darkness of the living room.
    “Hey, boy.”
    Startled, Jack turned to face the room. He blinked a few times.
    “What's your momma and Mr. Bornado talking about?”
    Jack's eyes began to adjust. “I don't know.” He could see his father in the corner of the room, behind a tan recliner that was patched liberally with duct tape. The tape was so worn that it curled at the edges. Big Jack forced an opening in the Venetian blinds and watched through the small gap. He was wearing a t-shirt and a decaying pair of underwear. There were white socks on his tiny feet and Jack could see the entire heel of his father's right foot through a huge hole in one of the socks. Veins climbed up his father's Achilles tendon like vines and the heel was covered in calluses.
    His