Way I see it, there's only three situations when it's okay to beat someone: when they're attacking you and won't back down, when they're attacking someone else who can't defend themselves, or when they just really deserve it. I figure this is one of the last kind.
Me and Richie had been driving around for a couple of hours looking for the little sack. Richie's behind the wheel, cursing to make a devil blush at every light that stops us, while I work my way through a case of warm beer in the passenger seat. We had stopped by most of the clubs and hangouts he might have wandered into but mostly we were just cruising uptown waiting for him to wander into our sights.
"I'm gonna fucking rip his shriveled balls of and pound them two feet up his size sixteen ass!"
It was a red light.
"I'm gonna take a fucking rusty pair of weed cutters and shear his puny dick into pieces!"
"He's gonna get it." I agree.
Personally, I think Richie has the hots for Jen. Not that that's a bad thing or anything -- I mean, Richie's a great guy and all -- but I think it has some influence on why he's so eager to pound this punk into molasses. Not that I'm saying I wouldn't beat the guy anyway, it's just that you don't see me cursing more colors than a crayon box. Bad manners, you know.
"I'm gonna take a fucking powerdrill, shove it into his-"
"Hey Richie."
"Yeah?"
"Look down there." I point off to my right, "Think that's him?" You can't see much more than a floppy Indiana Jones has on top of a silhouette walking down near the lake, but how many people wear a hat like that?
"Goddamn motherfucking son of a whore's ass."
Richie slams his foot on the gas and whips the wheel around so fast my beer goes tumbling across the dash to dump all over the wheel and his lap. Not that Richie notices, he's so intent on getting two streets over before gravity blinks. When he goes squealing over the curb to stop the car half in the grass the moron just stands there in his idiot hat watching us jump out of the car.
"Hey…what's going on?" he asks in this little uncertain voice.
I lean against the car all casual while Richie moves to the other side of him so he can't run. Now I've only ever seen the guy once at a party, and I was never actually introduced or anything, so right now me and Richie are pretty much just going off of the hat.
"You Nate?" I ask.
He looks suspiciously at Richie circling around behind him. "Yeah…"
"Then your fucking nuts are going to be your new fucking eyeballs." That was Richie, not me.
Now, I gotta give the guy come credit here, he doesn't try to run, he doesn't even look scared. His eyes dart from Richie to me a few times and then he snaps into this kung fu pose with his hands all open and all. Now he's kinda a big guy, and maybe he knows some karate or something, but me and Richie ain't small neither and there's two of us -- and while I may not be no grandwizard karate kid, I know my way around a Louisville. So basically what I'm saying here is Nate may take a swing or two, but he's gonna become intimately familiar with the ground real soon.
I decide to let Richie start in on him while I reach into the back seat for my bat. Nate dances back from Richie's first couple of wild swings, then jabs a fist into Richie's nose.
"You fucking little shit." Richie's nose starts oozing blood and Nate grins cockily.
"You like making people bleed punk? You like that? Let's see how happy your own blood makes you."
"Hey man, you started this. I'm just going to finish it."
"Fuck you asshole. I started it? You fucking started this!"
They probably would have gone on like that for awhile -- Richie's practically foaming at the mouth by now -- but while they were chatting I'd sauntered over behind Nate. I take a good overhead swing at his head, figuring to lay him out and maybe have a little boot party. Unfortunately he saw me coming and got one of his arms up in time to block the bat; I don't thin I broke the arm, but it sure as sin hurt him.
Almost before I see it his foot comes whipping up to slam into the side of my head. I stumble a step, but decide it didn't really hurt that much when he starts coming at me again. Before he can kick again Richie gets a punch in on him, and then manages to sock him three or four more times before he finally gets his hands up and jumps out of the way. One of his eyes is all cut up and he starts blinking a lot.
"How do you like it asshole? How's it feel to get beat, huh?"
It looks like Nate's getting ready to attack Richie, but then he spins around and makes a grab at my bat. We struggle for a second and then he turns around and twists my wrist all up. I hear a popping sound, kind of like a knuckle cracking and then I slam into the ground face first. As soon as I get over the initial pain in my wrist I realize I don't have the bat anymore, then I hear this thud and Richie goes down.
Looking up from the wet grass I see Nate twirling the bat around and re-settling the hat on his head like some kind of Indiana Lee. He hauls off a few more swings at Richie, but mostly catches him in the arms and shoulders. I suddenly realize I'm just curled up around my hand while some gutter bum is batting away on my buddy, so I crawl up to my feet. I'm not sure if I can help any, but I'll give him something to take with him. I manage only a couple of steps forward before he notices me. My eyes are on the bat, ready to dodge the swing, and I don't even see the foot that smashes into my mouth.
"Next time bring more friends, tough guys." He tossed the bat and I hear it splash into Calhoun, then he walks off.
Richie and me lie on the grass for a bit, both of us moaning a little and Richie curses softly. After checking to make sure none of my teeth were gonna fall out I called out to Richie, "Hey, you gonna be okay?"
"Yeah… I'm just a little banged up. Fucker clipped my head once. What about you; you okay?"
I work my way to my feet. "Pretty much. I think my wrist is broke though."
We stand around, neither of us moving for a little bit. I look out over the lake and think it's kinda pretty at night, and the breeze off the water smells nice. I wonder if my bat will wash up on the shore somewhere. I sigh and turn away from the water to look at Richie. "Hey Rich, sorry I let him get the bat."
"It's okay. Not your fault -- he just got lucky."
"Yeah," I agree. "Lucky."
We both walk slowly to the car, me rubbing my mouth and Richie rubbing his head, both of us walking real careful. I realize we must look like a couple of eighty year-old geezers, the way we're walking. Richie pulls out and we both wince when the car bounces off the curb. Richie's driving real slow.
When we pull onto Lake Richie turns to me and says, "Damn, what am I going to tell Jen?"
"I don't know, man. Don't say anything."
"I already told her I was gonna kick the shit out of him."
I shrugged and tried to move my fingers, but it hurt too much. As we headed down Lake St. I wondered if Richie was gonna try and put the moves on Jen, and I suddenly felt really sorry for him. I mean, how exactly do you ask a girl out after she's been raped? That's just too harsh, for both of them.
"Hey," Richie says. "You need to get to a hospital?"
"Yeah, I think I'd better."
Return to stories page.