1929

Home > Other > 1929 > Page 19
1929 Page 19

by M. L. Gardner


  The two seconds that Jonathan was blocked were all the men needed to catch up with him. One pulled on his left arm, and Jonathan spun around with a clenched fist, realizing instantly the only option left was to fight and caught Tony on the eyebrow. He growled and swore, holding the bony ridge over his eye as blood trickled down his face. The big one grabbed Jonathan from behind, and the third man from the alley centered himself as Jonathan struggled to get free. With a sadistic grin, he pulled back his fist and punched Jonathan in the stomach. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the wind rushed out of him, his knees went weak, and his head pulled down toward the pain. Hard alternating blows to his ribs took his breath again. He pushed Jonathan up by the shoulders, holding them against the big one and kneed him hard in the groin. Everything went white as he doubled over, and his legs gave out. The big one let go his grip on Jonathan, allowing him to fall forward, his face scraping the icy concrete of the sidewalk where it landed. His eyes floated around in their sockets, and he was unable to focus on anything but pain. He instinctively curled into a fetal position, which left his back entirely vulnerable. Tony kicked him in the kidney with vengeance for his own bleeding face. Jonathan’s back arched toward the pain, and the one in front took advantage by giving another hard kick to the stomach causing Jonathan to writhe forward again. One jumped around completely caught up in the adrenaline. He landed a kick to Jonathan’s face that sent him over onto his back, and he screamed through clenched teeth.

  “Not the face!” Tony yelled a split-second too late as the man leaned down and delivered a punch directly to Jonathan’s nose. Blood flowed down both sides of his face, his vision went from blinding white to pitch black and finally he saw the dim light from the lamppost above him fading in and out intermittently with his heartbeat.

  He heard what was going on around him now as if it were very distant; a gagging sound when someone grabbed the man from the alley by the throat with one hand and delivered a blow to the head with the other, which rendered him instantly unconscious.

  Tony took several steps back with his hands up, terrified and then made a break for the alley, scurrying like a rat. The big one hit the ground after three lightning-fast strikes that carried the force of a half-dozen men; one to the face, a second to the ribs making a horrible crunching sound, and a third to the stomach. Stepping over the big one as he lay whimpering on the ground and heaving with a loud grunt, Sven pulled Jonathan onto his shoulder and carried him home.

  ∞∞∞

  “Oh, God!” Ava’s hands muted her cry as she opened the door. Sven walked inside with Jonathan hanging over his shoulder. He leaned down to deposit him on the couch as carefully as he could.

  “What happened?” Ava cried, sitting beside Jonathan and looking from him to Sven and back with horror.

  “He was mugged. He didn’t have wallet. So, they did this,” he explained.

  “Go get Caleb, please,” she told him and ran to the kitchen to wet a handful of cloths.

  She knelt on the couch beside him and began wiping away the blood. He winced and her hands shook as she first attended to the ragged cheek and then the kicked, swollen other. Caleb came bounding through the door ahead of Sven and stopped abruptly in front of the couch where Jonathan sat, half-slumped over. He was barely conscious. Caleb stepped back to pace the floor a few lengths.

  “Who did this, Jon?” he finally growled. Sven explained again that it was a mugging gone badly, and Caleb noticed out of the corner of his eye Jonathan gingerly shaking his head no.

  “It wasn’t a mugging?” Caleb asked. Jonathan moved his head side-to-side again.

  “Go get Aryl,” he told Sven. “Save your strength, Jon,” Caleb told him. Jonathan nodded slightly with eyes closed.

  Aryl was through the door a moment later, and his eyes flew open when he saw Jonathan’s condition. “What’n hell happened?”

  “Sven says it was a mugging, but Jon is trying to tell us something,” Caleb replied.

  “All right, Jon. Go ahead. What happened?” Aryl asked anxiously, waiting to find out who he needed to start looking for. Jonathan opened his eyes, and his vision was still blurry. “There were . . . three. One asked if . . . I was the right guy, one . . . I tried to get away but . . . ,” he said with great difficulty.

  “They were waiting for you? Did you get a good look at their faces?” Aryl asked.

  “Saw two . . . got one in the eye,” he explained.

  “One of them is hurt. Good. That’ll make him easier to find.” Caleb turned to Sven. “You found him?” he asked. Sven nodded.

  “I was minutes behind. He forgot wallet on counter. I return to him. If I was sooner, he would not be so hurt,” he said regretfully.

  “No, Sven.” Ava looked up at him. “If it weren’t for you, he might be dead,” she said with gratitude and went back to cleaning Jonathan’s face.

  “I hurt them good. One ran but others,” Sven said, shrugging. “Not so lucky.”

  “You got a hold of them?” Aryl asked.

  “Yes. One block north.”

  Aryl and Caleb glanced at each other for a split-second, and then the two of them ran out the door.

  Down the block, they found a man just returning to consciousness, disoriented and woozy. Caleb pulled him up and slammed him against the wall. He and Aryl took turns convincing the man to tell them who recruited him for the beating. They got the names of the other men involved, dropped the man on the ground like garbage, and walked away.

  When they returned to Jonathan’s apartment, Ava asked them to help her remove Jonathon’s coat. They helped to lift him up and then steadied him. As she took his coat off carefully, she gasped when she saw the dirty imprint of a boot on the side of his shirt.

  “Get his shirt off, too,” Aryl told her. Sven approached Jonathan, inspected the dark and swollen areas, and then felt his ribs, pressing his chest; pressing the front, back and sides. Jonathan winced and groaned, but didn’t scream.

  “I don’t think broken. But much bruised,” he announced.

  “That’s a miracle,” Aryl said with relief.

  “He needs rest,” Sven said insistently, and they helped Ava get him to the bedroom and through the painful process of putting him into bed. She kissed him so lightly he didn’t feel her lips brush his forehead.

  Caleb and Aryl stood at the foot of his bed.

  “We’re gonna find who did this to you,” Caleb said.

  “And God help them when we do,” Aryl finished.

  Ava hugged Sven, her head barely to the middle of his chest.

  “Thank you so much, Sven,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  A few moments after seeing them out, she heard a soft knock at the door. Ava opened it to the beady-eyed one.

  “I can’t be bothered with you right now,” she said wearily and closed the door in her face.

  “Please,” the older woman called from the hall. “I have medicine for your husband.” Ava opened the door a bit and looked at her.

  “What medicine?” Ava asked suspiciously.

  “Pain medicine.” She held out a bottle of clear liquid. “Give him two teaspoons every few hours to help him get through the first few days. Make sure he eats something because it can make him powerful sick if you give it on an empty stomach. And if–” Ava held up a finger to quiet the woman. She took the bottle and read the label.

  “Thank you very much. I’ll give him some now.” She turned back into her apartment. For the first time ever, the beady-eyed one went home quietly. She held Jonathan’s head while she spooned the foul liquid into his mouth.

  Within minutes, it had taken the edge off his pain, and he was asleep soon after. She lay next to him as close as possible without bumping his sore body and cried. She now had a new reason to hate this horrible life.

  Through the night, he woke twice, moaning, and she fed him the medicine both times; it sent him back into the merciful deep sleep.

  Caleb and Aryl checked in with Ava several times thr
oughout Sunday. Jonathan had remained asleep the whole day.

  December 2nd 1929

  Victor waited on the corner for Tony and watched from a distance as Caleb and Aryl arrived at work early and alone. Tony casually walked up to Victor, and the two began to walk away from the gate. “Everything work out?” Victor asked as they walked.

  “Yeah, worked out fine,” Tony answered.

  “Why is he not at work today? I left you with specific instructions, Tony,” he said, irritated.

  “Well, we didn’t catch him ‘til Saturday night. He’s messed up, but should be back to work tomorrow, maybe the next day,” Tony explained, thinking back on the attack and hoping he was right. Victor nodded, turned to him and held out three fifty-dollar bills.

  “I’ll leave it up to you how to split this up for the job.”

  “You got anything else you want me to do?” Tony asked hopefully. Victor shook his head.

  “Not now. But I’ll be in touch.” Victor smiled in a way that told Tony he would be making more money in the future. “I have some ideas,” Victor said as he walked away.

  ∞∞∞

  Before work began, Aryl spoke with Harvey and informed him that Jonathan would be out sick for the rest of the week. When he began to sound like the absence would be a problem, Aryl glanced at the accounting office and back to Harvey, and he relented. He felt bad for a moment as he had never wanted to hold that favor over Harvey’s head.

  Caleb and Aryl ate lunch outside, inspecting every face as it passed. Tony put his head down to pass them, but Aryl caught sight of the cut over his eye. They dropped their sandwiches and caught up with him, one on each side.

  “You Tony?” Caleb asked.

  “Who’s askin’?” Tony replied with attitude.

  “We are,” Aryl said and stopped in front of him.

  “Yeah. My name's Tony,” he said, nervously looking back and forth at each one.

  “Let’s go for a walk, Tony,” Caleb said. They both took an arm and led him away. They stopped several feet away in an area that held empty storage containers and slipped in between the rows.

  Caleb let go of his arm, and Aryl shoved Tony against the side of a shipping container.

  “We got word that a guy named Tony helped organize an attack on our friend,” Caleb started.

  “Hey, now, this is N-New York. There’s a m-million guys named Tony,” he stuttered nervously.

  “Yeah, but there’s only so many who have a fresh cut on their forehead and works with Jon,” Aryl pointed out. “Not bad, actually. Looks like he got you good.”

  “Look, I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout attackin’ nobody. I got this over tha weekend when I pissed my brudder off,” he said, pointing to his forehead. They stared at him with straight faces and crossed arms. Tony got increasingly nervous.

  “You got the wrong guy. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he pleaded. They stepped closer to him, crowding him against the side of the container.

  “You better give us some answers, Tony,” Caleb warned.

  “I ain’t sayin’ nuthin’.”

  “Wrong answer,” Aryl said and pulled his arm back.

  “Okay! Okay! Some guy paid me to do it.”

  “Why?” Caleb asked.

  “How da hell should I know? I asked ‘im what his beef was wit’ this guy an’ he said it was nunna my business. Just gave me instructions and said he’d pay me when it was done.”

  “What instructions?” Caleb demanded.

  “He told me to get a couple uttha guys, catch ‘im alone. An’ he made it real clear to keep it to his stomach an’ back. Didn’t want us to mess with his face. One of my guys went too far, but dat wadn’t me,” he said, holding up his right hand as if under oath.

  “Who was it that paid you?” Aryl insisted.

  “Dressed fancy. Blond hair and eyes damn-near black. Only gave his first name.”

  “And what is that name, Tony?” Aryl pressed, growing more impatient.

  “Victor.”

  Caleb and Aryl locked eyes.

  “I should have guessed,” Caleb growled.

  “So, let me get this straight, Tony,” Aryl started. “You took money from this man, Victor, to beat a man you didn’t even know?”

  “Well, ya, it was fiddy bucks.” He bobbed his head and shrugged his shoulders as if needing the money justified the act.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” Aryl said, pulling his fist back, “because I’ll do it for free.”

  December 3rd 1929

  Aryl and Caleb stopped to see Jonathan after work Tuesday evening. “How is he?” Caleb asked.

  “A little better. The bruising is worse, but he doesn’t need the pain medicine as much now.” She paused, looking toward the closed bedroom door. “He isn’t talking much. He only answers my questions and goes back to staring.”

  “We’ll talk to him,” Caleb reassured with hand on her shoulder as he passed.

  Jonathan was sitting up in bed, picking at a bowl of stew.

  “Hey, looks like you’re feeling better,” Aryl said. Jonathan shrugged without looking up.

  “Well, we found the guy that set this up. It wasn’t hard with that gash you left on his forehead,” Caleb said.

  “Who was it?” Jonathan asked.

  “Guy named Tony. Works at the ya–”

  “Well, he did,” Aryl interrupted. “I have a feeling he won’t be back to work for a while.” Jonathan finally looked up at them.

  “Why?” he asked flatly.

  “Well, because Aryl, here, beat the living sh–”

  “No,” Jonathan interrupted. “Why’d he attack me? I don’t even know anybody named Tony.”

  “We’re not exactly sure,” Caleb lied. “You know how ignorant people can be. Give them any reason to get riled up and it can spiral out of control.” He let Jonathan assume that it had been simple harassment carried over from work. They had decided to keep any knowledge of Victor’s involvement to themselves.

  Jonathan glanced at Aryl’s hand; it was swollen with red cuts on the knuckles. Aryl noticed and folded his arms.

  “Like we said, Jon, we took care of it,” Aryl said.

  “You took care of it,” Caleb said resentfully and looked at Jonathan. “I tried to get in on it, but Aryl here didn’t leave me much to work with.” Jonathan sighed with annoyance.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. Either one of you. You could have landed yourselves in jail,” he said, glaring at them.

  “Never been in jail,” Aryl commented as if it were something he wouldn’t mind trying sometime.

  “Yes, you have,” Caleb reminded and grinned. Aryl ignored him and looked at Jonathan seriously.

  “You would have done it for us.”

  “You have done it for us,” Caleb corrected. “How many sets of ears did you box in school because I was always getting picked on for being the smallest?”

  “That was different,” Jonathan said.

  “Regardless, Jon, I don’t think you’ll be having any more trouble at work next week,” he said confidently.

  “I’m going back tomorrow,” Jonathan said flatly.

  “What? But I cleared the whole week for you.” Aryl glanced at Caleb and back at Jonathan.

  “I’m going back tomorrow. I can’t sit here in this bed, staring at the wall anymore . . . I can’t afford to sit here and stare at the wall anymore. Just got the first heat bill.” They couldn’t argue with him about that. They had gotten a heat bill, too. They staggered at the amount and panicked at how they would pay it without depleting their small savings.

  “Caleb and I were talking about that. We’re going to start looking for firewood each night after work. That should help a little. It’ll start warming up in a few months.”

  Jonathan went back to picking at his stew, unable to think about living in the tenement that long.

  “I’d better get home,” Caleb said, standing. “You sure about going back to work tomorrow?”

 
“Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” Aryl said hesitantly. “I guess we’ll see you in the morning.”

  Jonathan called to them as they were leaving, “Hey.”

  They both turned to look at him.

  “Thanks.”

  Ava came in after they left and moved his bowl of uneaten stew. He didn’t look any better after the visit. She sat very close beside him with her hands in her lap and leaned her head over onto his shoulder. He was staring again and didn’t acknowledge her. Several moments of silence passed.

  “Jon, let’s leave.” Her words snapped him out of his daze, and he looked toward her.

  “What?”

  “Let’s leave,” she repeated. “Let’s get out of here and leave this whole mess behind.”

  “How can we possibly do that?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll find a way. We could go stay with your parents ‘til we figure something out,” she suggested.

  “I can’t go live with my parents,” he insisted.

  “Why not?”

  “There is no way I am crawling home, a complete failure, to live under my parents’ roof, bringing the wife I can no longer support,” he said, angry with her for even suggesting it.

  “They know that's not true, Jon. They know what happened, and they know it happened to half the world. You act like you were the only one that day,” she said, slightly irritated. She expected him to jump at the idea of leaving the tenement no matter what amount of pride he had to swallow.

  “I can’t,” he said firmly.

  “Jon, it doesn’t have to be like this!” she yelled suddenly, getting off the bed and standing next to it.

 

‹ Prev