This time it’s me who contacts Naz. I talk him into meeting me at Patriot’s, at which time I try to convince him it’s over. I get the sense that his frustration will push him over the edge, his frustration that this whole quest has been for naught. He maintains that he understands and that this final stand—this symbolic extermination of the Incubus Apostles—is all he’s looking for. I can only take him at his word, something he’s been true to since I’ve known him.

We sit at my favorite table next to the window. The sun has set, but it’s still light outside, and the streets are pretty empty. We pick over what’s left of our traditional cheeseburger combos. My fingers wrap around my coffee cup.

“I’ve been thinking about Stripe,” I say.

“I bet you have,” he jokes.

“I’m serious; I’ve been thinking about what she said.”

He nods. I suspect he’s been thinking, too.

“You know, the things we want for this city, for Marshal Park, it’s up to us; the calvary isn’t coming.”

“Meri used to say when she got successful one day and left the Exclave, she would come back and make a difference in a big way.” The streets outside the coffee shop hold Naz’s gaze.

I mentally grimace at his mention of Meri. It’s something he hasn’t done since this quest started without a shroud of darkness surrounding him. But this time a light emanates from his eyes, and I look to capitalize on his words.

“When the Incubus Apostles are all gone, it’ll be some other gang to take their place … like the Marshal Parkers or something.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

I sip my coffee. “If the good citizens of Marshal Park don’t stand up and take what’s rightfully theirs, then the bad ones will stake their claim here again and lay waste to what we hold sacred.”

He doesn’t respond. But something I said pulls his attention back inside.

“You disagree?” I ask.

“No, it’s not that. I was just thinking about Stripe again.”

“She was amazing, wasn’t she?”

“She knew I was lying.”

“OK. So. You’re the worst liar in Marshal Park. Everybody knows that.”

“True story. But, it’s more than that.”

I don’t know what he means, but it looks like another one of those mystical things about him I don’t quite understand. So, I don’t press.

“Never mind.” He shakes it off. “Anyway, Stripe is too old for you.”

“I don’t know. How old do you think she is?”

“Hmmm … at least eighteen, nineteen.”

“That sounds about right. You didn’t do your mind thing and find out?”

“I was a little busy.” He laughs.

A young couple walks by holding hands, clearly in love, and I can tell they catch Naz’s attention. Somewhere down there D is brewing, but he would never admit that. Three unsavory-looking characters pass by. Two of them give each other high fives while the other reaches in his jacket, clearly focused on the couple in front of them. There’s no doubt in my mind they’re up to no good.

“Did you see that?” I ask.

He nods, puts a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and says, “Let’s go.”

We leave Patriot’s and follow the three lowlifes who are apparently in pursuit of the young couple. We keep our distance, not wanting to make any false assumptions or jump the gun. The three punks converge on the lovebirds, and sure enough, one of them calls the young man and asks him if he’d mind sharing his treasure with them. I almost lose it right then and there, hoping it’s just a sick joke. I should be so lucky. Ironically, two of them wear army jackets and boots, and I immediately think of the General and bristle—the nerve!

The young man stands his ground and asks the punk to apologize to his girlfriend. I like his spunkiness, his courage, but he’s just barked up the wrong tree. The three miscreants immediately laugh and close ranks on the couple. The two in the army jackets grab the man and drag him between two buildings, probably down an alleyway. Naz instinctively sprints in the opposite direction. I’m guessing … hoping he’ll double back around the block so he can surprise them from behind. The lady’s scream is muffled when the third man covers her mouth and drags her in behind her boyfriend. When Naz comes from the other way, this is gonna get ugly.

When I come around the corner, the third man is already on top of the woman while the two army jackets are holding her boyfriend. They must’ve already hit him a few times because the previous fight in him is gone. He sags between them, crying and cursing as they hold him and all watch. One of them holds a gun, but I can wait no longer for Naz.

“Get off her,” I demand.

My presence causes the boyfriend to struggle again, prompting a vicious punch to his stomach by one of the jackets. I forget my orders and engage. Several things happen at the same time. I see Naz in my peripheral vision. The other army jacket raises his gun and fires it just as it flies out of his hand. I flinch/duck. A bee stings my ear. The woman screams. I dash to take out the pervert on top of her. She’s still screaming when I pull the perv off her and break his nose with the heel of my hand. He grabs his face, probably more from the pain that I inflicted than the blood that flows. When I turn around, Naz has already disabled one of the jackets and is wailing away at the other one, the one who had fired the gun. I turn back to the bloody nose and rush him into the Dumpster behind us.

“Call the police,” I say to the hysterical woman.

At first, she doesn’t move. I punch the man I’m holding in the stomach and when he drops his hands, I finish him off with a crescent kick to the face. He holds his face and stomach as he rolls around on the ground, moaning in pain.

“Hey,” I call to the woman again. “Call the police.”

It’s as if she finally comes to her senses. She locates her purse, opens it and pulls out a phone. Her boyfriend hugs her with a look of both gratitude and shame. I turn back to Naz. One of the jackets is out cold, and the other is writhing on the ground, holding his arm. Naz is shaking, his fists bloodied. He’s beaten the jacket that shot at me pretty good as he did Ham that day in the burning church house. For the first time in a long time, I see satisfaction in his eyes. I calm him down, and we wait for the police. Either I’m in a time warp, or they show up in record time.

We walk back to Coach’s together. It’s silent for most of the way until,

“I’m sorry,” Naz blurts out.

“Sorry for…”

“For being late,” he says. “You almost got shot back there because I was careless. I lost Artie and Meri because I was careless.”

What I thought was a bee sting turned out to be a bullet grazing my ear. So much for no scratches, Dad. “Forget about it,” I say, not prepared for the heart to heart. “Careless is sometimes … human.”

“Still, it won’t happen again.”

Not knowing what else to say, I concede. “Apology accepted.” We shake hands and walk the rest of the way in silence.