known activist.
It was no surprise to anyone when Glass went ballistic.
And that was where I came in. I hadn’t ever met Darnell Glass or Bob Hodding, but I was there when The Fight began.
So were two policemen.
I’d just pulled into the parking space on the other side of Glass’s, having picked that night of all nights to buy a hamburger instead of cooking for myself, an event so rare it later seemed to me that a cosmic joke had placed me at the punch line. It was a very warm evening in early September; of course, in Shakespeare we have to mow our yards until well into November.
I was wearing my usual T-shirt and baggy jeans, and I’d just finished work. I was tired. I just wanted to get my carry-out food and watch an old movie on television, maybe read a chapter or two of the thriller I’d checked out of the library.
Off-duty Shakespeare patrol officer Todd Picard was in Burger Tycoon picking up his family’s supper. On-duty patrol officer Tom David Meicklejohn had pulled in to get a Coke. But I didn’t know there were two serving officers of the law present.
Not that their presence had made any difference. Though, of course, it should have.
I’d seen wiry Darnell wisely get in the first punch, and I saw the taller, more muscular Bob Hodding gag and double over, and then I watched his friends swarm over Darnell like angry bees.
If I’d had a gun or a whistle, maybe the sudden noise would have halted them, but I only had my fists. These were strong high school boys full of adrenaline and I had my work cut out for me. Not wanting to seriously hurt the little bastards made my job more difficult: I could drop them fairly easily if I was inclined to cause some lasting damage. Since Bob Hodding was temporarily out of the picture, puking his guts out in the crepe myrtles lining the parking lot, I concentrated on his buddies.
I moved up behind the tallest boy, who was raining punches on Darnell Glass. First I pinched a pressure point in the upper shoulder of the boy, who was standing between the other attackers, with my right hand. With my left, I pressed a point in his upper arm. The boy shrieked. Though he began to crumple, he still provided me with cover from the black-haired kid on my right, who was swinging blindly at me, but standing legs a-spraddle… someone who’d never fought in the street. I kicked him in the balls, just a glancing blow, a pretty neat kogen geri.
That took care of him.
The boy I’d disposed of first finally hit the ground wailing. He tried to scramble back, out of the way, to figure out what had happened.
From the corner of my eye I finally noticed the patrol car. I saw Deputy Tom David Meicklejohn climb out of it. He did nothing but smile his mean redneck smile and extend his arms to bar spectators from joining in the brawl. A man in civilian clothes, a bag and a cardboard tray with five cups in holders bogging him down, was yelling at Tom David. I later learned this was off-duty officer Todd Picard.
Meanwhile, the third boy grasped Darnell around the waist and tried to lift him off his feet, a wrestling move. Losing patience and temper, I hook-kicked him behind his knee, and of course his legs folded. But the parking lot sloped, and he brought Darnell down with him. Darnell rolled rapidly to the side. I slipped on a wrapper on the pavement and hit the ground myself, and the boy’s flailing foot, shod in a boot, caught me painfully right at the joint of my right hip. I rolled away and jumped to my feet before the pain could get its teeth into me. When the wrestler struggled to his knees, I pulled his arm up behind him. “I’ll break it if you move,” I said. Most people recognize absolute sincerity. He didn’t move.
Being on the ground is most often bad in a fight, but Darnell, though bleeding in several places on his face and badly bruised, had not lost his spirit. Bob Hodding, slightly recovered from the punch to the stomach and frantic with rage, staggered toward Darnell for another try. Darnell kicked up at Bob, who staggered back into the arms of a Marine who happened to be on leave and visiting his family. This huge young man, right out of basic training, stepped around Tom David to grip Bob Hodding with a hold like handcuffs and give him some sound, if unprintable, advice.
I stood panting, scanning the group for another adversary. I was feeling pain in my lip, and I noticed a few spots of bright blood staining my gray T-shirt; an elbow had caught me in the mouth somewhere along the way. I straightened up, evaluated the remaining fight left in the boy I was restraining, decided it was practically nil. The Marine, whose name I never learned, caught my eye and gave me an approving nod.
“Sorry I didn’t get out here earlier,” he said. “That Tae Kwon Do?”
“Goju. For close fighting.”
“My drill sergeant would love you,” he said.
I tried to scrape together a smile.
At that point a noise like a siren went off a few feet away.
It was coming from the mouth of Darnell Glass’s girlfriend,
Tee Lee Blaine. She’d watched the fight from inside the car. Now she scrambled out to help Darnell rise. She was floundering through a spectrum of emotions, from fear for her own safety and Darnell’s, to anger over the dent in the car, to rage that Darnell had been ganged up on. She knew each of the white boys by name, and she gave each of them a few new ones.
I caught Tom David Meicklejohn’s eye. I wanted powerfully to kick him.
He smiled at me. “Keeping back the crowd,” he said succinctly. By then, Todd Picard had deposited the food in his car and was standing by Tom David’s patrol vehicle. Todd looked ashamed. I’d finally recognized him, and if I’d had the energy I’d have slapped him. I expected no better from Tom David, but Todd could have given me a hand.
For the first time, I realized there was quite a crowd. Burger Tycoon is on Main Street (Shakespeare’s not too imaginative about street names) and the restaurant had been full. It was true that if Tom David had not kept the crowd back the incident could have turned into a full-fledged riot; but he had allowed most of this to happen, as I saw it.
Suddenly the hip that had taken the kick began to throb. I’d run out of adrenaline. I eased myself down into a sitting position and leaned my head back against the car.
“Lily! You okay?” a voice called from the crowd, and I saw my neighbor. Carlton, neatly groomed as always, was accompanied by a bosomy brunette with a headful of curls. I remember thinking about his companion for longer than the topic deserved, trying to recall where the woman worked.
It had been nice to have someone ask about my welfare. I was feeling distinctly flat and a little shaky.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. I closed my eyes. I would have to get up in a minute. I couldn’t sit here looking hurt.
Then Claude was bending over me, saying, “Lily! Lily! Are you hurt?”
“Sure,” I said angrily. I opened my eyes. “Having to do your cops’ jobs for them. Help me up.”
Claude extended his hand and I gripped it. He straightened and pulled, and I came up. Maybe not gracefully, but at least I was steady on my feet once I got there.
Darnell Glass was standing by that time, too, but leaning heavily against his car, Tee Lee supporting him on his other side. The Marine let go of his captive, and the white boys were getting into Tom David’s patrol car.
“You have a problem with your officer there,” I told Claude.
“I have more problems than that right now,” he answered quietly, and I observed that the crowd was restless, and hot words were being exchanged among a few young men in the parking lot.
“Get in my car,” he said. “I’ll get the boy and the girl.”
So we all took a ride down to the police station. The rest of the evening was completely miserable. The white boys were all juveniles. Their parents descended in a cloud of buzzing, like angry African bees. One father snapped at me that he ought to sue me for hurting his boy-the one I’d kicked in the groin-and I used his prejudice against him. “I would love to tell the court how a woman beat up your boy and two others,” I said. “Especially when they were ganging up on one young man by himself.” I heard no more comments about suing.
Until now. And I wasn’t the target of the lawsuit.
As our waitress left, Claude spread his napkin in his lap and speared a shrimp. “Tom David was there and did nothing,” he said, just a hint of question in his voice. “Todd was there and did nothing.”
I raised my brows. “That’s right,” I said. “Do you doubt it?” He shot a look at me from under his heavy brows. “Tom David says he had to keep the other people from joining in. Todd says he was afraid he wouldn’t be
