Murph chuckles and waves me off. “Shut the fuck up, bro. Joe will never believe you. That old fart fucking loves me.”
He does too. He tells me all the time, “That big friend of yours worries about you. I think it’s nice that he cares enough to look out for you.”
Sometimes I’d like to tell Joe that I don’t need Murph looking out for me. I’m twenty four years old for Christ sake, and I’ve been on my own taking care of my sister and myself since I was seventeen. But I never say anything. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I feel loyal to Joe and respect him in a way.
Joe used to be a boxer in the 1970’s. He never really got anywhere as a boxer, but as a trainer he was pretty damn amazing. I heard a couple of people around the city talking about how he trained some of the greats.
I remember the day he recruited me. Well, if you want to call plucking a young scrapper off the street recruiting.
It was about two years ago. I’d been running some blow for Connie and on my way back, I saw some prick trying to rape and assualt a girl.
During my drug-running years, I’d seen a lot of shit go down and never got involved. I’d seen hookers getting beat up by their pimps. Junkies overdosing on the sidewalk. Runners holding other runners at gun-point. But this situation was different. The girl involved was different.
She was young, couldn’t have been more than nineteen and innocent looking. She vaguely reminded me of an angel, with platinum blonde hair, pink rosy cheeks, and she wore a frilly white blouse. As I walked past the darkened alley where the fucking pervert had her pinned against a brick wall, I watched her slump over when the burly man slammed her head into the brick barrier. And I’m not sure what made me react, but I knew I had to do something.
“Hey!” I yelled and took a step into the alley. My deep voice echoed and bounced off the bricks. “Back the fuck off!”
A grizzly voice shouted back at me, “Mind your own fucking business!”
I was stunned. I figured that maybe this guy would back off and possibly run away.
But he didn’t.
He went even further.
The moment he pulled the poor girls’ jeans down to her ankles, something inside of me snapped.
I lost the logical part of me.
Blind fury took over.
I snarled, charged toward him, yanked him back by the collar, and started wailing on him. I punched him so hard teeth flew out of his perverted mouth and skittered along the pavement. I kept glancing at the girl and thought that she could have been Teagan, my kid sister, or my Ma if she was alive. Then I pounded the guy harder. Every ounce of rage in my body pumped through my fists, and for a second, I thought I might kill the guy.
Insert Joe.
He saw me pummeling the fucking rapist and stopped me. Yeah, that’s right. He stopped me with two sentences.
The first one was; “Do you know what they do to rapists in prison?”
I eased up off the unconscious guy and held back a laugh. Why a laugh? I’m not quite sure now that I think of it, but I assume it was because I felt like he stole the question right out of my brain. My guess was a whole lot of anal research.
Second was; “That girl needs a hospital.”
Shit. I let my anger get the best of me. I completely forgot why I was punching the prick in the first place.
At first I was pissed, you know? Pissed that Joe decided to butt in and make me stop. I kept thinking if I kill this guy, so what? That’s one less rapist and pervert that the women in this area have to worry about. With the drug cartels and branches of the mob, this area has enough problems as it is.
Subtract a rapist.
Then add in me, a criminal, I mean hero.
I think the citizens would appreciate my random act of nobility.
But when I scooped the limp girl up in my arms and her head rolled into the crook of my neck, I knew Joe was right.
She needed a hospital.
And she needed one fast.