Fearing for Josh Cody’s safety my heart was pumping as if it were going to burst out of my chest as we crashed through the bushes in a frantic search for the source of the disturbance. The sight that met my eyes caused my head to swim. A half-naked African American girl, covered in blood, was tied to a tree. What remained of her clothes was torn to shreds, hanging loosely from her abused and battered body. Two young guys were lying on the ground. Josh, with a horizontal gash across his cheek and blood trickling freely from the wound, was surveying the scene.
With a piece of tissue that I found in my pocket I picked up a handgun close to one of the semi-conscious youths, who I could see was about eighteen years old with more metal hanging from his face than a gaoler has keys. His jaw was hanging limply, clearly broken, mouth gaping open. I looked at the other one groaning on the ground, who was in no better shape. Max rang the law while Ray Leonard and I attempted to release the girl who was still tied to the tree. The sight of her caused me to retch. She had been violated and abused beyond belief: her hair had been torn out in handfuls; her face, which I imagine was once delicate and feminine, and maybe even pretty, was now a grotesque mask of beaten pulp. It dawned on me that not only had Josh intervened in what appeared to be a young girl being raped, but had completely overcome two violent thugs. But how could he?! Then again that was a question I frequently asked myself of Josh Cody.