It was half past ten when Angel walked across Maple and Lincoln. A streetlight flickered, but he paid it no mind. He was taking out his phone to learn the features when someone jumped out, holding a knife. Angel looked at the punk and, speaking in a weary tone said, “It’s been a long day. Is this really necessary?”
“Trick or treat,” the kid sneered and Angel could see another knife blade in the moonlight.
“Will this night ever end?” He slipped his phone back into his pocket . . .or tried to. As he moved his hand he felt the hit. He almost passed out. He closed his eyes and fell to his knees. The phone flipped out of his hand and went scooting across the ground to the kid with the knife.
As Angel scrambled to his feet, the leader of the gang put his knife away and bent over to pick up the phone. Angel knew he was out-numbered; there were at least three of them, not counting the punk on the stairs.
He threw a few punches and put up a good fight, but after a few minutes, it was over. He felt them looking through his pockets, and barely knew when one of them pulled out his ID. He was out cold when the youngest kid ripped away the gun that was strapped to his ankle.
The tallest kid opened a small bag, but when he found two sandwiches, he tossed it over his shoulder.
“Someone’s coming.” The kid by the stairs yelled. “Throw him in the bushes and run.”
Chapter 6
Good Samaritan
Charlie couldn’t talk Allie into going to the church festival, so she went alone. When she arrived and heard they were going to be short-handed, she jumped at the opportunity to help. The puppet show started at six and ended at eight, so they could have everything wrapped up before it got too late. Halloween night on the back streets of Chicago could get scary.
It was nine forty-five when Charlie, Nyssa, Joe, Tracy and Donna finished cleaning up and locked the church doors. They walked to the parking lot and stood talking.
“We sure appreciate all your hard work.” Pastor Tracy once again shook Charlie’s hand, and then turned to his wife and smiled, “I guess we should go pick up the kids.” Donna nodded and the two walked off leaving Nyssa, Joe and Charlie to say their goodnights.
“We need to get our kids, too. I'm sure glad Nyssa's folks volunteered to take them home so we could help clean up.” Joe moved to his cruiser and motioned to his wife. “I’ll follow you home. No speeding! I’d hate to pull you over and give you a ticket.” Joe started to leave but turned as his wife spoke.
“You better not give me a ticket, Joe Morganson. I’ll give you a trick instead of a treat.” Nyssa laughed and winked at Charlie as she unlocked the minivan. She and Charlie got in, buckled up and were on their way.
It was a short ride from the church to Allie’s apartment, so Charlie and Nyssa were in no hurry to part ways. They were talking about next week’s service, and when Joe flashed his lights, Nyssa laughed. “Well, I better get moving. Joe’s tired, and I don’t want to push my luck. He’s not usually willing to help me do anything at church, so I was thankful he came.”
“Well, he picked a good night to go. You guys did a great job tonight. I loved the play.”
“Thanks. I hope you can come again. If you need a ride, call. The church owns a bus, and the number’s on the pamphlet the ushers passed out.”
“That’s good to know. Taking cabs can get expensive.” Charlie glanced into the mirror. “I better let you go. Thanks again for the ride.” Charlie opened the door and climbed out of the van.
“Anytime,” Nyssa added as Charlie closed the door.
Charlie walked up the stairs and was stepping into the building as Joe and Nyssa left. She turned when she heard a rustling sound. She glanced down the stairs and saw something white in the bushes.
She leaned over the rail peeking down into the dark shrubs. There, with its head stuck in a bag, was a snow-white cat. “Hey there. What are you eating?”
Charlie pulled out a flashlight, shining it in the direction of the cat and couldn’t help but notice the orange pumpkin smiling back at her. She hurried down the steps and walked around to the shrubs. She knelt down, reached in, and pulled the bag off kitty’s head, confirming it came from the church.
She took the sandwiches out, stuffed the bag into her pocket and laid the scraps on the ground for the kitten. The cat purred as she stroked its soft fur. Charlie quickly remembered she was on the streets of Chicago, and not in the suburbs of Ohio, so she glanced over her shoulder.
She was about to stand when once again she heard a rustling sound. Thinking it might be another cat; she moved the beam of light from side to side. When she saw a man’s hand, she fell backwards and screamed. For a moment she sat there, inches away from the fallen man.
It came to her as she began to move; this man was at church tonight. The bag had been inches from his hand. “Hey! Are you okay?” She moved to get on her knees as she began to pray. It was tempting to run inside the building and call the police.
As she was thinking about leaving, the story of The Good Samaritan came to her mind. She couldn’t just leave him there alone. “Sir. Wake up.”
After a moment she could see the man’s hand start to move. “Are you okay, do you need an ambulance?” She watched as he tried to rise to his knees. She hurried to her feet and helped him to stand.
In the process, she dropped her flashlight. She left it lying in the bushes and helped the man out of the shrubs.
“If you can walk, I’ll help you into the building, then we can call the police.” She still couldn’t see his face, but by his build and clothes she could tell he wasn’t an elderly person.
“I need to get some of this mud off. I don’t need the police now. I was mugged, I’ll be fine.”
Charlie looked up and down the street, Could the muggers still be around? She looked at the man. As he moved toward the light she could see him better.
His face was bleeding and caked in mud. “You don’t look okay to me.”
“I will be. I need to wash up and be on my way.”
The idea of taking a stranger into the apartment was intimidating but she couldn’t leave him alone. He was bleeding and he’d be a good target for another mugging. She wondered for a moment if The Good Samaritan wanted to run and hide instead of help.
Charlie hesitated at the door, praying, wondering what should she do. The bag with the smiling pumpkin came to her mind, and as she pulled it out of her pocket she asked. “Did you drop this?”
Then man looked down and Charlie moved the bag upward, where the streetlight would give him light to see. “Yes,” he said after a moment, “it came from the church.”
This was the answer Charlie needed to feel safe. “Come on. Let's get you inside where we can see what’s wrong with you.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
Charlie managed to get the young man upstairs and to the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and helped him to sit down. She ran the water until it was warm and then took a towel and began to clean his face.
He was dressed rather nicely in new jeans, a black leather coat and a western cut shirt. She noticed a fancy looking watch on his arm and a tiger’s eye ring on his finger.
She also noticed under all the blood and dirt was a very handsome young man. He seemed to be mostly out of it as she cleaned him up, but he managed to stay in the chair. Now and then he’d moan, though she was trying not to cause him pain.
Under the mud she found a cut on his cheek, a small scrape above his brow, and he looked like he’d soon have a black eye. As she kept working, she found a red scratch on the edge of his face, and another light cut on his neck.
Most of the mud was on his cheek, but she also checked inside his shirtfront and found some dried blood spattered on his chest. She took all the leaves out of his hair, and then managed to get his coat off.
It was here she found a cut in the sleeve of his coat. Once she laid the jacket aside, she looked over his arm. “This looks ugly.” Since he wasn’t talking, and he didn’t want
to go to the hospital she cleaned his arm the best she could, and bandaged the cut. It wasn’t bleeding by the time she finished wrapping the wound.
Forty-five minutes and a few bandages later, the man looked human again. Charlie stood, placing her hand on his shoulder, wondering if he was okay. “Are you awake? I think you should see a doctor.”
“I’ll be fine.” When he spoke her brow rose in wonder, so he is coherent.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
“My side hurts and I have a headache. Other than that I’m fine.”
“Your head hurts?” Charlie’s brow rose.
“Yeah, some punk hit me in the back of the head.”
Charlie moved behind the man and looked him over to see if there were any more wounds.
Finally she found a place on the back of his head. She pulled his hair back and though there was no blood, it looked painful. She stepped back and came to stand in front of him and spoke in a soft tone.
“You took a good hit to the back of your head.” The man opened his eyes and looked up. He squinted at the light but seemed to focus
“I’m fine. I just need some rest. My side is aching.”
“Are you sure?
“I’m sure. Can I crash on your couch for a while?” Charlie looked at the clock and knew Allie shouldn’t be home until six the next morning, so she nodded and put her hand on his shoulder.
“You can lay down on the bed. My roommate won’t like it if she comes home and finds a man on her couch.”
“I can leave if it’s going to cause you trouble.”
“No. She shouldn’t be home until the a.m., but just in case you can rest in my room. Come on. I’ll help you.”
It was a slow process but Charlie helped her patient into the bed. She then took off his shoes and pulled a blanket to his waist. He was out like a light. She sat on the window seat, looking at the handsome man before her. Was he lying about being at the service tonight? Could she have missed him in the crowd?
He didn’t have a beard, and his dark hair and dark eyes would catch her attention with ease. Charlie sighed and decided it didn’t matter. She glanced back and forth from the window to her patient.
After thirty minutes she rose, heading to the couch to read. Most of the time the man seemed restful, but now and then he’d moan and hold to his side. “I wonder if he has a broken rib.”
Charlie hoped her patient didn’t regret not calling an ambulance. Many people didn’t have insurance these days; maybe he couldn’t afford it.
Since he was sleeping peacefully, Charlie decided he was going to be okay. She turned quickly, looking at the stranger in her bed. What if he wakes up and wants to rob me? This wasn’t a good idea, but it was too late to change her mind.
She closed the door and glanced around. There was no way to lock him in so she sat a chair in front of the door. If he came out while she was reading, at least he wouldn’t sneak up on her.
End of Sample Street Justice Charlie’s Angel
First Five Chapters of Tidal Wave the second book in the Street Justice Series
Tidal Wave Kindle Version Here
Chapter 1
Antonio
He lay there staring at the crack in the ceiling as long as he could. Antonio Sanchez climbed out of bed, cringing when the bed springs squeaked. He stepped into his jeans, threw on yesterday’s T-shirt and slipped down the hall.
He quietly checked on Tommie and Tina. Thankfully, they were sleeping soundly. As far as his younger siblings knew their mother slapped him because he broke her new vase.
They were too young to understand what the fight was about, but if their mother didn’t stop bringing men home, sooner or later they’d figure it out - as he had. He didn’t want that day to come, but there was only so much he could do.
How many times had he rushed them into another room, or taken them outside to look at the stars. He was running out of tricks and games to keep them from seeing and hearing things that in the end would break their heart.
He’d hoped that when he turned fourteen, he’d be taller or broader. Maybe some of the men would be afraid of him, but so far, that hadn’t happened.
Antonio gave them dirty looks and didn’t try to hide his anger when the men came home with his mother. One guy laughed at him, but one of them last week actually seemed to feel sorry for him, which only made him more frustrated.
When his mom mentioned tonight she was going out again, he lost it. He picked up the vase that wimp George gave her and broke it across the end of the table. He knew the twins would hear the crash and come running so he spoke fast.
“Don’t you care what they think of you? I love you Mom, but you have to stop. The kids at school already laugh behind my back and call you a . . .” That’s when the slap came. It was hard, and he stepped back dropping what was left of the vase.
She’d never hit him before, but then again, he’d never used that word. He knew that in the morning all would be forgiven, and that she’d act like nothing ever happened.
She’d run her fingers through his hair and give him a smile that said she would try to do better. Maybe for a week or two she would be different. Once she even stopped dating. She acted different, and spent more time with him and the twins, but as always, it started to fade, and she went back to her old habits.
Antonio slipped into his shoes and walked down to the water. They’d lived all over Chula Vista, but this was the first time they’d ever rented a house on the beach. He didn’t want to move again.
He loved going down to look at the ocean just as the world was coming to life; it was quiet and peaceful. A few times, he’d even thought he heard God speak.
His grandmother had told him over and over, that if his heart was in the right place, and if he listened long enough that God would speak to him.
What would God say now? He’d probably laugh at his poor attempt to straighten out his mother. He might mention that all of them should go to church with Grandma, and maybe, He’d say that no one was perfect. Antonio laughed and looked up to the sky.
“I’m doing my best. Some help would be nice here.” He shook his head and could hear his grandmother’s voice saying, “Now don’t let me catch you making fun of God.” He laughed again and knew that if it wasn’t for the twins, he’d more than likely move in with his grandmother.
He pushed every thought he could out of his mind and drug his feet, loving the feel of the California sand. He moved to a piece of driftwood and sat down. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the ocean.
It was the time of the day when the sun wasn’t up, but you could tell the morning was coming. Antonio knew he should be in bed asleep, but there were just too many things going through his mind.
As always, the troubles of his home life came creeping back disturbing his peace and quiet. He looked over his shoulder expecting his mother to be standing there, arms crossed, shaking her head, because he’d called her an ugly name.
He didn’t like fighting with his mother, but she couldn’t keep bringing strangers into their home.
Antonio sighed and dropped his hand, reaching down to dust the sand off his pants legs. He was so tired of being the adult. He wiggled his mouth and felt a twinge of pain in his cheek.
He forced himself to laugh again; it wouldn’t do any good to cry. He was becoming a man, and men didn’t cry . . . did they?
The sound came to him out of the morning mist. He looked up into the sky and after a moment, he rose. It was a plane, but something didn’t sound good. Turning right and then left, he finally found it. He squinted, trying to pick the plane out of the semi-darkness.
When he did see it, he could tell something wasn’t right. The plane looked too low. He watched as it came in closer. He took out his cell phone and began to walk, keeping the plane in sight. It was coming down too fast; were they going to land here?
He sprinted down the beach, holding to his phone; the plane was ahead of him now, and still falling. He wanted to pray
, but didn’t know how.
As the plane came down Antonio hit the ground, sand spraying him in the face. He wasn’t far from the plane; would it land on the beach or hit the water?
He buried his head and listened. There was a crashing sound, and the groan of glass breaking, but no explosion. Seconds later he made the 911 call. The operator took his information, saying help was on the way. Antonio pushed his phone into his pocket and rose.
The plane’s landing gear had crumpled into the sand, and the plane creaked to a stop and now sat pointing out toward the ocean. The left wing was broken, and smoke rolled from the motor. Antonio ran toward the plane, but paused as he saw a shadowy figure landing on the ground, feet first.
He could hear someone yelling, but he stopped when he saw a man pull a gun from the plane and stuff it into the back of his pants.
Antonio fell back into the sand, hiding behind some rocks as the man turned, scanning the beach. He willed himself to disappear into the dirt and waited. The man yelled out for his companion. “Caldwell, where are you?”
Suddenly, the man’s tone changed. “Caldwell? Are you okay?” Antonio’s curiosity got the best of him. He raised his head to see what was going on.
*****
Moaning Carlos began to move around. “Man, that was some crash. Caldwell, are you okay?” His head ached and he moved his body, starting with his hands. Nothing seemed broken; everything still worked, but Caldwell hadn’t answered.
Carlos sat up and felt some pain, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He rubbed his hand against his neck and felt blood. Something had gone wrong; the plane wouldn’t . . .“We gotta get out of here, Caldwell,” he whispered.
Maid for Martin Page 31