Page 14 of Mob Knight

I don’t have a plan for tomorrow—completely unusual, utterly stupid, and unnecessarily reckless, so I better wake up with something, or I’ll find myself fucked in more than one way. But not the kind where I tie a woman up, spank her, and get my rocks off.

Chapter Five

Joey

There isn’t enough arnica or Epson salt to make my body ache less. My entire right arm is a massive bruise I slathered arnica on this morning. I soaked in a tub of Epson salt for nearly two hours last night. I kept letting out cold water and refilling the tub with warm water and more salts.

I don’t regret my Good Samaritan intentions, but I wish Cormac O’Rourke weren’t a giant. He tried his best not to crush me and to cushion my fall, but the man is one massive muscle with some bones poking out here and there. It was like slamming into a brick wall over and over. An exceedingly masculine brick wall who smelled divine.

I’m short. Like really short at five-foot-two on my best day. He’s easily six-four. I’m pretty proportionate for my height, so I tip the scale at one-twenty. He has to be double that. My guess is two-forty. So yeah, it hurt having him land on me. Being tucked against him didn’t help much either, since he’s the real man of steel. Forget Superman. It wouldn’t surprise me if under that custom-tailored suit, Cormac O’Rourke’s body is a work of art.

In any other situation, I would appreciate it and even wish I’d been pressed against him longer. I appreciated he did his best to shelter me, and despite why we were clinging to each other, I liked the way he felt. Because I could tell he was doing his best to shield me, I felt safe.

I’m not scared of the neighborhoods I go to, but I’d be a fool not to be vigilant. I’m wary of strangers, and I always park under streetlights in case I’m leaving home visits after dark. I’ve faced irate parents and guardians who’ve done their best to intimidate me. I’ve had children melt down in front of me, throwing, kicking, biting, and hitting out of fear, frustration, anger, and desperation. I do my best not to let my fear show, but there are times when I’m reminded I chose a dangerous career because of the homes I enter. I get a lot of the cases other social workers can’t face. That gets heavy. Like really, really fucking heavy.

Cormac made me feel protected and safe for those excruciatingly long and disorienting seconds. He made me feel the same way times ten over when I hid behind him. I wound up using him as a human shield and endangering him, but he hesitated no more than I did. I can’t explain what compelled me to put myself in the line of fire, but I get the distinct impression Cormac will protect those who can’t protect themselves. That feels entirely contradictory to the notion that he’s a mobster. But—I don’t know—I just got honorable vibes from him.

“Jocelyn?”

“Hi, Estella. ¿Como estás?” How’re you?

“I’m all right. How about you? I heard you were near a shooting.”

We continue our conversation in Spanish, lapsing into it as often as we speak in English. Almost all of us are like that in this office since most of the people who work here—social workers and support staff—are bilingual.

“A couple of guys fired some shots, but they didn’t hit anyone.”

“Something about the Cartel and some kids you know.”

“They aren’t kids anymore. Ronaldo and Jesus think they’re men and wanted to prove it. Instead, they came close to dying. They’re lucky they didn’t hit a bystander because neither of them can aim for a damn.”

“Who were they shooting at?”

I hesitate. It feels wrong to say Cormac’s name. It’s not a secret since there aren’t too many redheaded men with freckles in that neighborhood, and certainly not ones encountering Cartel members.

“Un catire.”

Estella’s brow furrows. Her Puerto Rican Spanish and my Mexican Spanish don’t always match. It doesn’t help when I toss in Colombian words or phrases I learn from my clients like that one.

“It means a fair-skinned or fair-haired man. He wasn’t from the neighborhood. I intervened and de-escalated things. I reminded them Enrique will put up with fist fights but nothing that endangers unaffiliated people.” I grin. “And I might have threatened to speak to Ronaldo’s grandmother.”

Estella pretends to shiver. “SeñoraCastillo’s been scaring kids into behaving on that block for the past forty years. If Humberto Diaz hadn’t sucked her son into the Cartel, he would have been a model citizen. Back then, Humberto was the only person scarier thanseñoraCastillo.”

Enrique Diaz’s uncle. He was back in Colombia long before I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. There are plenty of rumors about the man, and best I can tell, every one of them is more truth than lie.

I gather a stack of papers on my desk and put them in my bag as I speak. “Hopefully, she deals with Ronaldo, and he keepsJesus in check. Ignacio needs to rein them in, too. Their mothers give in to them too easily. No matter how much trouble they get in, they can do no wrong according to those two women. They cater to their sons’ whims.”

“Are you headed back over there today?”

“Maybe. It depends on whether I get everything done over in Manor Heights. I have sessions at the elementary school until noon, then I have two at the middle school. Then there are some home health follow-ups.”

Not only do I provide clinic hours at the schools, I also check on kids who are out of school for health reasons. They have teachers who work with them throughout the week, but I make sure everything is all right with their home life and that they’re getting the medical treatment they need to recover.

“Be careful.”

“Gracias. Hasta luego.” Thank you. Until later.

I gather my purse, work bag, and coat before I head back to my car. Even in broad daylight, I carry my keys in my hand. I’m ready to bolt for my vehicle when an enormous shadow shifts and a man steps in front of me.

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