It’s an odd sight in this part of town, but some rich fuck in a suit isn’t going to bother with us nobodies.
I return my attention back to Danny, and he to me.
There’s a pause of time, the space of a blink, and then he moves. Time remains slow for me. I see his hand reaching behind his back.
I grab his arm, run forward so I’ve got it behind his body, and then wrap it around his back. I yank upward, slap his elbow, hear something pop, and he grabs his shoulder, grunting, and drops to the ground.
I spin with my arm outstretched, anticipating someone getting close to me from behind. My fist hits a nose, blood spurts, the boy cries and runs away.
Just one left. I drop into a natural stance, leading with my left. He tries to punch me, a wild, aimless haymaker, I slap the outside of his forearm with my palm, redirect the punch away from me across his own body.
He’s jailed by his own arm now, and his side is exposed. I thump him twice in the rib cage, hard hits, too. I feel the bone against my knuckles.
The boy coughs, tries to throw another crazy swing at me.
I duck it, kick his knee out, and then when he’s on the ground I pull his head up by his hair and hit him on the nose.
There are two places to hit somebody on the face if you want to stop them. One is the nose, the other the jaw. With the nose, you don’t even need to hit hard to send those nerve endings exploding, to send a man reeling. With the jaw it’s a little tougher, but if you hit hard enough, the brain shuts off. It’s lights-out to protect you from the pain.
I know what it feels like. It sucks. My jaw didn’t break or unhinge that time, but it throbbed for weeks. I came to with my shoes missing.
The boy on the ground grabs at his nose, scrambles to his feet, limps off, doesn’t look back at me once.
I approach Danny, reach into his back pocket and take out his knife. It’s thinner and lighter than I expected, more rectangular than I expected.
I open it up, unfold it carefully, expose a glistening and sharp blade. He obviously cleans it regularly.
“What were you going to do to me with your fists?” I growl, bending down onto one knee, holding the blade in front of his face.
“No!” Danny cries, trying to scramble away.
I put my heel on the small of his back, and press down until he goes still.
“Don’t move anymore,” I warn.
“No, please!”
“What do I owe you?”
“What?”
I bring my foot down hard on his tailbone. His wail of pain echoes down the alley. “I said what the fuck do I owe you?”
“Nothing!” he cries. “You owe me nothing! You owe me noth—”
“Stop it, boy.”
I whip around, see a huge man standing there. Instantly my heart stops. I’ve been caught by an adult. The world drains away.
I’m in deep fucking shit, now.
Behind the man, I glimpse the door to the limousine standing open. He watched the whole thing.
He’s big, stocky, with a bald head and a glowing gold watch. He looks mean as hell, and when he smiles I see gold teeth.
“Give me the knife, boy,” he says.
I fold the knife slowly, give it to him. He takes it, holds it, tosses it to himself in one hand.
“It’s good, nice weight to it. Balanced.”
The man puts a hand on my shoulder, pushes me up against the brick wall of the alley. It’s wet, and my clothes are getting dirty, but I don’t dare say anything or push back.
You learn to tell who the mean fuckers are, the ones who are not afraid to beat up a kid… or worse. This guy is one of ’em. It’s in the eyes, the peeled and snarling lips.
Then he kneels down by Danny, feels around his shoulder. He grabs his wrist, wrenches the arm, pops the shoulder back into place.
Danny’s moan of pain is haunting.
“You better see a doctor,” he says to Danny. “If anybody asks, you slipped on ice. If not, I’m coming for you. Don’t think I don’t know you and your crew work the corner at Madison and Crow. You already got eyes on you boy, some of the bigger crews
I return my attention back to Danny, and he to me.
There’s a pause of time, the space of a blink, and then he moves. Time remains slow for me. I see his hand reaching behind his back.
I grab his arm, run forward so I’ve got it behind his body, and then wrap it around his back. I yank upward, slap his elbow, hear something pop, and he grabs his shoulder, grunting, and drops to the ground.
I spin with my arm outstretched, anticipating someone getting close to me from behind. My fist hits a nose, blood spurts, the boy cries and runs away.
Just one left. I drop into a natural stance, leading with my left. He tries to punch me, a wild, aimless haymaker, I slap the outside of his forearm with my palm, redirect the punch away from me across his own body.
He’s jailed by his own arm now, and his side is exposed. I thump him twice in the rib cage, hard hits, too. I feel the bone against my knuckles.
The boy coughs, tries to throw another crazy swing at me.
I duck it, kick his knee out, and then when he’s on the ground I pull his head up by his hair and hit him on the nose.
There are two places to hit somebody on the face if you want to stop them. One is the nose, the other the jaw. With the nose, you don’t even need to hit hard to send those nerve endings exploding, to send a man reeling. With the jaw it’s a little tougher, but if you hit hard enough, the brain shuts off. It’s lights-out to protect you from the pain.
I know what it feels like. It sucks. My jaw didn’t break or unhinge that time, but it throbbed for weeks. I came to with my shoes missing.
The boy on the ground grabs at his nose, scrambles to his feet, limps off, doesn’t look back at me once.
I approach Danny, reach into his back pocket and take out his knife. It’s thinner and lighter than I expected, more rectangular than I expected.
I open it up, unfold it carefully, expose a glistening and sharp blade. He obviously cleans it regularly.
“What were you going to do to me with your fists?” I growl, bending down onto one knee, holding the blade in front of his face.
“No!” Danny cries, trying to scramble away.
I put my heel on the small of his back, and press down until he goes still.
“Don’t move anymore,” I warn.
“No, please!”
“What do I owe you?”
“What?”
I bring my foot down hard on his tailbone. His wail of pain echoes down the alley. “I said what the fuck do I owe you?”
“Nothing!” he cries. “You owe me nothing! You owe me noth—”
“Stop it, boy.”
I whip around, see a huge man standing there. Instantly my heart stops. I’ve been caught by an adult. The world drains away.
I’m in deep fucking shit, now.
Behind the man, I glimpse the door to the limousine standing open. He watched the whole thing.
He’s big, stocky, with a bald head and a glowing gold watch. He looks mean as hell, and when he smiles I see gold teeth.
“Give me the knife, boy,” he says.
I fold the knife slowly, give it to him. He takes it, holds it, tosses it to himself in one hand.
“It’s good, nice weight to it. Balanced.”
The man puts a hand on my shoulder, pushes me up against the brick wall of the alley. It’s wet, and my clothes are getting dirty, but I don’t dare say anything or push back.
You learn to tell who the mean fuckers are, the ones who are not afraid to beat up a kid… or worse. This guy is one of ’em. It’s in the eyes, the peeled and snarling lips.
Then he kneels down by Danny, feels around his shoulder. He grabs his wrist, wrenches the arm, pops the shoulder back into place.
Danny’s moan of pain is haunting.
“You better see a doctor,” he says to Danny. “If anybody asks, you slipped on ice. If not, I’m coming for you. Don’t think I don’t know you and your crew work the corner at Madison and Crow. You already got eyes on you boy, some of the bigger crews
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