Home>>read Time and Again free online

Time and Again(36)

By:Brian D. Meeks


The altar boy returned, lightly knocking on the open door. There was a gentleman waiting to give confession. Father Patrick stood, gave his condolences once more, and then shook Henry’s hand.

Henry made his way up the stairs and walked towards the front of the church. The echo of a creaking noise caught Henry’s attention. He turned his head to the left. It was Andrea Garneau who was seeking absolution.

Henry’s little voice in his head was musing. If I believed in coincidences, this one would be a doozie. Henry strolled outside, and the three leather coats were just getting out of a cab. Henry played it cool. He walked, and they followed.

Two blocks, then a left, another block, and Henry stopped to buy a newspaper. He went for another fifty yards and casually turned into an alley. The moment he was around the corner, he backed up against the wall. A few seconds later the sound of hurried footsteps announced their arrival.

“Hello, boys, whatchya doing?”

The three of them stopped cold. The tall one could think on his feet, well sort of. “Nothing, daddio, just stretching out legs.” He tried to sound hip and cool, but failed in both regards. It just made Henry angrier, but he didn’t show it.

“You sure seem like you were in a hurry. One could be forgiven for reaching the conclusion that you were following them. In fact, that is the very conclusion I've reached. Why are you following me?”

The tall one took out a pack of Lucky Strikes, shook it, and pulled out a cigarette. He flicked his lighter, lighting it like he had practiced in front of a mirror. He took a long deep pull and then blew it out, towards, but not directly at, Henry. His voice tried to sound tough, but was a weak attempt at best. “So, what of it?”

His buddies chuckled, which didn’t endear them to Henry. They would regret laughing.





Chapter Thirty-One



"Listen kiddo, me? I don't like being followed. In fact, I really hate being followed by amateurs; it’s insulting."

The three leather jackets were pretty sure they had been put down, and Henry could see them replaying it in their heads, trying to find the slight.

In a calm-before-the-storm tone, he asked, "Who do you work for?" They may not have been honor students, but his measured speech wasn't lost on them. What they didn't know was that Henry was in a foul mood and he wanted to punch a wall, but that would be unproductive.

The tall one had one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette, and so was wide open. "Hey, pops, it's a free..." was all he managed before he crumpled to the ground.

Henry leaned into the punch and caught him right under the rib cage. The calm was gone and the storm was ashore.

Henry preferred clever word play to fisticuffs. He rarely carried a gun. He had been in his fair share of scuffles, though, and did some boxing in his youth, so he could take care of himself. The last time Henry was in a brawl, it was in a bar in upstate New York, but that was merely recreational.

Henry stepped on the tall one's neck. The shorter chubby thug jumped back when his friend dropped; the one whose appearance hinted at weasel, froze. Henry's left arm shot forward and grabbed the weasel's neck. The weasel grabbed the arm attached to the hand crushing his windpipe. The look in his eyes was a mixture of surprise and terror.

“I am going to beat the weasel here for a while, just for sheer joy of it.” Henry smiled at the frightened weasel. The chubby one took another step back. Henry removed his foot from the gasping thug on the ground and stepped into a right jab. The force of the blow sent the weasel across the alley, bouncing off a trash can, and hitting the wall with a thud. Henry took three steps, kicked the overturned can out of the way and grabbed his neck again.

“After I get done beating the weasel into a pulp…” he paused to look at the still gasping thug on the ground.,“…I am going to have a discussion with chubby, possibly bust him up a bit…” Henry looked at the rotund thug, who had terror in his eyes.

Before Henry could finish his threat and accompanying beating, the chubby one blurted out, “Father Patrick asked us to watch you! We didn’t mean nothing, mister.”

Henry released the weasel, who slid to the ground, rubbing his neck. Henry reached down and pulled the tall one off the ground and patted him on the back. The chubby one picked up the weasel. “Now I am going to say this once, you understand?”

They nodded, not making eye contact.

“You are going to tell the padre I gave you the slip. You are not going to mention that I saw you following me, or say anything about this little unpleasantness in the alley. Got it?”

There was some more nodding while studying their feet. It was sort of sad, Henry thought. These three kids, probably not more than twenty-five, and this is how they handle themselves in a fight. I guess the leather jackets were just for show.