Page 86 of Nobody's Fool

Besides I’m gaining on him.

Scraggly turns down Clinton Street, heading toward Delancey. He passes Clinton’s Exotic Plus & Deli, a place I’ve strolled by a hundred times, but I don’t know if I want to have my sandwich made by the same guy selling vapes and hookahs. That may be a “me” issue. Molly says I need to widen my horizons.

I continue to gain ground.

He suddenly swerves left toward a store called Lot-Less Closeouts. Picture a less-glamorous Dollar Tree, which I know is not easy. Molly sometimes buys cleaning supplies and gift bags at the Lot-Less. It may save money, but it isn’t worth it. Scraggly Dude grabs the door handle. That slows him down enough. I dive at him, my body fully extended and horizontal. I wrap my arms around his knees and take him down like a cornerback making an open field tackle. I hear him grunt when he hits the pavement.

He shouts, “What the…?”

I start to climb on top of him. He squirms away, kicks out at me. Nothing lands, but I can’t quite get a grip on him. We both scramble to our feet.

Scraggly Dude holds up a hand and signals that he’s trying to catch his breath. When he does, he pants, “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Who are you? Why are you following my wife?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Or what?”

I don’t have a fast answer. That makes him smile.

“I’m going to walk away right now,” Scraggly says. “You’re not going to stop me.”

He takes a step. I block his path. It’s semicomical, I guess. People are beginning to stare. He is far larger than I am, but there is no way I’m letting him go.

“Why are you stalking my wife?”

Scraggly steps to the side, I step to the side. Then he steps at me. I try not to move back. It is one of those moments where one of us is waiting for the other to get physical. We stand now, my chin up against his chest.

“Get out of my way,” he says.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t have to tell you a goddamn thing.”

He walks into me, his bulk pushing me back a bit. I don’t know exactly what to do here. I’ve “caught” him, but what do I do now? He plans on just walking away. Do I, what, hold him captive? Beat the answer out of him in broad daylight? To prevent him from simply leaving, I will have to get more physical. He is big. He has the tats. He has probably spent time in prison. Of course, none of that bothers me. If it gets physical, I know I will win.

That probably sounds cocky. It’s not.

I try to hold firm. He takes another step forward. I tilt off-balance and push him back. That’s all he needs. He smiles and charges. I let him. We go to the ground.

And that is when I lose my shit.

I mentioned that I wasn’t being cocky. Here’s why. I have one strength as a fighter, but it is a very effective strength: I totally lose my shit. I am relentless, unstoppable. I just keep coming at you like some little Pakistani Terminator. Scraggly Dude punches me in the cheek hard. He dances back, thinking the fight is over. I don’t even blink. Ijust keep coming. He hits me with a body shot, lower ribs. Maybe he’s cracked one, I don’t know.

But I don’t stop.

That’s my superpower. I’ve been in scrapes before. I don’t lose, because there is no quit in me. I don’t feel pain when the adrenaline starts pumping. Scraggly starts to turn away from me, realizing he may have bitten off more than he expected to chew. I jump on his back like something coming out of a tree. He stumbles under my weight, drops to his knees. I hang on until his face hits pavement.

Then I grab his hair and smash his face into the sidewalk. I pull him back up by the greasy hair, arching his back, my mouth near his ear.

“Who are you? What do you want with my wife?”

He smiles and I can see blood on his teeth. “Go fuck yourself.”

I smash his face into the pavement again.

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