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One of the punks said, “Then you should probably leave.”
Another added, “That would be the smartest move for you.”
“I doubt any of you know the smartest move for yourselves, let alone someone else. Do you really want to make this a police matter?”
The young punk kept the razor open in his hand. “There ain’t even bail no more. You can arrest me, but I’ll be hitting the clubs in a couple hours. You guys ain’t the big cheese no more. We are.”
I canted my body slightly and kept my right hand loose at my side, in case I needed to draw my pistol. I didn’t want to do it. It would escalate the situation. But I wanted to be cut by a straight razor even less.
I was so concentrated on the man with the razor that I didn’t notice Ronald leaning back to press the button to open the door. I jerked my head up at the loud buzzing sound, and saw the door burst open. Two men and a woman rushed into the shop.
The new arrivals were all Black. Both the men were older than the Brooklyn punks. Maybe in their mid-thirties. The woman was a little younger than her companions. She was tall with broad shoulders, and had wild hair with pink highlights shot through it like lightning.
I saw the smile on Ronald’s face and knew these were friends of his. The looks on the punks’ faces were phenomenal.
The tallest of the new arrivals, who had to have at least fifty pounds on any of the Brooklyn boys, looked at my informant and said, “Everything all right, Ronald?”
“That depends on how you look at it. These three just busted in here, threatened me with the razor, and told this man there was nothing cops could do about it. Just about then I buzzed you into the shop.”
The man turned and stared at the three Brooklyn boys. “So you think no one would do anything to you if you cut up Ronald with your blade. You think anyone will do something about this?” He swung his left elbow hard and caught the man with the razor right across the temple. The razor clattered onto the concrete floor, immediately followed by the young man’s dazed body.
The woman swung her right hand and connected with the next punk. His nose shattered under her closed fist. She shifted slightly and punched the other man in the face with the same hand.
I stood and took in the show. It was like a boxing match without all the extraneous hoopla. Blood gushed out of the one man’s nose. The second man had stumbled back and fallen onto the floor. The man who’d held the razor was desperately trying to stand.
As soon as he got to his feet, the woman shoved him back down to the ground.
He looked at me and whined, “You’re a cop. You have to help us.”
“You already told me the mayor said I can’t do shit.” I winked at the three people who’d just come in. The big man smiled. The woman tried to hide her smile but then started to giggle.
I told the one Brooklyn punk to leave the razor on the floor as he stood up. The three of them scurried to the door as a group.
I said, “I want you boys to go home and look up the wordkarma. If you have any brains at all, you’ll realize you just had a master class in it.”
I was still smiling after Ronald had buzzed them out and they ran away.
Chapter16
AFTER MY ADVENTUREat the pawnshop of Ronald Higdon, Esquire, I thought it might be a good time for a change of pace. It had been a very busy autumn. I missed seeing my grandfather. Like a lot of things, I wasafraid I’dtaken those off-the-cuff talks with the old priest for granted.
It wasn’t just me who was busy. My grandfather had taken on an important new role for the church. He was working hard at using the resources available to him to help the entire community. He had set up a literacy program staffed by seniors at the school. He had set up a sports program at a nearby park and convinced the fire department to provide coaches twice a week. Seamus Bennett’s vitality hadn’t diminished with age.
Because both of our lives had sped up so drastically, my grandfather had missed dinner with the family for a record five nights in a row. We’d spoken on the phone briefly, but I hadn’t seen him face-to-face since he came to dinner almost a week ago.
I walked to the administrative offices of Holy Name Catholic Church. The path that led to my grandfather’s office was neatly maintained. Patio stones marked the route in a serpentine pattern instead of straight ahead. I tapped on the door before turning the knob.
Even though Seamus was into his eighties, there was no telling what I would find when I stepped past the door. Would he be drinking a hidden beer? Would he be playing cards with one of his buddies? Would he be yelling at some patron who hadn’t come through with money for his community programs? It was always an interesting question.
Instead, I found my grandfather on the phone, discussing a proposal to provide free lunches to needy kids on the weekends. He had found a supplier who could provide simple meals and some city agency that would pay for it. I smiled as I listened to his “rational voice” while he finished his conversation.
As soon as he hung up, Seamus smiled at me. “I feel blessed by the Lord Almighty that you could find time in your busy schedule to come by and visit an elderly priest.”
“Can it. You’ve been just as busy as me.”
“And I’ll bet you’re really here to talk about your two sons and their encounter with some bullies yesterday.”
I smiled. His Irish accent made everything sound pleasant and at the same time like an accusation. “I do want to talk about the incident. The boys seemed pretty open, but I wanted to make sure they didn’t leave anything out.”
