by Jake Coburn
“Yeah.”
“My name’s Jason.” We shook hands. “Greg just paged me. He wants you guys to head over.”
I turned to Danny. “Well, let’s go.”
“Yo, not to be whack and shit,” Jason said, “but I used to really admire your pieces. I mean, when I first started writing.”
“I was just copying other people,” I said, trying to deflect him. “You know how it is.” The compliment was nice, but I was starting to feel like an antique.
Jason nodded and walked over to a newsstand on the corner. “Peace.”
Danny and I headed uptown. We passed a pizzeria filled with screaming kids playing arcade games and a lonely take-out Chinese restaurant. The sun was starting to set across the river and, as we crossed each street, I could see the light filtering through the trees in Riverside Park. I couldn’t help remembering how Kris and I used to hang out in the playgrounds that lined the entrances to the park.
“I’m getting so fucking sick of prep-school hoods,” Danny said.
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
“It’s so transparent. Look at them.” Danny pointed across the street at three hoods standing outside a bodega. Two of the guys were laughing and joking around, and the third was leaning up against a phone booth with his girlfriend wrapped around him. The purple hood of his North Face jacket hid his eyes.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a set of the brass knuckles. “You ever use these?” I asked, handing them to Danny.
He frowned at me. “The closest I’ve ever come to throwing a punch is reading Hemingway.”
“Well, they’re pretty self-explanatory,” I said. “I’ve never used them either, but it’s always better to be prepared.”
Danny pounded his metal fist into his palm. “Now I just need to learn how to punch.”
We headed east and the church started to come into sight. The side streets were darkening and the early-evening dew smelled like wet dirt.
Trinity Church was a small building on the corner of Morningside Drive. The front was decorated with four Corinthian pillars and three tall black doors. There was an old metal gate surrounding the property and encasing a tiny garden that had seen better days. I’d taken a class trip to it years ago, but I hadn’t been back since.
The inside of the church was lit with altars scattered with dollar candles. Stained-glass windows lined the sides, but it was too late in the day to really see them. Above, flying buttresses stretched upward into the black.
Greg was sitting in the last row of the pews with his arms stretched out on the back of a wooden bench. There were only five other people in the church. Three old ladies cleaning the altar and a couple praying on the side. I wished there were more people around.
Greg walked over to us and gave me a condescending smile. “How you boyz doing?”
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“They’re here,” Greg said, motioning behind his shoulder. “But I figured it’d be best if I met you first.”
Greg pulled a porcelain bowl out of his pocket and stuffed it with a pinch. Taking a long hit off his Zippo, he offered the bowl to us. I shook my head. Danny threw me an anxious look, but I couldn’t decide if Greg was more or less helpful stoned.
Greg stared up at the ceiling and the floral moldings, and then over at Danny. “God, this place is mad beautiful.”
“How many of them are there?” I asked. I wanted to know what we were walking into.
“Three,” Greg said angrily. “I told Derrick to bring one other guy, but he was probably nervous. Fucking pussy.”
“How many guys did you bring?” Danny asked.
“Only me and Eddie. But that’s fine. They figure you two are with me, so it all evens out.” Greg took another short hit off his bowl. He lived for shit like this. It justified everything Greg stood for.
“All right, let’s do it, Thet. Old-school style,” Greg said, turning around and starting down the center aisle.
“Old school,” I said, winking at Danny. Greg was so full of shit. We never pulled stunts like this when we were writing together.
Halfway down the aisle, Greg made a right and a group of four guys came into sight. Derrick smiled as soon as he saw me and nudged the guy next to him. Derrick was an ugly fucking kid.
Another one of the guys was leaning up against a church pillar and listening to a mini-disc player. He was wearing a puffy coat that camouflaged his small frame and baggy Levi’s. Greg motioned him over.
“This is Eddie,” Greg said. “He’s with me.”
MKII watched the introductions and then walked slowly over to us. Derrick led, and the other two followed closely behind.
“Derrick,” Greg said, looking back at us. “Meet Thet and Danny.”
“Yeah,” Derrick said, grinning. “I met this crazy perv last night.”
Greg looked around the circle for an explanation. “Danny’s the guy,” he said. “And he’s here to settle this so that there doesn’t have to be any bullshit.”
I heard something behind me and turned around. About twenty feet behind us were the three hoods we’d seen standing outside the bodega—we were trapped. The guy wearing the purple North Face lifted his hand to his waist and gave me a short, obnoxious wave, and his girlfriend sat down in the pews and put her feet up. I didn’t know what to do.
Eddie leaned toward Greg. “There’s too many of them,” he said, underneath his breath.
“It’s okay,” Greg whispered. “Jason saw them on the way in.”
“There isn’t enough time,” Eddie said, his voice getting louder.
“Keep quiet,” Greg muttered, giving a mock smile to Derrick.
I looked over at Danny and noticed his leg was shaking. He knew he was fucked.
“Hey, Derrick,” Greg began, “I thought this was supposed to be friendly. If I didn’t know better—”
“What?” Derrick interrupted.
“Well, I’d think you were starting something.”
“And?” Derrick laughed.
“Hell, Derrick, I thought we were friends.”
“Yeah, well, friends shouldn’t go screwing around with my bitch.”
I reached into my back pocket and slid my right hand into the rings of the brass knuckles. My face was sweating and my pulse was drumming against my ears. Drawing my fist to my side, I clenched my fingers and felt the metal draw heat.
Greg turned to Eddie and shook his head. “What a fucking mess. We’re here to apologize.”
“I don’t want a fucking apology,” Derrick said, taking a step toward Greg.
Across the aisle, the middle-aged couple saw what was happening and started walking quickly toward the exit.
“Derrick, if you start this,” Greg said calmly, “I mean, if your bitch ass starts this, you better fucking kill me. Because if you don’t, I will track you down and beat the living shit out of you.”
Derrick took another step toward Greg. I could hear the footsteps of the hoods behind us; then there was a pause and everything went into slow motion. It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, but we all shared it. Then Eddie tried to step between Derrick and Greg, and it all began. Derrick’s two friends grabbed Greg and threw him against a stone pillar. Greg’s jacket cushioned the blow, but his head slammed into the limestone.
The three hoods from the bodega jumped Danny and Eddie, and Derrick started for me. Our eyes met; Derrick nodded confidently. He leaned back to swing with his right and then jabbed with his left. Ducking to the side, I threw a right into his stomach. The brass was off and slammed into his hipbone. Derrick gasped—the metal recoil sliced into my knuckles. I couldn’t believe I fucking hit him. I swung wildly again at Derrick’s face and missed. He shoved me back, and I fell into a wooden pew.
“I’m gonna fuck you up, bitch,” Derrick yelled.
Scrambling to my feet, I backed down the aisle away from Derrick. He reached into his jacket, and over his shoulder I could see Danny being held up against a pillar.
Flipping out a butterfly knife, Derrick twirled the blades with his wrist. He leapt toward me, and I jumped back. Derrick lunged for me again and walked into my left fist. The punch nailed him across the jaw and I felt something give in his mouth as I followed through. I didn’t know what I was doing, but it was working. I threw a right into Derrick’s eye, dropped him against the pew, and kicked the butterfly knife out of his hand. Stepping on his chest, I took off down the aisle for Danny.
Two hoods still had Danny pressed against the pillar. Danny’s nose was bleeding down his shirt and I could see his right eye starting to swell. I had so much foot speed by the time I reached them that I dived onto one of the hoods. The collision knocked us both to the ground, and I threw my fist into his nose as we fell. I started to swing again and suddenly it was as if every candle in the church had blown out. My chin hit the marble floor, and my teeth slammed shut. Sirens were screaming. I opened my eyes for a second, and from the ground all I could see was the silhouette of a dozen guys standing just inside Trinity Church.
I couldn’t see anything. I was sitting down, and my neck and back were hunched forward. Someone’s arm was pressed against my stomach, holding my chest up, and my head was killing me. I reached up with my hand to see if I was bleeding. My glasses were gone.
“Don’t say a word, Cowboy.”
I was dizzy, nauseous. “Kris?”
“Ssshh.”
“Where are you?” I whispered.
“I’m right next to you.” Her cheek brushed against my shoulder, and I realized I was sitting on her lap. I knew I was woozy but I still loved the sound of her voice, tickling my ears.
“Why can’t I see anything?”
“Ssshh.”
I felt like going back to sleep. “Where is everybody?”
“Quiet.”
“Where’s Danny?”
Kris’s fingertips ran down my nose and pressed my lips together. “Stay quiet.”
I nodded, and felt the back of my neck rub against her chin.
Suddenly, I could hear people talking, but I didn’t recognize any of the voices. And then it faded.
“Kris,” I began. “Where are we?”
“Look to your right.”
I turned my head, and the muscles and joints in my neck seemed to cry out in unison. Six inches from my face were a dozen pin-sized holes in the shape of a diamond. Tiny streams of light were pouring through the holes and illuminating the dust floating in the air. For a second, I thought we were in a coffin but I was almost positive we weren’t lying down.
Twisting back toward Kris, I saw the checkered pattern of light resting on her sleeve. I raised my head a couple of inches and through the holes I could see the outlines of two cops.
“Cops?” I said, running my hand over my head again and searching for the source of the dull ache. I still didn’t know where I was, but I was happy staying put.
I felt Kris nod.
“Where’s Danny?”
“Arrested.” Kris sighed.
“Greg?”
“Arrested.”
“Where are we?” I muttered.
“In the confessional.”
I let out a small laugh and Kris tightened her hold around my stomach. “Sorry,” I said, still grinning. “How’d we get in here?”
“I dragged you.”
“By yourself?” I said, surprised.
Kris nodded again.
“How long have we been in here?”
“Half an hour.”
“Why?”
“Because the cops were coming,” she said.
I tried to remember the fight, but I couldn’t picture Kris anywhere. “Where’d you come from?”
“I called Tracy before I got home,” she whispered. “She overheard some MKIIs talking about this meeting and ambushing the Diggs. I tried to get here in time to warn Danny.”
Through the holes in the confessional, I could see the two cops getting smaller. “They’re leaving,” I mumbled.
“You sure?”
I pressed my face against the openings. “Yup.”
“All right, then let’s get out of here. Okay?”
I didn’t want to stand up, but it was easier just to nod.
“When I open the door,” Kris continued. “Just follow me outside. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Here are your glasses,” she said, placing the frames in my palm. “One of the lenses got knocked out when you got hit. It’s in my pocket.”
I slid my glasses back on. They were bent out of shape, and it made me smile. In the movies, the guy’s glasses are always crooked after the fight.
“Can you see?” Kris asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Can you walk?”
“I hope so,” I said.
Kris leaned to her right and a wave of light poured in. My eyes hurt, but now I could see the frame of the confessional. She pushed the door open halfway and lifted me up. My legs felt limp, but they seemed to hold me.
“Now walk,” Kris said, leading me out.
A cop was down near the altar, but he had his back to us. Kris wrapped her arm around my waist and walked me slowly toward the street. It was dark outside, and the streetlights on Morningside were on. I could only see through my left eye, but I spotted the empty cop car.
“Don’t stop,” Kris said.
She helped me down the steps and onto the pavement, and then we walked along Morningside. I don’t know why, but it was as if every different feeling I’d ever had was pushing its way to the surface. I was proud that I’d showed up for Danny, but I still felt like a failure.
“You’ve got to get to a hospital,” Kris said. “You’re going to need stitches.”
“I think so,” I said, feeling the dried blood in my hair. “Can we sit down for a minute?”
We crossed 110th Street and sat on the steps of a brownstone.
Kris rested her head in her hands. “I can’t believe what they did to my brother.” When she sat up, I saw two tears slide down her cheekbone and dissolve into her hair.
“What happened? I can’t really remember,” I said, fighting another wave of nausea. It was easier not to talk.
“When I showed up, everybody was fighting. You dove onto these kids, and then this girl hit you over the head with one of those blackjack things. You went down fast, Nick.”
“But I thought I saw more people,” I said, confused. “Were those cops?”
“No, they were Dignitaries. They beat the shit out of everybody,” Kris said disgustedly. “Even the girl. Then the cops showed up, and everybody scattered.”
“They arrested Danny?”
“Yeah. He was still fighting, or trying to fight.” Kris took a deep breath and leaned back against the steps. “He was surrounded, so I dragged you into the confessional. I didn’t want you getting arrested, too.”
“Is he gonna be okay?” I wished I could have pulled that other guy off of him.
“I don’t know. His right eye looked pretty messed up,” Kris said. “But he wasn’t as bad as that kid in the purple jacket. The medics had to bring him out on a gurney.”
Kris shook her head angrily. “Here’s your lens.” She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Let’s get you in a cab,” she said, helping me up. “I’ll call my mother from the hospital. I need to get over to the police station to check on Danny.”
Kris hailed a taxi on 110th and opened the door for me. “St. Luke’s ER,” she told the driver.
The cabbie looked nervously over at me, and I faked a grin. “I’m pregnant,” I said.
Kris placed her arm around my hunched shoulders. “Rest your head on me.”
“I don’t want to bleed on you.”
“It’s okay,” Kris said, pulling me toward her.
I laid my forehead against her sweater and closed my eyes. After the last forty-eight hours with Kris, I couldn’t decide what to think or say or do. I just needed to rest.
Lying in a hospital bed, it�
�s amazing how many different shapes you can make out in plastic ceiling tiles. I knew the painkillers were riding their way through my veins, because I kept smiling at the floral posters on the walls.
When Kris had walked me into the ER, the doctors had shaved a silver dollar-sized section above my right ear, stitched me back up, and wrapped my forehead in gauze. Now the only things that still really hurt were my hands. The skin was carved away from my pinkie knuckle, and I could see dry bone when I flexed. I kept guessing which punches were responsible.
The gray curtains around my bed parted, and my mother’s worried face peered in. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and I wondered if the doctors had woken her up in the middle of the night, or even if it was the middle of the night.
“How are you feeling?” my mother asked, sitting down on the side of my bed. She leaned toward me and pressed the back of her hand to my damp forehead.
“I’m wonderful,” I said. I raised my pillow and felt a chorus of aches.
Elliot trailed behind my mother and dropped his fedora at the foot of my blanket. I didn’t feel like dealing with him, but I couldn’t walk out on them this time.
Elliot’s eyes moved their way up from my untied shoelace to my ripped jeans to my bruised cheekbone. “You seem to be starting fights everywhere you go.”
My mother shook her head slowly and pulled out a small packet of tissues. I couldn’t tell whether she was annoyed by my bruises or Elliot’s tone of voice.
“Nick,” he began. “I know my teenage years were different from yours, both because I was at Exmoor and because of the times, but there have to be more constructive things to do.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, not making eye contact. I was too out of it to start arguing with the guy.
My mother rested her hand on my shoulder. A tear formed in the corner of her eye, slid down her cheek, and then disappeared between her lips. I hadn’t seen her cry since she married Elliot. I guessed that she did, but never in front of me, never about me. It felt really strange. I guess it felt good.
“Elliot,” my mother said. “He’s hurt.”
“I—” I started.
“Not by accident,” Elliot said. “That’s—”
“He’s hurt,” my mother declared. She lifted my left hand and studied the damage. “With your head wrapped up,” she whispered, “you look just like your dad used to. You guys both have a knack for ending up in hospitals.”