Austin S. Camacho
Collateral damage
1
Saturday
Isaac sent Janet into the corner with one last backhand slap before responding to the pounding noise behind him. “If this is one of your nosy neighbor friends, they’ll get the same as you,” he said. He shuffled his broad frame to the door to stare through the small pane just below his eye level. Somebody was there but it was too dark to see them. Arrogance rumbling in his throat, he flung the door wide.
His visitor offered more than a few surprises. First, his mode of dress — a black suit and tie — seemed rather formal. He wore black leather driving gloves and dark sunglasses, despite the fact that the moon was out behind him. He must have been black too, but he was awfully light for a black man, more like the color of coffee if you used real cream. And his hair was wavy, not kinky like all the black guys at Redskins camp before they threw Isaac out. For his temper, they said. As if a temper was a bad thing for a lineman to have.
“You know, a woman screaming like that will attract people’s attention,” the black guy said. Isaac figured the most surprising thing about this guy was that he was smiling. He looked so relaxed that Isaac was tempted to relax too. Some of the rage was seeping out of him. He glanced down at his bruised left knuckles, then back up at the man at the door. Well not up, really. The black guy was a good four inches shorter, which would make him just about six feet tall.
The newcomer also looked at Isaac’s big knuckles, and his smile dimmed just a bit. He kept one hand wrapped around the other in front of him. When he looked up, his gaze focused past Isaac for a moment, before he looked up into Isaac’s face. “My name is Hannibal Jones. My little friend back there called me because he thought you folks might be having some trouble. Mind if I come in?”
Isaac twisted around to see a scrawny black kid, maybe twelve years old, crouching at the back of the room. As he did, his new visitor slid past him. None of the other busy bodies who came to the door ever tried to come in, not even the cops. Not until they asked Janet if they should, and she was always smart enough to say no. Not that this guy was any threat. Isaac had maintained his training weight, almost three hundred twenty-five pounds. From the look of the intruder, Isaac figured that gave him a good hundred fifty pound advantage.
Hannibal walked to the center of the room, and seemed to anchor himself there. The boy stood frozen against the far wall. Hannibal stared hard at the woman in the corner, petite, cowering, waving him away. Her mouth formed the words “go now” without sound. He resumed that damned arrogant smile and returned his attention to Isaac.
“So, eh…where’s your boy?” Not a question Isaac expected. Usually the intruders started with “why are you doing this” or “what did she do to make you do this” or some such idiocy, as if they really cared. This guy didn’t seem concerned about why. Isaac wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“In his room,” Isaac growled, flipping his head so that his dirty blond hair dancing across his face. “What’s it to you?”
Hannibal pointed to the boy leaning against the wall and said “Monty, please.” The boy ran to the back of the house. Isaac stepped toward him, but Hannibal moved into his path.
“Monty goes to school with Nicky. He might just want to tell his friend goodnight, eh?”
Isaac hesitated for a moment, but then his eyes flared as he realized for the first time that he was losing control of the situation. “Get out of my house!” he said, his voice a hoarse roar, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. “Get out now!”
Hannibal stood his ground, his nose wrinkling as he stared up into Isaac’s big face. Was that some kind of subtle insult to Isaac’s breath? And so what if it was? Wasn’t a man entitled to a few beers on the weekend in his own house? Isaac could feel the blood pumping back into his face, knew he would be getting red as he always did just before the explosion. At least, that’s what Janet always said. His fists shook at his sides. The smaller man slowly raised his left hand to chest height, his palm facing Isaac.
“How about we clear the field first? Doesn’t it seem crowded in here to you?”
Isaac watched his son and the black kid run past behind Hannibal, and out the door. Isaac was surprised that Nicky left without even looking up, or even casting a backward glance at his old man. Something like regret flitted through his mind, and the rage dimmed just a bit.
“My boy…”
“Yes,” Hannibal said. “And now the lady, okay?”
The black kid was back in the house, taking Janet’s hand, helping her to her feet. They were walking behind the smaller man. She walked slowly, limping. Isaac was aware then of his power. And while he watched her, she turned her face to him. A red trail led down from her nose. Purple patches stood under her deep blue eyes, almost like the paint he used to put on before a game. But her eyes still cut into him, as they had earlier this evening, before it all started.
“No!” Isaac said in a guttural scream, his right arm reaching out for her. Two gloved hands wrapped around his arm, at the wrist and just below the elbow.
“Can’t we talk about this?” Hannibal asked. His voice was still calm but it sounded more urgent now.
Isaac swung his arm outward and around. It lifted Hannibal off the floor and he sailed across the room to crash into a wall. Isaac centered his attention on his wife, so close to the door, about to leave him. “Get back here right now, you bitch!” he shouted. The woman stopped, and if not for the boy with her, may well have turned around.
But then Isaac felt a thump in his ribs on his right side, and staggered to the left. Hannibal recovered from delivering the stamp kick and raised his arms as a guard. Now his posture was familiar. He was ready to fight.
“Let her go, Isaac,” Hannibal said in a voice too gentle for the circumstances. “You don’t really want to hurt her. Or anyone else.”
What the hell did he know? Isaac could feel the rage building again as he watched his woman vanish through the door. He would teach her to desert him. He would settle with her as soon as he was done with this intruder. He turned to square off against the other man. Hannibal stood with fists raised, feet spread apart like a boxer. Probably thought he was some kind of fighter. He would never know what hit him.
Isaac dropped his shoulders and charged as if breaking through the line to sack the quarterback. Hannibal appeared frozen in fear at first. It would be easy. But then, just as Isaac reached him Hannibal’s body shifted to the right. One foot did not move, and Isaac tripped over that outstretched right leg. A gloved fist thumped hard against the back of Isaac’s head. Momentum sent him crashing into the sofa, forcing it back into the wall with enough force to create a long crease in the plaster. Hannibal was on Isaac’s back in an instant, wrapping his right arm around Isaac’s throat. His voice was close in Isaac’s ear.
“How about we calm down a bit now?” Hannibal said. “No point in hurting each other…”
Isaac wouldn’t let him finish. He stood easily with the man on his back, and ran backward as quickly as he could across the small room. He knew he had run out of space when the wall stopped him. He heard the breath burst out of the little man on his back. He raised his arms to reach behind himself, clamping thick fingers around Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal’s left arm swung under Isaac’s arm and his left hand clapped onto the back of Isaac’s head. Hannibal’s right, still across Isaac’s throat, gripped his own left arm, creating a simple but effective choke hold. Isaac pulled his own arms down, but that only increased the pressure on his throat.
This little man wasn’t going to bring him down. He moved forward just far enough to smash backward into the wall again, crushing Hannibal between the cracking plaster and Isaac’s bulk. Again Isaac’s huge legs propelled him back into the wall. A third time. The intruder cried out in pain each time. He would have to give it up soon.
But then the room began to spin and darken. Isaac’s head ached and the little breath he was getting rasped in his throat. Then pain shot through his knees. That’s how he knew they had hit the bare tiles of the floor. Then his hands slapped the floor, supporting him and the burden on his back.
The last thing he remembered thinking was that he could have beaten the black guy easily if he had fought
