by T. F. Torrey
I waved back, wondering how long it would take Macy Barnes to be back in a little while.
Chapter 3
The idea of the game was to attract the police, and guess who I ran into at the corner of McDowell and 11th Avenue.
Disturbing the peace.
That thought had been screaming through my head since John had fired the shots. I’d run for two blocks before I even realized that I was running south—away from my apartment.
And I was running. Only guilty people run so far away from gunfire. I stopped running and stood panting on the corner, feeling the perspiration wet on my calves and forehead, getting my bearings.
And that’s when the police car drove by. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if they’d seen me running, if they were even responding to a call about the shots fired, if they were going after John and Macy.
Then the driver cranked the wheel hard left and threw the patrol car into a power slide, tires screaming, blue lights stabbing through the darkness, siren searing the night. The driver aimed the hurtling mass of chrome and lights back up the street at me. I wondered if they could really charge me with anything and if I should just stay put and tell them I didn’t see anything.
But I wondered it while I fled up the street.
Resisting arrest.
I ran past the black and white police car as it screeched up to the curb. The officer riding shotgun leapt out as I flew by. He shouted Halt! at me, then I heard his footsteps about twenty yards back as he broke into pursuit.
Ahead of me, McDowell Road stretched on for miles. As I raced past 13th Avenue with the policeman still huffing hot on my trail, however, I realized that it didn’t matter how long McDowell ran on. I couldn’t run that far. I would lose a footrace.
On my right, set back away from the road by a parking lot, was a shopping plaza. I cut through the lot and dodged between a couple of cars parked there. I didn’t stop to wonder why they were still there in the middle of the night, but I did wonder. In the center of the plaza, an alley for trash pickup and merchandise delivery went between the buildings to the back lot. I glanced back just before I sprinted into it. The policeman had lost a few steps somewhere. Maybe he had stopped to wonder about the cars.
When I hit the rear of the building, I hung a sharp left and hid behind a dumpster, panting. Then, from nowhere, I had a flash of brilliance. With the patrolman’s footsteps pounding closer, I looked through the trash in the top of the dumpster. For a change, luck was on my side. I picked up a beer bottle and heaved it as far as I could. Just as the policeman hove into view, the bottle smashed on the asphalt.
For an instant I could see his face in the moonlight, strained and angry. Then he was sprinting to where the bottle had smashed—away from me.
Ducking low, I ran the other way down the alley. It seemed to go on forever, but it was only about a hundred feet. As I reached the end, I could hear the policeman barking into his radio. I couldn’t catch the words, but I guessed from his tone he was reporting that he’d lost me. I peeked out from the corner of the building. In the parking lot, the other patrolman stood in the open driver’s side door of the patrol car, holding the radio microphone in one hand and looking around the plaza. Thirty or forty feet separated this building from the next one down the line, which had a similar back alley. I realized that even that refuge would be only fleeting, but I also knew that I had no other choice. I didn’t even have the option to wait.
Watching the patrolman in the car, I wished I could tell where he was looking, but it was too dark. Looking across the parking lot at the next back alley, I wished that the distance was smaller, but the buildings weren’t going to move. Thinking about the whole stupid game, I wished I’d never agreed to play, but—
I sprinted across the lot and into the back alley and along the back of the building as fast as I could go, not stopping or even looking back until I’d reached the other end. Then I looked around. Another parking lot lay between me and the street. On the corner, a sign told me this was 15th Avenue. At this end, the parking lot was lit up like a baseball stadium. I was positive that I’d be surrounded by Phoenix police as I dashed across the parking lot and headed up the sidewalk beside 15th.
But I wasn’t.
Here, a veritable jungle of bushes and palm trees grew between the sidewalk and the houses. If any police came, I would be able to hide before they got to me—probably.
I trotted along, trying not to look suspicious, heading toward Encanto Park. Looking up and down the street, I happily discovered that I was alone for the moment. I slowed to a fast walk. In the distance a siren wailed. I wondered where Macy and John were. Even though this game had been their stupid idea, I still hoped that they fared better than I.
This was the street we had come down earlier. Now I recognized the street where we had turned and stopped and John had fired the gun. I was afraid to even look down the street. I hurried across. Once on the other side, still speeding up the sidewalk, I sneaked a glance back over my shoulder—just in time to see a police cruiser turning onto 15th off McDowell.
I made it to the bushes just before their headlights flashed on the sidewalk. From my hiding place, I could watch them. They cruised slowly, probing their spotlight into the hiding places beside the road. My pulse throbbed in my throat. When they got to the street where we had turned, they turned also, heading back to the scene of the crime. Just before they disappeared from my sight, their spotlight played over the clump of bushes I was hiding in. For a second I knew I was caught and I was going to have to bolt.
But then they were gone, up the street and out of sight, and I breathed a small sigh of relief.
I leapt up from my hiding spot and ran up the sidewalk. I had to get some distance between me and the crime scene. I had to get back to my apartment. I wondered where John and Macy were. I wondered where the bullets had come down. I wished I knew the streets better so I could get off this big divider street. If I could make it to Thomas Road, I could—
A second before he hit me, I smelled him. He just lowered his head and shoulder into my side and tackled me. We tumbled off the sidewalk into the street.
He was the jogger we’d seen before, of course. I’d have recognized that smell anywhere. In the moment when we were falling, after he tackled me and before we landed on the pavement, I realized that he was the neighborhood hero I’d warned John about earlier.
We hit the asphalt in a pile of legs and arms. I lay on my left side and he was on all fours, trying to pin me down. But he lifted his head at the wrong time, and I snapped my right arm back, catching his nose with my elbow.
First degree assault.
No, he attacked me. I was just running along, minding my own business, and he came flying out of the park and attacked me. Where’s a self-defense witness when you need one?
When I elbowed his nose, he rolled off me a little and I jumped up. He sat back on his haunches, hands to his face. As I turned to run, he lunged and grabbed my right ankle. Down I went. With my left foot, I kicked his hands and he let go.
He was on his feet before I was, squared off toward me. His hair, already matted with sweat, now lay ruffled over his forehead. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. He wiped it off with the back of his sleeve. “You young punks,” he said. “You’re not going to get away with it this time. People in this neighborhood don’t like your kind.” The tone of his voice was whiny and condescending and all at once it reminded me of my father’s voice.
I detested my father.
I wanted to say that I wasn’t a young punk, that it hadn’t been my idea, that I’d tried to stop them, but I could tell I’d be wasting my time.
Suddenly he launched himself at me, charging like an ex-football star. He came at me with his head low, meaning to tackle me like he had the first time.
But this time I was prepared. After he had committed himself, I ducked as low as I could and hoped he didn’t have time to react. He didn’t. His legs came up against me with the
rest of him above me against nothing, putting him off balance. When his body started to fall over me, I threw my forearm against his knees and heaved them as high as I could back over my head.
If he’d been a gymnast or a ninja warrior he might have had skill and training enough to complete the flip and land on his feet. None of that was his reality, however, and he thudded on his back on the asphalt.
Spinning around, I could tell he had the wind knocked out of him pretty good. His eyes were squinted closed, but if they’d been open he would have had an excellent view of the stars.
I didn’t stop running until I got to Thomas Road.
At Thomas, I stopped running and hung a left, walking now. My own sweat was flowing freely by this time and I would have my own aroma, though probably not as pungent as that of the neighborhood hero.
We’d come down 15th Avenue from Indian School, but I didn’t want to go back that way. I was only about a mile from my apartment now. Many times after work I’d gone for a walk and wound up in this neighborhood. I knew the back streets here, and now I wanted to stay off the more significant ones. I knew my shirt should be easily remembered by police and neighborhood heroes alike.
I turned north on 17th Avenue. The breeze had turned into a wind from the south. The monsoon was approaching and it looked like we were in for a storm tonight. Usually the monsoon storms didn’t bring much rain. Mostly the wind would kick up and drive a wall of sand across the valley. Sometimes the sand would get thick and sometimes it would rain afterward, but usually the storms merely blew some dirt around. At any rate, if I didn’t get home soon I’d have sand down my back and in my eyes.
I kept looking back over my shoulder. Apparently the neighborhood hero had given up or gone for reinforcements. I wondered what the police strategy was or if they even had one.
I didn’t wonder long. Halfway between Thomas and Indian School was Osborn, and just as I reached it, a police cruiser, spotlight blazing, crossed 17th going west on the next street north. Apparently they were combing the residential streets, figuring that they were where I’d hide. They were right, but now I changed my strategy.
Hoping they didn’t have a bunch of cruisers out looking, I hid in plain sight. I turned right on Osborn and I didn’t see any police cruisers all the way back to 15th Avenue. On 15th I hung a left and again saw no cars. I was walking fast, but on the road where we’d been before, in plain sight. Hopefully no one would think to look there.
It was less than a half mile to my place now. If things went well, I’d be home inside of ten minutes. If things went—
Down I went, and as I was lying on my back, I thought that I had been stupid to leave the broomstick there on the sidewalk after I’d tripped over it the first time.
I got up and looked around. No one was there to laugh at me, and no police were there to arrest me. While I was dusting myself off, I realized that in a way I’d been lucky so far tonight. I’d fallen down on the sidewalk and been knocked down a couple times on the asphalt, but I didn’t even have a bruise yet.
Then, from behind me, I heard the unmistakable scrabble of hard claws on concrete. I knew what it was even before I spun around.
The dog was back.
Ten yards and closing, running full tilt. No time to run, no place to hide. As he took his last few steps and leapt at me, I could hear his ragged breath and see the steady glint in his eyes. In the flash of a second, while he sailed through the air at my chest, I wondered where John was.
And I picked the broomstick up off the sidewalk.
He must have seen me swinging it up and lowered his head to try to dodge it. The end of the stick stabbed into his left eye. His momentum drove the stick deep into his eye socket. His weight ripped the stick from my grip, but in doing so knocked him away from me. He hit the sidewalk with an awkward flop, yelped, and shook his head. The stick rattled out into the street. I stood by, dazed, while the dog yelped again and pawed at his face.
Then he ran away, stopping every few yards to whimper and scratch at his face with his paw. He looked back at me once, and the mush oozing from his eye socket turned my stomach sour. I watched him go, feeling sorry for him even though I’d had virtually no choice. He’d been the one attacking me, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
Finally he was gone out of sight, and I turned to finish walking home. I was close to Indian School Road now. Close to home.
Just then a patrol car crossed Indian School in front of me.
I quickly stepped off the sidewalk and behind a palm tree. Police cars all look the same, but I figured it wasn’t the same one as before. They must have had at least two out, combing the main roads and the back streets. So I left both.
At my left was a service alley. Throughout the city, these overgrown gravel pathways separated the backyards of the houses on residential streets. Parallel to the side streets, these alleys had a trash bin at every house, serving to keep the garbage trucks from having to stop on the main streets. This one would serve to get me closer to my place without police observation. I figured that the police would rather lose me than search every service alley.
To isolate the homes from the alley and from each other, the developers had framed each with a four-foot-high chain link fence. Even though there was a gate at each yard, these were nearly always closed and usually locked.
I made my way quickly along the alley. The noise of my feet crunching on the gravel concerned me, because I didn’t want to wake up dogs in the area. Even though they couldn’t get me here, their barking would alert the police, or more heroes. I walked as quickly and as gingerly as I could. My breathing was still heavy and my damp shirt clung to me in places. I felt pretty lucky and confident by the time I’d made it halfway.
That’s when I heard, soft and clear in the hot air, the anguished cry of a girl.
***
The sound came from the house to my left. A wide, low palm in the corner of the yard kept me from seeing the house, but the noise was not the kind I could ignore. I carefully moved next to the fence to where I could see past the tree.
There was a bit to look at. The fence contained a modest back yard, with short palm trees in the corners. A big red cooler sat by the back door, and at least a case of empty beer cans had been thrown past it out into the grass. The things in the back yard, however, got little of my attention.
My eyes and mind were drawn inside the house. The back door was open. Inside, lights I couldn’t see lit the scene and cast a patch of light on the lawn outside the door. Against the far wall was a ragged couch with the girl on it. She was pretty, in an average kind of way. Dark hair, dark eyes. Young, perhaps in high school. She sat with her hands folded in her lap. She smiled, but it was a weak smile. The look on her face said she’d rather have been anywhere else. It wasn’t difficult to see why. On each side of her, ugly oafs sat entirely too closely.
To the right, the swine with the brush cut, tank top, and indistinct tattoo had his arm tightly around her shoulders, and he kept pulling her closer. He was laughing intensely, but not so much as to take his mind off the girl. The rodent with greasy blond hair and a band T-shirt sitting on the other side of her was laughing, too, but appeared to be forcing it. His big left hand was spread out on her knee, and while he laughed he inched his hand up to her thigh.
Both were noticeably older than the girl, and I wondered for a moment how she came to be in their company in the first place. I didn’t dwell on it.
On the coffee table in front of them, a half-empty bottle of what looked like tequila stood alongside a plate of what must have been sliced limes. An empty liquor bottle lay on the dirty brown carpet just inside the door. All three on the couch kept looking up at the space beside the door, the guys talking to people I couldn’t see, the girl just looking unhappy.
As I watched, unseen, from my vantage point in the alley, the swine on the right laughed again, earnestly, smiling broadly at one of the people I couldn’t see. The rodent smiled, but did not laugh. While he in
ched his left hand up the girl’s thigh he reached his right hand up to touch the curls on her forehead. She pushed both of his hands away, and he grabbed her arm roughly.
He said a couple of words to her and deliberately put his left hand back on her knee. With his right hand he picked up the bottle and took a long drink. The swine smiled at her and said something to her with a lighten up look on his face. She lowered her head a little and bit her lower lip.
The swine accepted the bottle from the rodent and took a long drink himself.
I knew that the situation was about to get very ugly.
Some people can walk away from situations like that, saying it’s the girl’s own fault for being there in the first place, telling themselves that they’re not her babysitter anyway. Most people just don’t want to get involved.
I’ve never been one of those people.
I knew it didn’t make any sense, an out-of-shape bartender taking on two or more guys on their own turf. It didn’t matter. I’d been in similar situations before, and I knew that nothing was going to turn me around now. I wasn’t leaving without the girl. Don’t bother telling me the odds.
I could feel my heart beating in my chest, feel my blood running cold through my veins.
I grabbed the top of the fence with both hands, dug a toe into the mesh, and vaulted over the fence with a grace that surprised me. They neither heard me nor saw me as I walked through the dark yard to the door.
As I walked, the rodent on the right reached for the top button of the girl’s blouse. She pushed his hand away, and the swine slapped her hard across the face. I stepped into the light just outside the door, and both oafs looked up at me, surprised and irritated. The girl lifted her head and looked at me, too. Her eyes were wet. Her dark hair fell around her face, but not enough to hide the blotchy red handprint on her cheek.
“Hello,” I said calmly. “You guys havin‘ a party?”
The rodent who had reached for the girl’s blouse stood up, a bit unsteadily, stepped over the coffee table, and walked over to stand just inside the door.