Page 21 of Hard Hitter
“Fuck. Okay listen—some dick is texting her really threatening things. Sounds like he’s at her house.”
“No!” Becca gasped. “Her ex is a real douchewhistle.”
“Where’s her place?”
“Vinegar Hill. Right on Hudson Ave in one of those little brick houses, across from that restaurant.”
“Address?”
“I’m looking... Seventy-one!”
He hung up, tossed the phone onto the bar and ran outside and up Hicks Street. After sitting still for a couple of hours, his hip flexors complained at the sudden burst of activity. But fuck it. It was less than a mile to Ari’s house, and he was wearing sneakers.
This time he wasn’t quite so invisible as he streaked down Front Street. People got out of his way, either cursing or staring. “Where’s the fire?” someone yelled. But nobody stopped him. So it didn’t take long before he was slowing down to make the turn onto Hudson, forcing himself to breathe deeply. He didn’t want to be out of breath if he was about to face off against some crazy jackass. Becca had called him a douchewhistle, and he’d have to be to send threatening texts to a woman like Ari. Oranywoman, for that matter.
He forced himself to walk the last half block, and to listen.
It wasn’t hard to find the guy. There was only one asshole peering up at a Hudson Avenue address from the side of the building, holding a brick in his hand and screaming. “If you don’t get your slutty ass down here I’m breaking another window!”
When the guy turned his head at O’Doul’s approach, the situation got even worse. Because O’Doulrecognizedthis particular asshole. The guy worked at a nightclub in lower Manhattan—the same club where he’d made an unfortunate and illegal purchase a month or so ago.
“What doyouwant?” the guy spat. “I’m not taking orders right now.”
“Yeah, you are,” O’Doul growled. “Put that shit down.” He took a step forward, chest first. Somewhere above him—in a window maybe—Ari gasped. But he didn’t take his eyes off the prick with the brick.
The guy’s eyes widened a little at O’Doul’s aggressive stance. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“No. That’s whatyou’regoing to do.” He took another step closer.
That was the moment when the dick’s synapses fired completely, and he realized that O’Doul was serious. “Fuckoff.” He turned his body squarely towards O’Doul’s in the universal signal of matched aggression.
At least now they were on the same page. “Go on. I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck out of here. One. Two...” He held the man’s dark eyes, but his subconscious was focused on the brick in the man’s hand. The guy’s fingers had tightened on it. But his arm was still hanging there. And a brick wasn’t the world’s handiest weapon. It could be thrown, but not quickly. “Three, four...” O’Doul said. And then he lunged forward and swept the guy’s feet out from under him, dumping him on his ass on the pavement, which was littered with a lot of glass shards.
“FUCK!” the asshole shouted from the ground. He scrambled up to a kneeling position and then readied his brick hand to swing at O’Doul.
But not fast enough. O’Doul used his left leg to ruin the arc of the guy’s swing, then landed a punch to his opponent’s jaw with his right hand. The asshole hit the ground a second time.
“You chickenshit,” O’Doul spat down at him. “Don’t you ever threaten a woman again or I willend you.”
“Man on!” Ari yelled from above.
O’Doul whirled and then immediately ducked, avoiding the large fist on a trajectory toward his head. Later he’dmarvel at Ari’s perfect use of hockey terminology in the clutch. But for now he was too busy sidestepping the young goon who’d entered the brawl to avenge his buddy’s humiliation.
His focus narrowed to the two men and their movements. Boss man was still seated, looking shaky. But the new goon circled. Not for nothing had O’Doul been in a thousand fights, both on the street and on skates. His voice was steady and commanding as he addressed them both. “Just beat it. Both of you. How many neighbors do you think are watching right now?”
The goon’s lip curled.
“You bangin’ her?” the older man asked, using the brick wall to ease to his feet. “I knew it.”
“Is that what you think?” O’Doul laughed. “That’s what’s got you breaking windows like a punk?” He stepped slowly around in a backward semicircle, avoiding the goon and putting his body closer to the front door of Ari’s house, and closer to the street. If these morons had any sense at all, they wouldn’t want an all-out brawl in broad daylight. But the new opponent tracked toward him.
O’Doul moved, watchful, waiting for his opening. The youngster had long arms like a gorilla. He’d have to quickly inflict some pain to put this guy out of commission.
Then one sound changed everything—the chirp of a police cruiser.
“Shit,” the older man spat. He moved surprisingly quickly, taking off down the alley, away from the street. After a beat of indecision, his thug followed him.
When he heard the sound of an engine starting up, O’Doul jogged after them just in time to see an unmarked burgundy van peel away.
