“Screw what people think. You wouldn’t be running. You would be taking a vacation. A much-needed and deserved vacation.”
“Can I think about it?” He laughed. “At least for a day?” He got serious again. “You know, this thing just got out of hand so quickly. Between the newspaper, internet, and radio talk shows, they’ve got people all worked up.”
“Well, you know people are gullible, and these murders have everyone scared. They want a scapegoat.”
“I guess I’m a convenient one.”
“They’re sheep. Next week, they’ll be blaming someone else.”
The nachos came, along with another round of drinks. They both just picked at the nachos. The somber mood had killed their appetite, and the feeling of a hundred eyes staring at them made them self-conscious.
“I think we should go, Bob. I don’t like the way those guys are staring at us.”
Jackson glanced back at the men. He could tell they were getting drunk, which probably meant an impeding repeat altercation.
“Yeah. Probably a good idea.” He signaled the waiter that they were done and ready for the bill. When the waiter returned, he had their bill and another round of drinks.
Confused, Jackson said, “We didn’t order these.”
“They’re on me, Mr. Jackson. I’ve been a fan of yours for years, and I think you are getting a raw deal. The news is just trying to sensationalize the murders to sell papers. I don’t believe that you or your show are to blame. And try to ignore those idiots at the bar.” He nodded toward the bar.
“Thanks. I appreciate that, and these,” he said, reaching for his drink. “But we should go,” he said as he handed the waiter his credit card.
Jackson slammed his drink down and signed the credit card receipt, leaving a large tip for the waiter. Trying to avoid eye contact with the men at the bar, Jackson helped Tina up from her seat and guided her to the front entrance.
Sam watched them get up to leave, quickly pulled out a couple of twenties, and dropped them on the bar. “Let’s go,” he instructed his friends. They followed without comment but were clearly excited at the prospect of another confrontation with Jackson.
“Where are you parked?” Jackson asked Tina. She pointed across the street to a small, public parking lot. “I left my car at the station and walked down here. How about you drop me off at the station to get my car, and I’ll follow you home? With the way things are going, they’ll probably have me towed if I leave it overnight,” he moaned.
She nodded and put her arm in his as they started down the street to the crosswalk. Before they could go ten steps, the restaurant door swung open violently. Sam and his drinking companions funneled out, almost stumbling over each other. It would have been comical if it weren’t for the hate in their eyes—and their clear intent.
Jackson turned back to see what the commotion was all about and moaned when he saw who was there. A feeling of impending doom overtook him. The look on Sam’s face told him everything he needed to know.
Sam yelled over to Jackson, “Where ya going, Bobby-boy?”
Jackson and Tina were at the curb, waiting for the light to turn red, and they tried to ignore Sam. Sam kept up the constant chatter as he approached to the two of them. The more Jackson tried to ignore him, the more animated and abusive he got.
Jackson turned to face him. “Look, I’m not looking for trouble,” he said calmly. “You guys are drunk, and I don’t want to hurt you.” As soon as he said that, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. In their condition, it wouldn’t take much of an insult to start a fight.
Sam laughed. “Not looking for trouble? You do that for a living.” He turned to his portly friend, who looked to be two-hundred-and-twenty pounds but was only five-foot-nine or so. “He doesn’t want to hurt us, Nate. Should we be worried?”
“Yeah, I’m scared,” he mocked. “He’s a chump, Sam. He isn’t worth the effort.”
Tina tensed up. She had never been in a fight but could feel the tension growing and was worried about what might happen next. “Come on, Bob.” The light had changed, and she tried to guide him into the crosswalk. “Please just ignore him,” she pleaded.
Jackson glanced at Sam and his friends, sizing them up again, in case it turned into a fight. Sam was the only one who looked fit enough to be a potential issue. The other two were overweight and didn’t look like much of a threat. But, all of them were drunk, and that made everything unpredictable.
He knew Tina was right. The smart thing to do would be to walk away and let this go. But if she wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take them on—not in his current mood, anyway. He followed Tina into the street to cross but before he could take two steps, Sam was there in front of them, blocking the way.
“I’m still talking to you, chump. You’re the reason my friend Stan is dead,” slurred Sam with a little drool on his lip and an angry expression forming on his face.
Jackson tensed up, knowing what might come next, but he allowed Tina to pull him sideways to go around Sam. She had never seen Jackson in a fight, but she had heard George talk about Jackson’s prowess in the past. She still wanted to avoid seeing him perform in the street today.
Sam’s friends were now getting into the fun. Nate hurried around his friends and blocked Tina from crossing the street. “Sorry, lady, but Sam is talking to your boyfriend, and I don’t think he said you could leave.”
Jackson pointed his finger in Nate’s face. “Last time I’m going to say this: We aren’t looking for trouble. Please step aside,” said Jackson forcefully.
Nate, buoyed on by the alcohol and showing off for his friends, didn’t budge. “I don’t think so, hotshot,” Nate replied as he stepped closer to Tina, bumping her with his chest. Although he didn’t mean to knock her down, that’s exactly what happened. She wasn’t prepared for his maneuver and wasn’t able to maintain her balance in high heels. Her ankle buckled, and she went down to her knees.
Jackson had been focused on Nate and didn’t realize she was falling until it was too late. He looked down at her and saw that her knees were scraped and bleeding. It wasn’t a serious fall, and the cuts were minor, but Jackson was incensed. He dropped to the ground, helped her stand up, and guided her to the curb.
Nate had backed off and was apologizing, but no one was listening to him.
With Tina safely back on the sidewalk, Jackson turned, and, without warning, unleashed a vicious right jab to Nate’s nose, breaking it and sending Nate back a few steps. The pain was intense, and blood flowed down into his mouth.
Nate screamed in pain and panicked when he saw his own blood covering his hands. “You son-of-a-bitch. Fuck. What did you do that for? I think you broke my fucking nose,” he whined and stomped around like a little kid. Then, he went wild and ran at Jackson with his arms swinging. Jackson was expecting retaliation and saw him coming. He easily stepped aside as Nate flailed, failing to land a single blow. Nate wasn’t done yet and turned to make another pass at Jackson. This time, Jackson held his ground and when Nate got close, Jackson released two more quick jabs to Nate’s bloody face, stopping him in his tracks, and then, for good measure, hit him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him and sending him to his knees. Jackson finished him off with a knee to his face, sending Nate backward onto his butt. The third man, Leroy, was paralyzed by the action but only for a moment. When he saw Nate fall to his knees, he came at Jackson like a bull, but Jackson saw it coming and stepped aside, giving Leroy a shove and sending him to the ground.
All this only took a moment, but now, it was Sam’s turn to enter the fracas. Jackson turned toward Sam and watched him pull a beer bottle out of his pocket. Holding the bottle like a weapon, he approached Jackson warily. He had seen what Jackson had done to his two friends and was going to be more careful. Nate was starting to recover and watched from the ground as Sam charged at Jackson.
Leroy had picked up a bottle off the curb and threw it at Jackson. His aim was good, and it hit Jackson s
quare in the back, stunning him. Sam took advantage of the momentary opening and swung his bottle. Jackson blocked it with his left arm and swung a right hook that caught Sam on the chin, staggering him and sending him backward a few feet. He didn’t drop the bottle. He regained his footing and prepared to come back in for another attack.
Nate, who had been writhing on the ground, crawled up behind Jackson while Sam advanced. Jackson stood his ground and prepared for the next attack from Sam just as Nate grabbed his leg. Off-balance and surprised by Nate, Jackson wasn’t able to fully block the next blow from Sam. He managed to land a punch to Sam’s left eye just as the bottle grazed the side of his head. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough to send Jackson to his knees.
Seeing their adversary on the ground, Sam and Leroy pounced on him as one. They pummeled him with punches and kicks, but Jackson—although stunned—was able to block most of the blows. Even on his knees, he was able to land a few of his own. Nate was now ready to join in and began punching and kicking, as well. Jackson was holding his own but couldn’t take it much longer.
When the fight started, Tina didn’t stand around like a deer in the headlights; she ran back into the bar to call for help. She found the waiter who had served them earlier and pleaded with him to get help. The waiter didn’t hesitate and elicited the help of the bartender, and together, they flew out the door to break up the fight. It took some effort—and the help of a couple of people who were on the street when the fight broke out—but they were finally able to pull everyone apart. Cuts, bruises, and blood covered the four combatants. The maître d’ came out and said he had called the police.
Sam and his friends tried to place the blame on Jackson, saying he had attacked them, but no one really believed it. Jackson glared at them but didn’t say a word as he and Tina limped across the street to her car. They drove off without further incident.
Moments later, the police arrived. Sam and his friends gave inconsistent statements but chose not to press charges when the bartender indicated that the altercation had started in the bar. There were no witnesses who were outside when the fight had started who could attest to who threw the first punch, and since Jackson and Tina were gone, the police decided to let it go with a warning to the men.
Jackson and Tina decided to leave Jackson’s car behind at the station and take their chances that it wouldn’t be towed away. Groggy and sore from all the blows he had taken, Jackson was more than happy to let Tina drive home. His body ached, and his head was starting to pound, but he insisted he didn’t have a concussion and just wanted to go home. Tina wanted to take him to the emergency room but, he would have none of it. Still concerned he might have a concussion from the blow to the head, Tina kept asking him silly questions until he finally convinced her he was okay. Well, relatively okay.
He assured her that the head wound looked worse than it was—although, he wasn’t really sure what it looked like. A fair amount of blood had dripped down his face onto his clothes, but he said, “That’s normal for a head wound.” She wondered if he needed stitches but when the bleeding stopped on the way home, she decided he was probably right and didn’t argue about the emergency room. He decided not to tell her about his aching ribs; he thought he might have a broken rib or two. The tough guy in him said that with a few painkillers, some alcohol, and a good night’s sleep, he would be as good as new.
He asked her about her cut knees.
“I’m fine, Bob. I got a scratch, and you got a bottle busted over your head. I’d say you are in worse shape than I am.”
Laughing—although it hurt to do so—he had to agree.
“Just get me home and let me have a bottle of Advil, and I’ll be fine,” he assured her. He was angry with himself but didn’t share that with Tina. How could he have let those idiots get the better of him? They were drunk, clumsy, and untrained fighters. Yes, there were three of them, but he still should have made short work of them. He swore he would never let anyone get the upper hand on him again.
Tina broke the silence.
“I wish we could have just walked away.” She sighed.
“I do, too,” he admitted. “You saw I tried but when he shoved you to the ground, what else could I do?”
“I know,” she agreed. “It all happened so fast.”
“Yep.” Jackson stared out the window at a woman dragging her kid out of the street. “That guy said I was responsible for the death of his friend.”
“You aren’t, though. It’s not your fault.”
“Are you really sure?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Someone out there is killing people. And isn’t it odd that all the victims have been on my show?”
“That doesn’t make it your fault.”
“If it weren’t for my show, those people wouldn’t be dead.”
“Those people were ripping people off. I’m not saying they deserved to be killed, but you were just trying to protect consumers. That’s a noble endeavor.”
“Seems like people in Denver don’t care about that.”
“Maybe you should think some more about that vacation,” Tina said with conviction.
Jackson didn’t say anything.
During the short drive to her apartment, Jackson sat quietly, contemplating the sudden turn in his life. He replayed the events leading up to the fight, and the fight itself. Could it have played out differently? He could have walked out right away, but people were holding him responsible for the murders, and he wasn’t sure if anything could change that. Would he do the same if he were them? Going from champion of the people one day to scoundrel the next was overwhelming. He used to enjoy tracking down and exposing bad guys. It was fun. That seemed like the distant past now. When he did uncover a sleaze-ball to his audience, he never thought much about what happened to them afterward. Not his problem. His job was to move on and get the next bad guy. And then, there was the issue of the way the station had reacted. Could he ever go back after this? His head was aching, and all the confusing thoughts weren’t helping. The thought of a few drinks and rolling up into a cocoon was really appealing.
Tina pulled into the underground parking for her Lodo apartment building. They held hands and walked quietly to the elevator. Both of them were dirty and bloody and looked a little intimidating. A couple walking up to the elevator at the same time saw the two of them and backed off. Jackson saw their expressions and decided to give them a break.
“We’ll take the next one,” he said. The couple didn’t argue and got on the elevator. They were relieved when the doors closed, leaving Jackson and Tina outside.
A few minutes later, they were safely inside Tina’s apartment.
“I think I have some Vicodin left over from when I had a wisdom tooth pulled,” she said as she disappeared down the hallway toward the bathroom. Jackson sat on the couch, careful not to get any blood on the cushions. Tina returned quickly with the Vicodin and a bottle of Advil. She handed one of each to Jackson and scurried off to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“Thanks,” he said and downed them in one gulp.
She ran back to the bathroom and returned with some soap and water and a washcloth. “Let me wash up your face.”
He didn’t resist. He slumped back into the soft couch and sighed.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said with a smile that didn’t look too convincing.
He looked up at her and tried to smile back. “You think so?” He wasn’t so sure. Either the Vicodin had started to kick in, or maybe it was just her smile, but his bruises weren’t hurting as much anymore.
“Yes. Not everyone is like those guys. These things have a way of fizzling out. I’ll bet in a few days, when the cops find the killers, everyone will forget all this.”
He looked at her and marveled at her beauty but wasn’t so sure of her logic. The cops might indeed find the killers, but then, they might not, either. Either way, he was sure it wouldn’t just blow over.
When she had
cleaned up the head wound, she felt better. The cut wasn’t that deep and didn’t require stitches. “Just relax. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going now?”
“I think you need a drink. I know I do.”
She picked up the stereo remote and tossed it to him. “Find something to listen to.”
He caught the remote and started to fiddle with it. After a while, he found an oldies station. Van Morrison was singing “Wild Night”. It indeed had been a wild night for Jackson but not exactly what Van had in mind when he wrote that song.
Tina returned carrying a bottle of wine and a small first-aid kit. While she rooted through the kit, looking for some disinfectant and bandages, Jackson opened the bottle. He poured two glasses and handed her one of them. They clinked the glasses together. “To Florence Nightingale,” he joked.
They each took a large drink. Jackson refilled the glasses.
“To fewer days like today,” she suggested, and they clinked their glasses together again. She leaned over and put some ointment on his wound, then covered it with a big bandage. “You look cute.” She laughed, inspecting her work.
Jackson laughed, and then coughed in pain.
“What?” she asked, her smile turning to concern.
“Just a bruised rib,” he lied, certain it was probably broken. “I’d just better not laugh for a while.” He took another Advil and washed it down with a large gulp of wine. “I’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure her.
“Are you sure we don’t need to go to the emergency room?”
“I’m sure.” He leaned forward and kissed her. The painkillers and wine were starting to do their job.
“Take off your shirt,” she instructed him.
“Are you going to take advantage of me?” he asked with anticipation.
“No. Well, maybe, but first, I want to see the damage from that asshole kicking you.”
“Oh,” he moaned. “Too bad.”
Bob took off his shirt, revealing bruises all over his chest and back.
“Yikes,” she observed.
He looked down. “Looks worse than it is,” he lied and tried to pull her toward him.
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