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“Think we’re about to witness a murder?”
The kid in the alley said something they couldn’t hear, and the three bigger guys started closing in. “Kid, you got a big mouth,” one of them says.
Deacon nodded, leaning forward on the handlebars of his bike. “Yeah, that’s a real possibility.”
He and Boozer were sitting across the street, watching as one of the guys gave the kid a shove, knocking him back against the brick wall behind him. Boozer glanced at Deacon. “Should we?”
Deacon grimaced. “I feel like we should do something, but I also kind of feel like if we do step in, this kid isn’t going to learn anything from it.”
“Geez, Deac, you sound like a proper grownup.”
“I’m just saying that this level of stupidity isn’t something you can overcome with a stern talking-to. It’s the kind of stupid you overcome when someone twice your size knocks half your teeth out.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Lots and lots of it.”
“In his defense, those guys don’t look like the type that needs a lot of provocation before they start knocking teeth out.”
“Guess that’s-”
Deacon froze.
The thugs were shifting around, a few of them leveling punches against the kid, and one of the guys had something in his hand- something that Deacon was reasonably certain was a gun.
Damn it.
“Alright, yeah, we really need to do something, that kid’s gonna get shot.”
He and Boozer hopped off their bikes and strode over. Boozer was packing, so was Deacon, but it would really be better to not get into a shootout in the middle of downtown Seattle. Aside from the obvious risks, Deacon wasn’t confident that the cops would see this as a rescue: He and Boozer weren’t in the habit of starting shit, but they were bikers that looked like bikers and that tended to push people to see them as people that they weren’t.
But then, that was better than getting shot.
Or watching some kid who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut get shot.
“Hey, buddy,” Boozer called as they approached. “There a problem here?”
Three heads turned towards them. The kid, kneeling on the ground, lifted his head and regarded them blearily- he’d probably gotten his brains rattled good and proper, given the size of these guys and the relative strength of their punches. “Nothing you need to worry about,” one of the thugs said, a thick accent making the words difficult to understand. “So move along.”
“Nah,” Deacon responded, crossing his arms. “Not happening. How about you let the kid up so he can walk off those hits you just threw at him?”
The one with the gun turned- oh yeah, definitely a gun- and used it to gesture towards the street. “Leave,” he grunted. “Or you’ll get what-”
Boozer jumped.
Of the many things Deacon admired about Boozer, his ability to go from resting to fighting in a split second was one of them; he had a real talent for looking chill right before he was about to pounce. And it worked real well in this situation, because the big dude with the gun clearly hadn’t seen it coming and ended up getting plowed into the wall, the gun flying further into the alley.
Deacon, meanwhile, launched himself at the other two. Not the greatest idea, but the plan was to keep them from running for the gun and making this fight a lot shorter and easier for them than it needed to be. Besides, Deacon was… kind of sure he’d taken on bigger guys before?
Kind of.
For a time it was a mess of fists and feet and pain, Deacon taking a few blows to the back, shoulders, and jaw at one point. Boozer seemed to be doing fine, and the kid was sitting up against the wall of the alleyway, nearly motionless. The tide seemed to turn when Boozer managed to hurl his guy out of the alley, onto the sidewalk and barely into the street, causing a car to come to a screeching stop and a few people nearby to start taking notice.
The thugs yelled at each other in what might have been Russian, and then hauled off without finishing what they had started.
“Chick-ens,” the kid slurred after them, one eye swollen shut. “Ba-gawk!”
Boozer snorted, shaking his head; Deacon’s eyes rolled shut.
“Kid, you gotta learn when to keep your mouth shut.”
[---]
The cops were surprisingly willing to believe that Boozer and Deacon had been in the right on this one.
Maybe it was the fact that they’d brought the kid (“Delsin”, Deacon was pretty sure what he’d called himself) to the hospital, or maybe it was because of the four or five witnesses that had kinda-sorta seen what had happened before Deacon and Boozer had hopped in, but all Deacon cared about was that he and Boozer weren’t going to be spending the night in prison.
“Good, because you were right: The kid hasn’t learned anything,” Boozer grunted, stretching out in the lobby chair. He’d had a cut on his head stitched up, and Deacon had gotten some ice and painkillers for his jaw, but that had been the depth of their emergency room visit. Delsin required deeper care, primarily because he had been concussed by one of the jackasses that had attacked him. “When the big guys that beat the shit out of and pulled a gun on you run away, that’s your cue to shut up and let them run.”
Deacon nodded, eyes shut. “Told you so.” He jerked the thumb of the hand not holding the icepack to his jaw over his shoulder. “Come on, the cops don’t need us anymore. Let’s head out before those freaks start poking around looking for round two.”
“Good idea. Bastards had ‘Gang’ written all over them.”
They left the emergency room at a leisurely shamble and started down the hall towards the exit. A man in a beige jacket with a Sheriff’s badge strode past them- and then abruptly backtracked, holding up a hand. “Hey, hold up: You the guys that stopped those assholes from beating my brother up?”
Boozer and Deacon exchanged looks. “Depends,” Boozer said. “Your brother the guy who sassed three dudes that were at least a full foot taller than him?”
The man’s eyes rolled shut. “Yeah, that’s Delsin. Reggie Rowe-” he offered a hand to both Boozer and Deacon, who shook it amiably. “-thanks for pulling his fat out of the fire. That’s usually my job.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Deacon remarked, the words coming out a bit mush-mouthed because of his jaw. “But, uh, dude, don’t want to overstep my bounds or anything? But your brother’s got a big mouth.”
Reggie dragged a hand down over his face. “God, you have no idea. I’m sure he’s said worse, just not to people who were ready and willing to kick his shit in.” He opened his eyes again and gave them a little salute. “Thank you, gentlemen. If you’re ever in Salmon Bay, I owe you a favor.”
Deacon returned the salute with a nod. “Not a problem, man. Take it easy.”
Boozer stretched his arms above his head as they stepped out the sliding doors of the hospital. “Aw, man, I remember being young and dumb. Now I’m just young.”
Deacon snorted. “Sure you are.”
“I can break the other side of your jaw, make it even.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure you will, Booze-man.”
-End