'We don't like niggers, and we don't like nigger lovers,' the weight lifter said.
I felt my frustration slowly catalyze into anger and the anger begin to build. I'd been wrestling with a phantom for weeks now, and here were live bodies, right before me, asking to wrestle. I held on. Five is a lot.
'Could you make a bicep for me?' I said.
The weight lifter actually made a start before he caught himself. I grinned to let him know I'd seen the start.
'Step out around that desk,' the weight lifter said.
'Or you'll come around and get me,' I said.
He was in the center, slightly forward of the other four. The guy to his right was red-haired and square- shouldered with a swarm of freckles on his face.
The weight lifter grinned slightly at his pals and said, 'Yeah.'
I got up from my chair and walked around my desk. Without breaking stride I kicked him in the groin. I put a straight left into his pal's face and pulled my gun from under my arm with my right hand. The other three froze in a kind of tableau.
The weight lifter sank to his knees, hands and forearms pressed between his legs. Red had taken maybe two steps back and was rocking back and forth, his hands to his face, the, blood trickling between his fingers.
'You three dopes, up against that wall,' I said. 'Lean your backs on it. Now walk away.'
They did as I said until they were leaning on the wall and would have to move their feet and arms and lunge to stand up.
'You too, Red, and don't bleed on my rug.' Red moved over, still holding his nose.
'Now,' I said, 'you, Muscles. You ready to continue yet?'
He was still on his knees, but he'd raised his head.
'What do you mean?' he said. His voice was strained with discomfort.
'You ready to teach me a lesson in race relations?' I said.
'You didn't have a gun,' he said.
'Sure,' I said. 'If I didn't have a gun I could fight five of you. That seems fair.'
'If you hadn't kicked me,' he mumbled.
'I'd have punched you like I did Red and you'd have blood all over your pectoral muscles. You ready to stand up yet?'
'Yeah.' He got painfully to his feet and looked at me with his head half lowered. 'We won't forget this,' he said.
'No, I certainly hope not,' I said. 'But I'm still game for a couple of rounds, if you like.'
'You holding the gun?'
'Sure, just so I don't have to deal with all five of you at once. So I'll fight you one-handed. How's that sound?'
'Sure, till I start winning, then you use the gun, right?'
'You won't start winning, so the question is moot,' I said.
'You think you can fight me one hand?'
'Sure,' I said, and hit him square in the nose with my left fist. It rocked him back and the blood started. Just like Red. He shook his head and started toward me.
'You on the wall, you start to move and I'll kill you,' I said, and rolled backwards and let his right fist sweep past my chin. I hooked my left hand over his right shoulder and caught him on the cheek under his right eye. I did it twice more, short hooks before he could get his right shoulder and arm up for cover. When he raised the right arm I slid around him with a little shuffle and got a sharp hook into his kidneys. He grunted and turned toward me, and I slapped the gun from my right to my left hand and hit him full swinging straight overhand right on the chin, and he sagged and rubber-legged backwards two steps and sat down, his legs spread and flaccid, his arms sagging in his lap. He sat for a minute, then went over on his side and was still.
One of the wall birds, a guy with a thick neck and very blond hair, said, 'You said one hand.'
'At a time,' I said.
I put the gun back in my right hand. My knuckles were a little numb and would probably be puffy tomorrow. There was a pleasant touch of sweat on my forehead and the muscles in my shoulders and back felt energized and engorged. I felt good. Watch out, Red Rose, I'm on your trail.
'Get him on his feet,' I said, 'and get him out of here.'
Red held on to his nose. The other three got the weight lifter to his feet and helped him as he wobbled among them. All five looked like they were trying to find a way to leave with dignity.
One of them, the blond one, said, 'We know where you are.' I said, 'You knew where I was this time, and look what it got you.' No one had anything to add to that, so they shuffled the weight lifter through the door and were gone.
I put the gun back under my arm, went to the sink in the washroom and ran cold water over my hands for a few minutes, and rinsed my face and toweled dry. Then I went back into my office and walked to the window and looked down at Berkeley Street where it intersects Boylston and did some deep breathing. . It seemed like he could trust her. He could talk to her about things he'd never said before. About that time in school. About his mother. She
