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Whistling his favorite Sinatra tune, Eddie strolled the short distance to the house next door. The air felt damp and cool on his face, but he barely noticed. He was too focused on the little puddles dotting the cracked, weed-infested sidewalk. With genuine concern for his new Italian leather shoes, he cursed the spatters of mud touching their tips.
He turned to face the small and shabby, two-story house. The shadow of Micola’s house loomed over it like a giant guarding its tiny prisoner. He familiarized himself with any potential obstacles before his inevitable confrontation.
He pushed open the broken gate of the rusty chain-link fence and walked the short sidewalk to the house. A screen door—minus the screen—hung and wobbled from its upper hinge. Eddie moved it out of his way and pounded on the dirty wooden front door. Muffled swearing and banging came from inside.
The sound of pounding footsteps grew as the door swung open, revealing a tall and reedy light-skinned Black teenager with a medium-length Afro and angry brown eyes. Eddie guessed him to be nineteen, maybe twenty. His shirtless torso revealed slight muscles on bony arms, tight, narrow abs and a hairless chest.
In a surprisingly high voice, the kid shouted at Eddie. “The-fuck you want?”
Eddie stared at him for a few seconds, setting the tone. “You Dario?” His voice quiet, calm.
“Yeah,” said the kid, giving Eddie the cocky tough-guy once-over. “Who the-fuck are you?”
Eddie’s swift two-handed shove to the chest stunned the young man who found himself tripping backward into the house. Stumbling and cursing, Dario landed hard-assed in his own dimly lit living room. He paused for a second to look up at Eddie, who stood over him, daring him with his angry eyes to get back up. The kid surprised Eddie by doing just that.
Dario scrambled to his feet, but he was no match for Eddie’s speed or strength. In one swift move, Eddie had Dario’s arm twisted around to his back, using his other hand to shove Dario’s face against the living room wall. The force of the blow sent a cheaply framed drawing crashing to the floor.
At the same time, the sound of a woman yelling came from the back of the house. Dario’s cocky attitude had quieted, replaced with a steady grunt and cry as he tried to adjust himself to lessen the pain. For good measure, Eddie put an upward and twisting pressure on Dario’s wrist, ready to break the hand, if necessary.
The screaming woman ran into the room, and Eddie freed his other hand to prepare for what might come next. Dario was fully under his control, so he relaxed and stood ready for her. The smell of stale smoke and fried food suddenly burned his nose.
The woman was followed by a black and golden German Shepherd prancing behind her, the click of its toenails loud on the grimy linoleum. Behind the big dog, came a young boy who appeared to be about six years old.
The tall Black woman stopped short, hands on her hips, as she stared at the scene before her. “What the hell is goin’ on here? Who are you?”
Standing firm, she glared at Eddie with cold, brown eyes as wild as her short, wiry hair. Eddie smiled calmly at her, almost casually, the twisting of Dario’s hand a seemingly effortless task. Still firmly pressed to the wall, Dario moaned quietly, his eyes pleading to the woman.
Eddie assessed her for any potential danger, noting that her black sweatpants and oversized gray t-shirt might be hiding her size and strength. She turned her gaze to Dario.
“What is goin’ on, Dario? Who is this guy?”
Dario coughed, his head still pressed against the wall. “Mama, help me. I don’t know who he is.”
She lurched toward Eddie, but he was too quick. He grabbed her throat, stopping her short. His grip was firm but not lethal. The woman’s hands instinctively grabbed onto Eddie’s fingers, while at the same time, she pulled herself back and away from him.
The dog began to bark and snarl, so Eddie loosened his hold on her. He noticed a faded bruise under her right eye as he released his hand and shoved her away. The dog stopped barking but stayed close to her heels. At the same time, he put more pressure on Dario’s wrist causing him to squeal.
The woman moved toward her cellphone sitting on the coffee table next to an old worn-out sofa. “Get offa’ my son! Get the hell outta’ my house before I call the cops!”
“I wouldn’t do that, lady,” Eddie said, shaking his head and pressing a little harder. Dario whimpered.
Eddie pointed at the woman with his free hand. “Now, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m his mom,” she said, her hands trembling. “Marian Tucker.” Eddie stayed calm while the dog’s barking increased as it circled Eddie’s feet.
“Shut up, Barkley. Sit,” she said. The dog immediately stopped barking and sat next to her.
“And the kid?”
“My son, Cody. Dario’s brother.”
“Alright,” Eddie said, nodding. “I want everybody to do what I say and no one gets hurt. Not today at least.” Eddie pointed at the little boy. “Send Cody upstairs. Now.”
Eddie watched the woman’s shoulders sink and her confidence wane, fear visible on her tired face. She bent down and spoke quietly to the crying boy. “Cody, go on upstairs, baby. Everything’s fine.”
The boy hesitated, squeezing her thigh. Her voice grew firmer. “Now.” Cody let go of his mom and ran upstairs. “And don’t you dare come down ‘til I tell ya’, you hear?”
“Yes ma’am,” the boy cried.
“Very good, Ms. Tucker,” Eddie said, looking around the room. “Now, is there a Mr. Tucker around here today?”
She shook her head. “No. He took off four years ago.”
“I see.” Eddie smoothed his goatee with his free hand, his other hand still gripping Dario’s twisted wrist, his face still planted against the wall. “Well, Ms. Tucker, as you can see, we have a pretty big problem with your son.”
“Come on man,” Dario choked. “Let me go. Please!”
Barkley’s quiet rumble grew angrier.
“Shut that dog up.”
Ms. Tucker ignored Eddie and folded her arms in defiance. “Let go-a my boy first. Then, I’ll shut the dog up. Who are you, anyways? What do you want with Dario?”
“All due respect, Ms. Tucker, I’ll do the fuckin’ talkin’. Now sit right there on that sofa and shut the fuck up. And get this damn dog away from me.”
She lowered her arms and did what she was told. She grabbed Barkley by the collar and sat on the sofa, pulling him next to her feet.
Eddie continued. “Your son is in a lotta’ trouble.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” She asked. “What kind-a trouble? You a cop? You don’t seem like no cop.”
Eddie shifted his feet. “Did you know that Dario’s gotta’ gun? And likes shootin’ up the neighborhood with it?”
Eddie gave the kid’s wrist a hard turn. Dario cried out. “Come on, man! Let me go, please. My hand’s ‘bout-ta break.”
Eddie ignored his pleas. “I’m here-ta put a stop-ta all this trouble he’s causin’.”
Ms. Tucker stood and looked at her son, his face still pressed into the wall. “Dario? You gotta’ gun?”
Dario squirmed and moaned but didn’t answer his mom. With the increased volume and tension in the room, Barkley started barking again.
“No disrespect, Ms. Tucker,” Eddie said, “but ah’—if you had better control over your son, we wouldn’t be in this predicament right now, am I right?”
She shook her head, her hands balled into fists, head thrust forward. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Huh?” She pointed at Dario. “He hits me all the time.” She pointed to her eye. “See this?”
Eddie scowled at Dario and released his grip enough to allow Dario’s head to come up from the wall. Eddie then dug his free hand into Dario’s cheeks, and twisted his face and head to the left, while still twisting the right wrist. “Are you the one who gave her that bruise? You hit your mother? Huh, tough guy? That-what you do?” Dario moaned and a tear rolled down his cheek.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please stop, man.”
Eddie released Dario’s face with a firm shove but kept pressure on his wrist. “You piece-a shit.” He backhanded Dario’s cheek and Dario screamed.
“That shit stops right fuckin’ now,” Eddie said. “You hear me?”
Eddie felt his blood boil. This kid was too much. “You hit your mother again and she’ll come to me, you understand?”
Dario sobbed, but nodded. “Okay. I got it. Please, man. Let me go.”
Eddie gave him one last press before tossing him loose. Dario stumbled away and brought his right arm in front of him as he bent forward, gasping. He fell to his knees, rubbing his wrist and wiping his tears.
Eddie stood over him, scowling. “Stand up you piece-a shit.”
Dario jerked back and struggled to his feet until he was straight, his head held high. Face-to-face, Dario had two inches on Eddie, but height couldn’t help him now. He gripped his damaged wrist and gave Eddie his best tough-guy stare-down despite the leftover tear stains streaking his cheeks.
Eddie leaned in close, inches from Dario’s face, his hand out. “Gimme’ the gun.”
Dario looked at the ground as he shook his head. “Can’t do it man. I need that piece for protection.”
Barkley closed in on Eddie’s ankles, snarling and exposing his sharp teeth, a low, angry rumble growing in his throat.
“Get this fuckin’ dog away from me.” Eddie attempted to kick the animal away. “I mean it!”
Dario’s mom pulled on Barkley’s collar, struggling to keep him in check.
“Let’s go, Dario,” Eddie said. “I won’t ask again. Gimme’ your fuckin’ gun.”
Dario stood motionless, so Eddie bent down and frisked him, starting with the pockets of his sweatpants. The dog continued to pull away from Ms. Tucker as he growled at Eddie, his fangs exposed.
Dario wiggled and frowned. “Come on, man. Get outta’ my pants.”
Eddie reached further down Dario’s leg until he felt something. He yanked out a silver twenty-two from its ankle holster.
Holding the revolver barrel-up, Eddie palmed it, examining it. “Where’d you get this?”
Ms. Tucker’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Dario! Where’d you get that gun?”
Dario adjusted his sweatpants with his one good hand before slouching forward, struggling for oxygen.
“Got that from my friend, Sage.”
Eddie pushed his jacket aside and slid the gun into his belt. He gave Dario an angry grin. “Well, it’s mine, now.”
“Come on, man. Gimme’ back my piece. You can’t keep that. It’s mine.”
Eddie shrugged. “Call the fuckin’ cops.”
Dario pursed his lips and kicked some invisible rocks. “Come on man. I need that piece.”
Eddie ticked his head up. “Tell Sage to get you a new gun. This one’s mine.”
“But—”
Eddie smacked him across his head. “Don’t argue with me you little shit.”
Dario grabbed his head and ducked away from Eddie. “Okay, man. Come on. Please, stop.”
Ms. Tucker rushed in to protect her son, but Eddie gave her a light shove and she stumbled backward. Barkley leapt onto Eddie’s leg, growling and snapping at his hand, nipping it twice and causing him to bleed.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie yelled. He jumped back and pulled out the gun he’d just put into his belt. Without hesitation, he pointed it at the dog and pulled the trigger.
The blast exploded through the room rattling everyone into stillness. Barkley let out a quick yelp before falling limp to the floor. Crimson spattering crossed their bodies as a pool of dark liquid swirled under the dog’s short fur.
