Twenty-Four

Jael put on her coat, grabbed her handbag of doom. I’d seen all sorts of things come out of that handbag: a pistol, zip ties, a lock-picking kit. Never a mint, never a tissue.

“You’re armed for bear,” I said as we descended my stairs.

“Yes,” said Jael. “Unstable people know where you live.”

I had to give her that. We emerged onto Follen Street, looked up and down through bare trees to see that there were no obvious threats. We headed toward Huntington Ave, where it would be easier to Uber to Government Center.

We turned the corner onto St. Botolph. A skinny kid in jeans and a Patriots pom-pom hat leaned against one of the bare trees planted along the brick sidewalk. He saw me, perked up, stepped forward.

“Aloysius Tucker,” he said, brandishing a pair of handcuffs. “I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.”

Jael stepped between us. Said nothing.

“You can’t arrest me,” I said.

The kid said, “I am making a legal citizen’s arrest.”

“You can’t arrest me.”

“Google it, asshole. Commonwealth v. Lussier.” He took another step forward.

Jael stiff-armed him back into the tree, if you can call applying pressure with one’s fingertips a stiff-arm.

“That’s assault!” the kid said.

“Actually, that’s battery,” I said. “Google it.”

“I have a right to make a citizen’s arrest if you can be shown to have committed a felony.”

“I haven’t committed a felony.”

“There’s a preponderance of evidence.”

“Wow,” I said. “I never thought I’d meet someone who, in fact, knew just enough to be dangerous.”

“Other than yourself,” Jael said.

“Thanks,” I said.

He had rebounded from against the tree and seemed to be trying to figure out a way around Jael. He continued to brandish the handcuffs. “Also, there’s a bounty.”

“What bounty?”

“On bitcoinbountyhunter.com.”

“For fuck’s sake!” I was ready to strangle Al Gore and anyone else who had claimed to help invent the Internet.

“It’s a full bitcoin bounty.”

Jael asked, “How much is that in US dollars?”

“Who knows?” I said. “Still, it was enough to motivate Boba Fett here.”

The kid made another lunge at me with the handcuffs.

It was clear that Jael had had enough of this. She took a step, tripping the kid with one foot while grabbing the wrist holding the handcuffs with the other. He squeaked a rat-like squeak and fell face down on the bricks.

Jael knelt over him, stuck a knee in his back, and snapped one handcuff over his wrist. Then she locked the other end to a wrought-iron fence against one of the houses.

“You can’t do this!” he shouted. “You’re violating my rights.”

I said, “You have the right to remain silent. Have you ever considered exercising that right?”

“You’re a crook, Tucker! Someone’s going to bring you to justice!”

“Do you always talk like 1960s Batman?”

“You won’t get away with this!”

“You do look a little like Adam West.”

Jael had fished through the kid’s pockets and pulled out his key ring.

“Hey, what are you doing with my keys?” The kid tried to free his wrist, locked to the bottom of the fence. “This is so illegal!”

Jael flipped through the ring, found the handcuff key, and removed it.

“You’re not going to get away with this!” he said again.

“You need new writers.”

Jael dropped the kid’s keys onto his stomach. “We must keep moving,” she said to me.

I followed her.

Behind us the kid yelled, “Hey! What are you going to do with the handcuff key?”

Jael dropped the handcuff key into the sewer. We walked away.

“You bitch!” the kid yelled after us. “Cunt!”

I turned away from Jael, back toward the kid.

Jael said, “No. Ignore him.”

I ignored her instead, and squatted next to the kid handcuffed to the ground. “What did you call her?”

The kid flushed red.

I said, “You think this is Twitter? You think you get to say that stuff to a woman’s face?”

“We must leave,” Jael said.

I slapped the kid, open-fingered, across the cheek.

He screeched. “Stop it. Help!”

I pointed at him. “You don’t get to say those things to women in real life. You do it again, I’ll kick your ass. You’ll be pissing blood.”

The kid started to blubber, rattling at the handcuff that held him pinned to the ground.

Jael grabbed my arm and pulled. She got me going. We left the kid lying in the street sobbing. My vision narrowed to a little piece of sidewalk in front of me.

“That was foolish,” Jael said.

I said, “It was necessary.”

“It was not necessary.”

“I’m sick of it.”

“I know.”

Breath hissed through my teeth. “Sons of bitches.”

“I know.”

“Fucking hiding behind their computers.”

“I know. You must ignore them. There may be real dangers.”

We reached Huntington. I pulled out my cell phone, tried to open the Uber app. My fingers banged at the screen, unable to hold still long enough to reach a button. Jael slipped the phone from my hand and worked the app. A station wagon with a glowing blue Uber logo pulled up. Jael guided me into the car. Told the driver to take us to Cleveland Place.

I stared out the window, watched the Colonnade slip by.

Let us know when you plan to suicide …

The phrase rattled around. Let us know. Let who know? The kid with a pom-pom and a dirty mouth? The denizens of Twitter? The self-selected group of assholes who decided to dispense justice because they were bored?

Who would I let know that I was going to suicide? I’d love to know, because I’d just as soon let them know that I was going to kill them.