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He stopped when he saw us and dropped the bucket. Ice spilled out onto the floor.
“Fuck!” he said.
As quickly as he walked in, he ran out, racing into the night. Pike was fast and charged after him.
“Pike, no!” I yelled as I jumped to my feet and followed.
Outside, Roscoe ran for his life with Pike right behind him. I couldn’t keep up no matter how hard I tried. Blood was running from my hand down onto the concrete. Pike yelled something at Roscoe that I couldn’t quite understand.
“No!” Roscoe yelled.
“Stop!” Pike ordered.
Then Pike was on him, tackling him to the ground. Both men tumbled and rolled around. I reached them and wanted to help Pike but I couldn’t find anything to use as a weapon.
“Pike!” I yelled.
“Jess, stay back!” he replied.
They climbed to their feet and Pike slammed his knee into Roscoe’s stomach. The big man doubled over but then grabbed both of Pike’s legs and lifted him high into the air. He ran forward and drove Pike into the wall of a house. Pike’s head hit the wall with a sickening thud.
Pike blinked his eyes and his head bounced as if he might pass out but then he took a deep breath, his eyes opened wide, and he smashed his elbow into the big biker’s jaw. He followed with a throat punch. Roscoe fell to his knees, clutching his neck, gasping for air.
It happened so fast. Roscoe reached into his waistband and turned toward Pike.
“He’s got a gun!” I yelled.
Then gunshots. Several. Pike ducked. Roscoe jerked as each bullet smashed into his chest. He flew off his feet and bounced across the pavement.
Standing off to my side, outside the shadows of a nearby house, stood Alé with a shotgun in hand. The barrel smoked as he held it still pointed at Roscoe. We made eye contact but he didn’t say anything.
Pike looked dumbfounded. He looked from me to Alé and then back to me, trying to make sense of what had happened. Alé had saved his life. Pike nodded his appreciation and Alé returned the nod.
Then the voices. People from all over the community had come out of their houses to see what was going on. We were surrounded by people. Lauren crept toward us, her eyes squinted, trying to figure out if what she was seeing was real. She seemed skeptical.
“Alé?” she said. “Alé?”
Lauren ran to Alé and he caught her in a big bear hug.
Danger was far from my mind as I rushed to Pike’s side. Roscoe lay a few feet away. One of the street lights shone down on him and I saw that it wasn’t a gun in his hand. I crept closer. It was a photo.
“Get away from him, Jessica!” Pike yelled.
“Back away!” someone else yelled.
“It’s not a gun,” I said.
I picked up the photo and as I did, Roscoe grabbed my wrist. His eyes were damp and the veins in his forehead looked like they wanted to burst through his skin. His chest was soaked with blood.
Pike reached me and tried to pull me away but I yanked free from his grasp and held the photo up for him to see.
“Not a gun,” I repeated.
The photo was of Roscoe, maybe a year younger, clean and pleasant. He held a little blonde girl, maybe seven years old, in his arms. The cutest thing. But it was the smile on Roscoe’s face that hurt most. He was so happy.
“My daughter,” Roscoe said, fighting to get the words out.
“This is your daughter?” I asked.
