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I rub a hand down my face and groan at what I have to do. With a quick glance around, I fetch the gun from my glovebox and check for bullets. The plan isn’t to shoot the kid, just scare the everloving shit out of him, is all.
Climbing out of my car, I keep scanning the quiet neighborhood, as well as that front window for any sign the group inside has caught sight of me. As I approach the car, the screams are louder, with bouts of sobbing in between, and a flat palm slams against the glass.
Gun leading my charge, I throw back the car door, and the two inside startle, the kid’s lip peeling back to a snarl.
“’The fuck? You’re that priest.”
“Get out. And if you make a sound, I’ll blow your brains all over those nice leather seats.”
With the girl whimpering beside him, shaking as she scrambles to pull her panties up, he clambers out of the vehicle, face smug enough to make me want to punch him.
“You’re dead,gabacho.”
“Keep talking, and you’ll be dead first.”
The girl leans forward, into the light, and I recognize her face. Ariceli, the mayor’s daughter. Flicking my fingers, I gesture for her to get out of the car, gun set on her rapist. As I reach to help her out, a sharp stab of pain hits my side where the kid has moved in closer.
The hilt of his blade sticks out of my side, and he lunges toward me.
Flipping the gun around, instincts kick in before I can stop them, and I pistol whip his face once, twice, and on the third crack, he falls. The horrific sound of mutilation echoes inside my head when I finally snap out of my trance. Freezing mid-snap, I hold the gun drawn back, the butt of it ready to strike again. My body moved on it’s own, a natural reflex for survival, while I stood in shock, allowing it to happen.
On the ground, the kid lies bloodied and passed out, his nose swollen and purple, already showing signs of broken cartilage and bone. The kid groans and shifts, telling me he’s still alive, thankfully.
“Father?” Ariceli’s voice is distant, but effective in yanking me out of my trance.
Breaths saw in and out of my lungs, while the pain of the blade settles into my flesh. “Let’s get out of here.” My voice is a raspy mix of distress and agony, and I don’t bother to remove the blade. Not here.
Hobbling back to my car, I set my fingers at either side of the lodged knife in a poor attempt to stave off the bite of the metal. Voices erupt from behind, as one of the partygoers exits the house, tripping down one of the stairs. “Hey, Miguel!Ando bien pedo.” His hiccups tell me he’s as trashed as he looks.
Ariceli scrambles into the passenger seat, as I fall ungracefully into the driver’s. The shouts of the drunkard get louder, more intense, and it’s clear he’s made the sobering discovery of his friend lying beaten to a pulp. The shot of a gun popping off is my cue to hit the gas, while the other partygoers are alerted to their fallen friend.
Tires squeal against the pavement, and two shots ping the exterior of my car, but fail to hit either one of us. The house shrinks in my rearview, and I breathe easy once back on the main road.
“I’m sorry for what happened. With the knife.” Tears color Ariceli’s voice, her eyes directed toward the knife half stuck out of my body. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t stress about it.” I glance over to her, noticing her hands trembling in her equally trembling lap. “Where am I headed?”
“You know where Holdridge Street is?” At my nod, she continues, “I live on the corner of Sapphire and Holdridge.”
Fancy area, from what I’ve gathered. Not that I’d expect different with her being the daughter of the city’s mayor.
“Thank you for what you did back there.” The shaky fragility still lingers in her voice, like a thread waiting to snap when she’s finally alone.
“You know that kid?”
“Miguel? Barely. He went to my school for a while, but dropped out.”
“How did you end up at the party?”
“My friend hangs out with those guys. She left me there to go home with one of them.”
“I’d hardly call that a friend.”
“No. I know. I don’t know why I trusted her, at all.” A quick glance shows her lip quivering and a shine in her eyes, before she flattens her mouth in a poor effort to hold back tears. “He’s going to be so mad at me.”
“Your father?”
“Miguel.”
