the cab driver, Daddy Cool stopped in front of the hotel. It was too hot, he reasoned, to be shut up in the tiny hotel room. Even though there was a slight breeze blowing, the night air seemed to be choking him.
As he started to walk around the block his mind returned to the subject that constantly stayed with him-his wayward daughter. If only he could keep her off his mind he would be able to take care of the job he was sent out to do. So far, all he could do was reflect on the mistakes he had made since arriving on the West Coast.
Altogether, he had made too many errors. In his line of work, mistakes were very costly. At the rate he was going, he reflected, he would end up paying the dues he owed, too. For the obvious reason, he just couldn't bring his full concentration to the job at hand. Janet. Janet would be his damn downfall if he didn't change his ways.
He couldn't help but wonder if there had been any changes in the young girl's mind since she had left. Enough time had passed. She had been gone long enough to forgive her father for what he had done in the heat of his anger. There was no reason for her still to hold a grudge against him, yet he realized that was what was wrong. Her temper, just like his own, was her worst enemy. When angry, she didn't take time to think anything out; she just reacted.
As he continued to walk, deep in his moody thoughts, he failed to notice the group of six young boys who turned around and started to follow him on the narrow side street. The darkness of the street suited his black mood. The six boys crossed over so that they were now about fifty feet behind him. Their steps picked up as they started to gain on the tall black man in front of them.
Any other time, Daddy Cool would have recognized the danger he was walking into. But now, with his mind three thousand miles away, he never even glanced up when the loud sounds of hurrying footsteps should have warned him of approaching danger.
The first warning he had was when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced around without really thinking of what he was doing.
"What the hell," Daddy Cool managed to say; then his keen nerves sent warning signs that almost exploded in his head. You fool, he cursed himself. What the hell have you allowed yourself to walk into? The question inside his mind was never answered. Before he could figure out some kind of defense, another hand touched him on the other shoulder.
Daddy Cool was a product of the ghetto streets, so by nature he knew what a trick would run into. Yet he had allowed himself to fall into the very same trap that tricks ran into every day when they slummed in the black neighborhood after dark. It was even possible that the young group of boys had mistaken him for a white man in the dark. Whatever the reason, only swift action would save him now. Even though the gang now realized that it wasn't a white man they had stopped, they were too far committed to back off now. Whatever the result, they would play it to the end.
Knowing that swift action was the only thing that would save him, Daddy Cool still hesitated a second too long. When he did make his move, he was seconds too late. One of the boys had his arm pinned behind his back, while another large black boy slammed him twice in the stomach. The vicious punches brought a gasp of pain from their victim. Daddy Cool bent double from the blow. Another fist struck him behind the neck.
Daddy Cool felt like a fool. The beating he was taking was all because of his stupidity. If he had kept his mind open and alert, none of this would be happening. Suddenly he felt a hand feeling around in his back pocket. He wanted to scream out for them to take it, just take the money and leave him alone. He knew that there was only about two hundred dollars in the wallet, plus some funny identification. He wouldn't miss the money or the ID. He only prayed that his attackers wouldn't hurt him too badly.
So instead of trying to resist, he played
As he started to walk around the block his mind returned to the subject that constantly stayed with him-his wayward daughter. If only he could keep her off his mind he would be able to take care of the job he was sent out to do. So far, all he could do was reflect on the mistakes he had made since arriving on the West Coast.
Altogether, he had made too many errors. In his line of work, mistakes were very costly. At the rate he was going, he reflected, he would end up paying the dues he owed, too. For the obvious reason, he just couldn't bring his full concentration to the job at hand. Janet. Janet would be his damn downfall if he didn't change his ways.
He couldn't help but wonder if there had been any changes in the young girl's mind since she had left. Enough time had passed. She had been gone long enough to forgive her father for what he had done in the heat of his anger. There was no reason for her still to hold a grudge against him, yet he realized that was what was wrong. Her temper, just like his own, was her worst enemy. When angry, she didn't take time to think anything out; she just reacted.
As he continued to walk, deep in his moody thoughts, he failed to notice the group of six young boys who turned around and started to follow him on the narrow side street. The darkness of the street suited his black mood. The six boys crossed over so that they were now about fifty feet behind him. Their steps picked up as they started to gain on the tall black man in front of them.
Any other time, Daddy Cool would have recognized the danger he was walking into. But now, with his mind three thousand miles away, he never even glanced up when the loud sounds of hurrying footsteps should have warned him of approaching danger.
The first warning he had was when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced around without really thinking of what he was doing.
"What the hell," Daddy Cool managed to say; then his keen nerves sent warning signs that almost exploded in his head. You fool, he cursed himself. What the hell have you allowed yourself to walk into? The question inside his mind was never answered. Before he could figure out some kind of defense, another hand touched him on the other shoulder.
Daddy Cool was a product of the ghetto streets, so by nature he knew what a trick would run into. Yet he had allowed himself to fall into the very same trap that tricks ran into every day when they slummed in the black neighborhood after dark. It was even possible that the young group of boys had mistaken him for a white man in the dark. Whatever the reason, only swift action would save him now. Even though the gang now realized that it wasn't a white man they had stopped, they were too far committed to back off now. Whatever the result, they would play it to the end.
Knowing that swift action was the only thing that would save him, Daddy Cool still hesitated a second too long. When he did make his move, he was seconds too late. One of the boys had his arm pinned behind his back, while another large black boy slammed him twice in the stomach. The vicious punches brought a gasp of pain from their victim. Daddy Cool bent double from the blow. Another fist struck him behind the neck.
Daddy Cool felt like a fool. The beating he was taking was all because of his stupidity. If he had kept his mind open and alert, none of this would be happening. Suddenly he felt a hand feeling around in his back pocket. He wanted to scream out for them to take it, just take the money and leave him alone. He knew that there was only about two hundred dollars in the wallet, plus some funny identification. He wouldn't miss the money or the ID. He only prayed that his attackers wouldn't hurt him too badly.
So instead of trying to resist, he played
Similar Books
