Page 2 of Mob Knight

Those arenotthe words the redheaded man wants to hear as he reaches for me a third time. I skirt away from him.

“I’m the voice of reason here, just like I have been since you were in grade school, Ronaldo. There are too many people here on the street. I don’t care who knows who you are and what you are. You’re going to kill somebody other than this man you’re aiming for. Do you want that on your conscience? Do you want people to know you shot a little kid because you couldn’t shoot straight? You had your chance. He’s a big guy with bright hair, and you couldn’t hit him. I’m not giving you a chance to miss again and take out somebody we care about.”

“SeñoritaJocelyn, you always need to be in the middle of everything. Haven’t you heard curiosity killed the cat?”

“Well, this cat’s got claws, Ronaldo, and you know that. I’ll sink them in deep. Put the gun away, and you three deal with whatever business you have going on, but you do it somewhere else. You don’t do it on the street. You know the rules just as well as I do, and you know how I feel about having the kids see this around them.”

“Fine, tell thehijo de la chingadahe can come out, and I won’t shoot him.” Motherfucker.

“Language, Ronaldo. Do you want me to tell yourabuelitahow you speak?”

There’s a pause, and I know that single threat is more intimidating than anything else. I’ve met the woman several times, and she scares the ever-loving shit out of me. She wields achanclalike she’s some samurai warrior. Her flip flop with a wood sole is nothing to underestimate.

I know she paddled Ronaldo’s ass more than once when he was a child. She probably should have done it a few more times, considering how he turned out. I’m not a proponent of corporal punishment, but…Lord. I can only imagine how he would’ve been if she hadn’t been such a strict disciplinarian.

“Myabuelita’svisiting my dad upstate.”

“I have her number in my phone. I could call her right now. She can have a message waiting for when she leaves. Or maybe I’ll catch her before she even sees yourpapí. She can tell him all about what you’re getting up to these days. I’m sure it’s exactly what he wished for when he went away.”

There’s enough snarkiness to fill a cup when I call his father Daddy. I was walking up the steps as I spoke, and now I’m on the sidewalk once again. My tone tells him his grandmother visiting her son in prison won’t deter me from telling her. I lower my hands, but I keep them out to my sides.

“You’re just as guilty as Ronaldo, Jesus. Just because you haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I forgot you’re there. Really, you’re going to do this right outside your mother’s window?”

I twist and look up. I see a woman half hanging out of her window, and I can see the fear on her face. I look back across the street and point up.

“You really want to have your mom watch what happens? Do you really think you’re going to win? From the way this man’s snarling at me down here, I’m pretty sure he’s the one who will put up a bigger fight. Whatever this is, take it inside. I don’t care what you do to each other as long as you don’t do it where any of the kids can see.”

“This is all about you protecting the kids,señoritaJocelyn? What? Now that I’m nineteen, you don’t care about me anymore?”

I snort as I listen to Jesus. “If I didn’t care about you, do you think I’d even be having this conversation? But you wanted to be treated like an adult. You wanted to tell me how much of a man you were when you turned eighteen last year. Well, now you can show you’re man enough to know when you’re wrong and to know this isn’t just about you and whatever this guy did to piss you off.”

I hear a huff coming from down the steps, but I don’t dare shift my attention away from the men who still have guns drawn. They may not be pointing them across the street anymore—they’re pointing them at the sidewalk—but I wouldn’t put it past them to lose their shit and turn their guns on me. One wrong word is all it’ll take if I test their machismo too much. There’s a fine line between reminding them of promises they made to me and shaming and humiliating them. I don’t need them thinking they have to prove theirhuevoshave dropped.

“Señorita, go inside and leave this alone. We’ll take it back into the bodega. He can come inside, and we won’t do anything to him until he’s through the door.”

“Yeah, and how many people are still in that bodega? Hmm? I doubt it’s empty. I’m guessing that’s why he isn’t in there with you. He isn’t the one pointing a gun where it could fire and hit somebody.”

“No, he’s hiding behind you like a little bitch.”

“You really think a man his size is hiding? No, he won’t show himself in front of you because he doesn’t trust you not to shoot me. Is he wrong?”

I can’t hear the swearing because they’re not yelling them across the street, but I can read their lips well enough to know there’s a whole slew of Spanish and English curse words dropping out of their mouths.

They don’t like me putting them on the spot like that. Asking them the one question they absolutely don’t want to answer. They don’t want to admit any fear of shooting me, but they also don’t want to admit they would shoot a woman.

Their boss wouldn’t agree to that, but they’re still young enough to not understand the consequences of what they’re risking right now. I’ve known these two guys since they were in eighth grade, and I started working in this neighborhood. I know the things they’ve done because I was their social worker whilethey were in high school. They’re not horrible kids, but they make shit decisions. People they work for take advantage of that. They didn’t come recruiting these two. These shitheads went knocking on doors, thinking they could be more man than boy.

They’ve done odd jobs. Knocked off some shops, stolen some cars, but they haven’t killed anybody. Yet. I know nobody’s shot either of them. I’d like to keep it that way. But the man who’s still standing just a couple steps below me doesn’t give me the impression this is the first time he’s been in a situation like this.

It wouldn’t surprise me if the man would shoot to kill and wouldn’t miss. I’m pretty positive the only reason he’s still standing is because Ronaldo and Jesus aren’t half the marksmen he probably is. I don’t care to test my theory that he’s a better shot than I expected or that Jesus and Ronaldo are even worse and will hit somebody else.

The street’s pretty cleared out around us, but there are still folks farther down the block in each direction who don’t know what’s going on and are approaching.

“Leave before somebody calls the police. Do you really want to be here when they arrive? Do you want to explain what’s going on?”

Those questions are as much for Ronaldo and Jesus as they are for the redheaded stranger. I can feel his eyes boring into me, and I’m certain he’s going to be pissed when he finally gets to move. But I don’t want any dead bodies on my hands. I’ve seen a few, and that’s been more than enough for me.

“Señorita, you don’t get to decide this one. We have business to finish, and that gringo has some explaining to do.”

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