“Go away.”
Another moment went by.
The boy to his right, the one with the backwards Yankees cap, tugged at his arm. “Let’s go.”
The group began to back up. Finally, they headed back across the street to an Altima Coupe and climbed in. With the engine roaring, they defiantly tore out of the space.
We watched as they disappeared around the corner. I looked over at Jon then at Alli. She ran over to me and wrapped her arms around my chest. Her entire body was shaking. I looked over her shoulder to Jon. “I ‘don’t look like much’?”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll let it go this time.”
We stayed just like that for another minute with Alli’s arms around me, then we slowly started walking again. We passed Jon’s car and continued up the block. By the time we had gotten to the corner, Alli had unpried herself from me.
Finally, Jon asked, “What do you suppose that was all about?”
“I don’t know. Revenge?...If they’re connected to the guy from last night. Or maybe they just want me out of the way. Maybe they think I can identify them.”
“Well, you can now,” Jon said.
We turned and headed back.
“Are you going to tell the police?” Alli asked.
“I guess. I’ll call them after I take you home.”
We walked to Jon’s Eclipse. He opened the door, but turned to Alli, “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
Jon got in, turned on the engine, and rolled down the window. “Dinner and an almost mugging. Not bad.”
“Last night it was dinner and an almost assassination. I don’t want to think about tomorrow night.”
Jon half-laughed, “See you tomorrow,” and pulled away from the curb.
I turned to Alli. “Time for me to take you home.”
“Sounds good.”
She leaned on me again and we went back to my car. The ride to Alli’s place took ten minutes, and the entire time she held my hand. I didn’t press for conversation. Talking about what just happened would be counterproductive and I didn’t feel like filling the silence.
I found a parking spot on Battery Avenue on Federal Hill around the corner from her door, and didn’t hesitate to pull in; there wasn’t going to be anything closer. We got out of the car and I put my hand back in hers. As we strolled to her house, the night seemed refreshingly serene. The brick sidewalk looked particularly clean beneath the street lights and there was even a little more air movement here. The neighborhood was calm. Peaceful.
We approached her door and I let go of her hand. “Do you want to come in?” she looked into my eyes. “You probably could use a drink.”
Alli still looked a little shaken and I didn’t want to leave her alone just yet. Besides, I could use a drink. “Sounds good. I’d love t–”
I felt more than heard the movement behind me. I spun around, with my right hand already moving up for a block. I didn’t know what was behind me, but I wasn’t about to take a chance. A stainless steel hatchet flashed in the orange lamppost light.
The weapon came down — that’s all I saw, that’s all I was focused on — but I caught the arm that held it just above his elbow and redirected it, mostly with its own momentum, to the side, across the attacker’s body. My movement was fluid. The man was now sideways to me and I punched him with my left fist just below the corner of his right eye. I heard his cheekbones crack. I hit him twice more. Blood spurted out of his ear. As he fell, I caught a glimpse of his face. It was the kid leader from the aborted mugging not more than thirty minutes ago.
He was using a hatchet. That’s all that went through my mind.
I looked up to see his three buddies now standing over him. The one with the backwards Yankees cap was closest. Next to him was the straight-haired wiry kid and then the one who had seemed really nervous. He was already backing up. The kid with the Yankees cap began to reach for something in his back pocket. Before he could bring his hand out, I kicked him just under his belt buckle where the front of his pelvis was located. He collapsed straight downward, writhing in pain. I moved toward the other two. They turned and ran.
I went back to the leader, the kid who didn’t need crutches, the kid whose eyes were among the coldest I had ever seen. He was motionless on the ground, the side of his face already turning a purplish red. His right eye was beginning to swell shut. I knew I had broken his cheekbones and probably part of his upper jaw. The hatchet he planned to cleave my skull with had fallen to the ground next to his side. I walked over to his right hand, the one that had held the weapon, and stamped down on it. There were several distinctive cracks.
I looked back up at Alli. She had gone pale again. She started trembling and then threw up. Several times. I put my arm around her shoulders and led her to her steps so she could sit down. As I sat holding her, I looked from the motionless figure on the ground to his partner doubled over in pain.
Shit. They just couldn’t leave it alone.
With one hand still around Alli, I reached for my cell phone. In my contact list I found a number I hadn’t used in more than half a year. I let my thoughts settle, looked back at the bodies, and then pressed “call.”
6
While I waited for the ambulance and the cops, I left Alli’s side and walked over to the leader, who was all but lifeless on the ground near me. His breath was faint and his face was swollen and discolored, particularly around his right eye and cheek. Up on the steps, Alli stared at me, unfocused. I’d tend to her in a minute, but first I had to find out as much as I could about this kid before the police blocked off the scene.
The boy’s side pants pockets were pretty much empty...some change, a pack of matches, keys on a key chain. To get to his back pocket I had to roll him over slightly. As I did so, he moaned. Out of his back pocket I pulled a wad of bills. It looked like about $200 in tens and twenties, and they were wrapped around some sort of identification card. I held it up to the streetlight. The card was blue and white and emblazoned across the top with the words “Guardians of Heaven.” Below that heading was a picture of the boy, scowling, and his name: Joe Gilkis.
That’s all there was. “Guardians of Heaven,” the boy’s photo, and his name.
I turned the card over. The reverse side was all in Hebrew. Across the top it said Shomrei Shamayim — the Hebrew equivalent of “Guardians of Heaven.” Below the heading the card went on to espouse how the member was a special person and charged with upholding the laws of the organization. In small print across the bottom of the card were two addresses. One was in Baltimore and one in Jerusalem. I made a mental note of both.
I turned the card over again. A membership card with no leader’s name, no president or any authority figure.
“Ohh, help me. Please.” I looked over at the other boy who tried to attack me. He was still on the ground, clutching his groin. Chances are when I kicked him, I broke his pubic symphysis
