Page 2 of Dangerous Silence
His fists railed into me, his ring catching my lip. Then again. The metal digging into it. My mouth hurt—hurt worse than a brain freeze. Worse than getting the flu. I dropped my popsicle and rammed my punches forward, but the big man laughed and hit me harder. My head turned towards the men on the corner. Maybe they could help; they seemed to care. But where were they? I could barely focus before another hit landed on my face. I spit; deep purple saliva landed on the floor, a mix of blood and blueberry juice. Had I bit my tongue somehow?
I couldn’t catch my breath. The more the man railed into me, his ring catching on my bleeding lips and brows, the worse it got. My head hurt. Blood oozed out of me like a slushie. The world was fuzzy, and in the half-second between punches, I looked around. Where had the world gone? There was no one there. Not my father. Not my big brother, Derek. Not even my little brother, Wil.
The bell on the door jingled, and the big man stopped. Shep came out, blood on his apron, his hands on his hips. He looked at the big man. Shep wasn’t tall like him, but he was built like a tire swing. The car sagged whenever he picked me up from tutoring. He was only about five feet tall, a lot shorter than my father, but sometimes I wondered if he was as strong. His gray eyes washed over the empty street. He pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his apron, resting it between his lips.
“You proud of yourself?” Shep asked the big man. He ran a hand over his shaved head. “Beating up a child?” He picked me up off of the ground and leaned me against the wall, propping me up like before. But I slumped down; my knees were weak; I could barely stand. I opened my mouth, but Shep lifted a hand, to stop me from talking.
“Why do you care?” the big man asked. “He ain’t your kid.”
Shep scowled, then turned to the corner. “And you two. You didn’t help a child?”
The other men shook their heads.
“This ain’t none of your business, old man,” the big man said. He stood up, looking down at Shep. “I’ve got beef with his dad. This ain’t got nothing to do with you.”
A hint of a smile crossed Shep’s face. Had the big man said something funny?
“Oh, his dad?” Shep asked. “I know his dad.”
Shep immediately pulled out a cleaver from the pocket of his apron, bludgeoning it into the big man’s side. It happened so fast I almost couldn’t tell what was happening. With his other hand, he grabbed the man by his neck, pulling him down to the ground. Then the man didn’t move.Couldn’tmove.
“Don’t die on me yet,” Shep said.
The other two men looked at each other. “Fuck!” one of them shouted.
Shep pulled a gun from his back pocket, shooting them both in the eyes. The sound echoed in the empty street. The men fell to the ground. He went to their bodies, pulling them up by the short hairs on the top of their heads, then used the cleaver across their throats. But the knife wasn’t meant for that kind of motion, so he had to saw the blade back and forth until they bled like he wanted.
Each step he took rattled the earth. His shadow loomed behind him, stretching across the sidewalk. Shep looked down at the big man on the ground, whimpering beside me. He pulled him up by the head.
“Good boy,” he said. “You didn’t die on me yet.”
Shep was always covered in shades of red; he owned a butcher shop, and I knew what that meant. But I had never seen him do anything like this. It was like being inside of a dream. Everything was blurry; my left eye was swollen shut and my face was tender and puffy. But Shep hadn’t changed; the cigarette was still pressed between his lips. He motioned to me.
“Come here,” he said. He offered me the handle of the cleaver. “Go on.”
I took the handle, then stared down at the big man. He was more than twice my size, but I couldn’t tell anymore. And with those cuts in his side, he was going to die, no matter what happened to him now. Still, I knew I shouldn’t hurt him.
But something inside of me wanted to. To be powerful like Shep. To show the big man that even a kid like me, a so-called pussy boy, could cut him down to size. Make him smaller than me.
“Finish him off,” Shep ordered.
The big man closed his eyes. Just like I had seen Shep do, I brought the knife down to the man’s neck. The man choked, blood sputtering from his mouth and landing on my cheek. But the knife wasn’t making a dent in his neck like it had done with Shep.
“Harder, Axe,” Shep said.
I wanted to do what Shep told me, to be more like him. With all my strength, I brought it down again; this time it went through, the flesh splitting to the sides. I don’t know why, but I was shaking. My whole body was numb. It looked like the man’s skin would rip apart from the inside.
Shep laughed, a deep, hearty sound, like the warm bowls of soup he heated for me after tutoring. I furrowed my brows, looking up at him. What was so funny?
“It’s time,” he finally said. He patted me on the back, then grabbed the cleaver from me, finishing up by sawing with it until the man went limp, his blood pooling in front of us. Shep stepped out of the way, somehow keeping the blood off of his shoes. I looked down, horrified. Mine were covered in it. I wanted to take them off now.
“Pick up his feet,” Shep said. “Let’s get him inside.”
The door to the shop jingled as we came in. The meat counter was full of the same cuts Shep had taught me: heels, rounds, shanks, rolled flanks, fillets, brisket, sirloins, rumps, and shoulders. Underneath the counter was a hidden freezer full of popsicles for me. I had dropped mine earlier. Thinking about that made me sad, but I didn’t know why. It was just a popsicle.
And those were just men. Men I didn’t know.
Why did I feel bad?
