side door was thrust open and a belligerent young man erupted from behind the steering wheel.
"What the fuck!" he yelled, staring at the crumpled front end of his car. He had rear-ended one of the cars parked along the curb.
A young woman came running from the house directly beside them, her eyes wide with horror. "Omigod, omigod! My car!"
The belligerent young man rounded on her. "This your car, bitch? What the fuck you doin' parking it in the street?" He was drunk. The fumes hit Jaine's nose, and she moved back a step. Around her, she could hear the collective neighborhood concern changing to disgust.
"Someone go get Sam," she heard an old man mutter. "I will." Mrs. Kulavich headed back down the street, shuffling as fast as she could in her terry-cloth bedroom slippers.
Yeah, where was he? Jaine wondered. Everyone else who lived on the street was out here.
The young woman whose car had been smashed was crying, her hands over her mouth as she stared at the wreckage. Behind her, two young children, about five and seven, stood uncertainly on the sidewalk.
"Goddamned bitch," the drunk snarled, starting toward the young woman.
"Hey," one of the older men piped up. "Watch your language."
"Fuck you, pops." He reached the crying woman and clamped a heavy hand on her shoulder, spinning her around.
Jaine started forward, pure anger flaring in her chest. "Hey, buddy," she said sharply. "Leave her alone."
"Yeah," a quavering elderly voice said from behind her. "Fuck you, too, bitch," he said. "This stupid bitch wrecked my car."
"You wrecked your own car. You're drunk and ran into a parked car."
She knew it was a losing effort; you couldn't reason with a drunk. The problem was, the guy was just drunk enough to be aggressive and not drunk enough to be staggering. He shoved the young woman, and she stumbled backward, caught her heel on a protruding root of one of the big trees that lined the street, and sprawled on the sidewalk. She cried out, and her children screamed and began crying. Jaine charged him, bulldozing into him from the side. The impact sent him staggering. He tried to regain his balance but instead fell on his butt, his feet in the air. He struggled up and with another lurid curse lunged for Jaine. She dodged to the side and stuck out her foot. He stumbled, but this time managed to stay on his feet. This time when he turned, his chin was lowered, tucked close to his chest, and there was blood in his eyes. Oh, shit, she'd done it now.
She automatically fell into a boxing stance, learned from many fights with her brother. Those fights were years in the past, and she figured she was about to get stomped, but maybe she'd get in a few good punches.
She heard excited, alarmed voices around her, but they were oddly distant as she focused on staying alive. "Somebody call nine-one-one."
"Sadie's getting Sam. He'll handle it."
"I've already called nine-one-one." That was a little girl's voice.
The drunk charged, and this time there was no evading him. She went down under his onslaught, kicking and punching and trying to block his punches all at the same time. One of his fists hit her in the rib cage, and the power behind it stunned her. Immediately they were surrounded by her neighbors, the few younger men trying to wrestle the drunk off her, the older guys helping by kicking him with their slippered feet. Jaine and the drunk rolled, and a few of the older guys were mowed down, collapsing on top of the heap.
Her head thudded against the ground, and a glancing blow stung her cheekbone. One arm was pinned by a fallen neighbor, but with her free hand she managed to grab a chunk of flesh at the guy's waist and twist it, pinching as hard as she could. He bellowed like a wounded water buffalo.
Then abruptly he was gone, lifted from her as if he weighed no more than a pillow. Dazed, she saw him slam to the ground beside her, his face mashed into the dirt as his arms were wrenched behind him and handcuffs snapped around
"What the fuck!" he yelled, staring at the crumpled front end of his car. He had rear-ended one of the cars parked along the curb.
A young woman came running from the house directly beside them, her eyes wide with horror. "Omigod, omigod! My car!"
The belligerent young man rounded on her. "This your car, bitch? What the fuck you doin' parking it in the street?" He was drunk. The fumes hit Jaine's nose, and she moved back a step. Around her, she could hear the collective neighborhood concern changing to disgust.
"Someone go get Sam," she heard an old man mutter. "I will." Mrs. Kulavich headed back down the street, shuffling as fast as she could in her terry-cloth bedroom slippers.
Yeah, where was he? Jaine wondered. Everyone else who lived on the street was out here.
The young woman whose car had been smashed was crying, her hands over her mouth as she stared at the wreckage. Behind her, two young children, about five and seven, stood uncertainly on the sidewalk.
"Goddamned bitch," the drunk snarled, starting toward the young woman.
"Hey," one of the older men piped up. "Watch your language."
"Fuck you, pops." He reached the crying woman and clamped a heavy hand on her shoulder, spinning her around.
Jaine started forward, pure anger flaring in her chest. "Hey, buddy," she said sharply. "Leave her alone."
"Yeah," a quavering elderly voice said from behind her. "Fuck you, too, bitch," he said. "This stupid bitch wrecked my car."
"You wrecked your own car. You're drunk and ran into a parked car."
She knew it was a losing effort; you couldn't reason with a drunk. The problem was, the guy was just drunk enough to be aggressive and not drunk enough to be staggering. He shoved the young woman, and she stumbled backward, caught her heel on a protruding root of one of the big trees that lined the street, and sprawled on the sidewalk. She cried out, and her children screamed and began crying. Jaine charged him, bulldozing into him from the side. The impact sent him staggering. He tried to regain his balance but instead fell on his butt, his feet in the air. He struggled up and with another lurid curse lunged for Jaine. She dodged to the side and stuck out her foot. He stumbled, but this time managed to stay on his feet. This time when he turned, his chin was lowered, tucked close to his chest, and there was blood in his eyes. Oh, shit, she'd done it now.
She automatically fell into a boxing stance, learned from many fights with her brother. Those fights were years in the past, and she figured she was about to get stomped, but maybe she'd get in a few good punches.
She heard excited, alarmed voices around her, but they were oddly distant as she focused on staying alive. "Somebody call nine-one-one."
"Sadie's getting Sam. He'll handle it."
"I've already called nine-one-one." That was a little girl's voice.
The drunk charged, and this time there was no evading him. She went down under his onslaught, kicking and punching and trying to block his punches all at the same time. One of his fists hit her in the rib cage, and the power behind it stunned her. Immediately they were surrounded by her neighbors, the few younger men trying to wrestle the drunk off her, the older guys helping by kicking him with their slippered feet. Jaine and the drunk rolled, and a few of the older guys were mowed down, collapsing on top of the heap.
Her head thudded against the ground, and a glancing blow stung her cheekbone. One arm was pinned by a fallen neighbor, but with her free hand she managed to grab a chunk of flesh at the guy's waist and twist it, pinching as hard as she could. He bellowed like a wounded water buffalo.
Then abruptly he was gone, lifted from her as if he weighed no more than a pillow. Dazed, she saw him slam to the ground beside her, his face mashed into the dirt as his arms were wrenched behind him and handcuffs snapped around
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