Page 68 of Tied Over

“It’s because he looks like a movie star or a rock star,” Shae chimed in. “With all those pretty muscles too.”

“Giles has muscles,” Josette teased her.

She gasped dramatically. “Where? Where are they?”

They all laughed, and I felt kind of bad for poor Giles, who just turned around to look from where he was and smiled.

Later, we were in Target, getting some things the kids needed, small items forgotten at home. Shae was the first one out with Margo, joining me.

“You know, I always got a weird feeling from Luke, but I ignored it, thinking I was just being ridiculous.”

I looked at her. “Don’t ever do that. I can’t tell you how many people don’t listen to their gut.”

She nodded.

“Never second-guess yourself.”

“It’s funny, right? How many times I’ve thought, I shouldn’t get into this elevator alone with a stranger, but you think, that’s dumb.”

“But if your little voice says no, then listen.”

“I feel so dumb.”

“Who cares? Better to be safe—”

“Than sorry. Yes.”

I smiled at her. “Half of being in law enforcement is listening to the voice in your head. I can’t tell you how many detectives I know get a feeling about someone or something and follow it home.”

“Thanks, Jed. I’ll say no next time in any situation.”

“Good.”

“Can you take Margo? I forgot a brush.”

Margo was out like a light and much heavier for some illogical reason, but with my good arm, she was fine, and her head on my shoulder was sweet. I was having a peaceful moment, when a guy suddenly came up and asked me for money.

It was a usual occurrence in Chicago, so that wasn’t the issue. I always gave out cash when I had some on me, generally to teenagers or unhoused folks with pets. The issue wasn’t the request for funds, it was simply that he was way too close to me.

If it were just me, fine, but I had Margo. And maybe he typically had good luck coming up on people with kids, but I somehow doubted it.

“No, man, sorry,” I said, taking a step back. “I don’t have anything on me.”

“I’m sure you do,” he snarled, crowding close.

Normally, unhurt, without Margo, I would have walked away, but I was stuck there, with one arm, and this guy was nearly touching the little girl.

“Step back,” I ordered, moving myself.

“Fuck you,” he said under his breath, and then I saw the knife.

I had been around thousands of unhoused people, and the majority were not violent, and even more were not mentally unwell. This guy was both, and from the state of his skin, and his teeth when he bared them at me, I could tell he was a meth addict. It was just wrong place, wrong time.

“Back away,” I said, wondering about his thought process. He was trying to intimidate me, on the street, in broad daylight, threatening me with a knife. It was surreal.

When he lunged at me, I had no recourse but to defend myself. I kicked him squarely in the groin. I was wearing my Converse, but still, I kicked him hard, and he dropped, and when he did, I put my foot on his wrist and told him I’d break it if he tried to lift up off the ground.

“Oh my God,” a woman said, running up beside me. “Are you all right?”