CHAPTER 3
Rick had tried to contact the newspaper to get in touch with the reporter, but it seemed that they were closed on weekends. He was disappointed. Patience wasn’t always his strong suit. He had no choice. He’d have to wait until Monday morning to try and get hold of her.
It was late. Rick was heading back to his apartment after spending some time in a local watering hole. It was becoming an all-too-frequent habit of his, but he found it difficult to spend too much time alone. The company of strangers had a comforting effect on him. For a time, he felt a little less lost, a little less lonely. Like he had a place to go in the world. Only there, no one really knew his name.
The bar was only a few blocks from his apartment. He typically avoided the more popular, crowded places. This one was small and dingy, a real hole in the wall, but that suited Rick just fine. He fit in well in a place like that. No one judged him, no one expected him to be anything other than what he was. Another anonymous stranger in a place that didn’t care who you were.
So far, he was keeping his drinking under control. He knew it could get the better of him if he let it. He’d seen the consequences of letting it become too much of a habit. He allowed himself two whiskeys. Then, he switched to the local cola. Safer that way. He didn’t need to flush himself down the drain all at once.
The streets around the bar had the usual nighttime crowd. A few people, alone like him, wandering, others boisterous and loud in groups. There were always comings and goings. People with places to go and things to do.
As he walked on, the activity died down. Voices were more distant. He was walking past an alley when something caught his attention. He heard grunting. At first, he figured it might be a clandestine romantic encounter, but then the tone shifted to something more sinister. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Someone cried out. It was dark, he couldn’t see much, but now he could tell it was a struggle.
Keep walking, he told himself. Don’t get involved. He had no idea what was going on.
He heard a yelp, then feet scurrying.
He stopped. “Hey!” Rick called out. “What’s going on?” He couldn’t help but do something. He was probably going to get himself in trouble. But when had that ever stopped him?
“Help me!” a young man’s voice called out in a desperate tone.
He heard a thud and a shriek. Then the sound of someone running his way.
“Get him!” a man’s voice shouted in Spanish.
Suddenly, the young man raced past him, his face bloodied. He looked terrified and desperate.
Rick could hear the others, at least two, giving chase. He looked down at the ground and noticed a broken 2x4 next to the building in the alley. Just a piece of garbage that hadn’t quite made it to the bin. He picked up the wood, ducked and gave a wallop as the first man reached the street. He got him square in the face. The man fell in a heap with a grunt. His cohort, running close behind, tripped over him, going ass over tea-kettle.
Rick gave the back of his head a good thwack.
Both were down for the count.
He looked around, but he couldn’t see the young man.
He sighed. “I sure hope I did the right thing.” He had no idea what was going on between these three, but the other guy was younger, smaller, outnumbered and had obviously taken a beating. That just didn’t sit right with him.
He turned to leave, but then to his great surprise, the young man reappeared.
“Hey, are you ok?” Rick asked, startled.
“You knocked them out?” He spoke in a Spanish accent.
“Yeah, I did,” Rick replied. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time. I never liked bullies.”
The young man’s eyes were wide with fear, but also with something else. Determination. He bent down and started rifling through their pockets.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rick asked.
“They stole something from me. I need to get it back.” He found what he was looking for in one of their back pockets. It was a folded piece of paper. The young man was about to put it in his own pocket, when one of the men grunted, coming to, and reached for his arm.
The younger man gasped, falling backwards.
Without thinking, Rick gave the man another solid whack on the head with the 2x4.
He slumped down once again.
The young man pushed himself up and once again rifled through the men’s pockets.
“Are you crazy?” Rick said incredulously. “You’re taking a helluva risk. Let’s get out of here before they come to again. They’re not gonna be too happy with us.”
“I have to. It may be muy importante.”
“More important than your life?”
He ignored Rick. Finally, he fished out what looked to be an old, tarnished compass. “Ahh, got it.” He stood up, pocketed the compass, but then swayed, unsteady on his feet.
Rick caught him. “You’re hurt.”
Rick saw his face more clearly now. He was young, maybe twenty or so. His right eye was swollen, his cheek cut and bleeding.
“I’ll get you to a hospital,” Rick said, as he steadied him with one arm around his waist. He held onto the 2x4, just in case.
The young man shook his head. “No, I need to get home to my sister. Es urgente.” He tried to push Rick away, but he stumbled.
Rick caught him again. “Dude, like it or not, you need my help.” He looked over his shoulder at the two men slumped over. “And we need to get away from here fast, before these two goons wake up and
