Shepherd?”
“Mutt. My mum and dad are college professors. Actually, they met at Woodstock. I came along much later.”
“Okay. I got work to do. Go out the back way before my boss shows up. The fucking commissioner was here last night. The mayor is hiding under his desk.”
I did as I was told and met the lady who lived behind Aubrey in a similar townhouse. She had a British accent, a sweet face, perfect puffy white hair, and she actually offered me tea, which I politely declined. She resembled Miss Marple the TV detective, so I asked her opinion.
“In mystery movies, when the hero gets a hot tip the police do not have, he or she keeps it a secret from the detectives and they run the clue down on their own, you know, to solve the case. What do you think about that?”
“I thought you were the police,” she replied. “Well, I think that would be a bad idea. It could be dangerous. These things are best left to the professionals, young man.”
To hell with Miss Marple.
15.
Outside Miss Marple’s house two burly guys from the same mold blocked the sidewalk. One was big and the other was bigger. I am six foot tall and two-twenty. They were taller and looked twice as heavy. They were wearing steel-toed work boots and coveralls caked with what looked like years of black ink. Each wore a silly, small square hat made out of folded newspaper on top of their fat pink heads. The bigger guy was looking back and forth between me and a sheet of paper. I craned my neck and saw that it had a photograph printed on it. My photograph. He stuffed it into his coverall pocket.
“You Shepherd?” asked the big one in front of me, fists ready.
“Who?” I asked, trying to walk around them.
“It’s him!” the bigger one on my right said, throwing his heavy left arm around my shoulder and gripping my shirt collar with his sweaty fist.
Oh man. I took a deep breath, set my feet and bent my knees. At the same time I cracked a big smile, brought my left arm up in front of me, bent at the elbow, and windmilled my right arm behind me and up between me and Bigger.
“Peace,” I grinned, making the V-sign with my left fingers, which I quickly poked firmly into Big’s eyes.
I hooked my right elbow onto Bigger’s arm just above his elbow and grabbed my right wrist with my left hand, as Big wailed and put his hands to his eyes. Bigger pulled on my collar, trying to lift me, which was perfect. I pulled my right arm with my left, as I jumped off the ground and twisted violently down and to the left, putting my entire weight into the move. His elbow joint gave with a pop. Bigger groaned and went down, first on his knees, then onto his right side. I followed him down and aimed my right knee and all my weight deep into his gut, letting gravity do the work. He groaned again as I rolled onto my back. A foot glanced off my foot and I saw Big above me, blinking in pain, trying to see where to punch me. I lay flat on my back, both legs out, and let him come. When he stopped at my feet, I hooked my right foot behind his left ankle and kicked him high on the same shin with my left, just under the knee, pushing through with all my strength, which whipped him backwards onto the cement with a nice thump.
I stood up, soreness beginning in my knees and elbows, and my hands had pavement scrapes on them. Big and Bigger were doing a lot worse. Big couldn’t decide which to hold, his bleeding head or his eyes, as he whined on his back. Bigger was in the fetal position, cradling his dislocated elbow and muttering. I took another breath to calm down. Their paper hats had come off. They had bald spots.
I squatted next to Bigger and took his left wrist. He winced and tried to pull away but I told him to stay still. I found a good pulse in the wrist and his fingernails re-colored when I squeezed them.
“It’s just dislocated. You’ll be fine,” I told him. “Okay, I lied. I’m Shepherd. Who are you guys?”
They just kept moaning. I noticed a lump
“Mutt. My mum and dad are college professors. Actually, they met at Woodstock. I came along much later.”
“Okay. I got work to do. Go out the back way before my boss shows up. The fucking commissioner was here last night. The mayor is hiding under his desk.”
I did as I was told and met the lady who lived behind Aubrey in a similar townhouse. She had a British accent, a sweet face, perfect puffy white hair, and she actually offered me tea, which I politely declined. She resembled Miss Marple the TV detective, so I asked her opinion.
“In mystery movies, when the hero gets a hot tip the police do not have, he or she keeps it a secret from the detectives and they run the clue down on their own, you know, to solve the case. What do you think about that?”
“I thought you were the police,” she replied. “Well, I think that would be a bad idea. It could be dangerous. These things are best left to the professionals, young man.”
To hell with Miss Marple.
15.
Outside Miss Marple’s house two burly guys from the same mold blocked the sidewalk. One was big and the other was bigger. I am six foot tall and two-twenty. They were taller and looked twice as heavy. They were wearing steel-toed work boots and coveralls caked with what looked like years of black ink. Each wore a silly, small square hat made out of folded newspaper on top of their fat pink heads. The bigger guy was looking back and forth between me and a sheet of paper. I craned my neck and saw that it had a photograph printed on it. My photograph. He stuffed it into his coverall pocket.
“You Shepherd?” asked the big one in front of me, fists ready.
“Who?” I asked, trying to walk around them.
“It’s him!” the bigger one on my right said, throwing his heavy left arm around my shoulder and gripping my shirt collar with his sweaty fist.
Oh man. I took a deep breath, set my feet and bent my knees. At the same time I cracked a big smile, brought my left arm up in front of me, bent at the elbow, and windmilled my right arm behind me and up between me and Bigger.
“Peace,” I grinned, making the V-sign with my left fingers, which I quickly poked firmly into Big’s eyes.
I hooked my right elbow onto Bigger’s arm just above his elbow and grabbed my right wrist with my left hand, as Big wailed and put his hands to his eyes. Bigger pulled on my collar, trying to lift me, which was perfect. I pulled my right arm with my left, as I jumped off the ground and twisted violently down and to the left, putting my entire weight into the move. His elbow joint gave with a pop. Bigger groaned and went down, first on his knees, then onto his right side. I followed him down and aimed my right knee and all my weight deep into his gut, letting gravity do the work. He groaned again as I rolled onto my back. A foot glanced off my foot and I saw Big above me, blinking in pain, trying to see where to punch me. I lay flat on my back, both legs out, and let him come. When he stopped at my feet, I hooked my right foot behind his left ankle and kicked him high on the same shin with my left, just under the knee, pushing through with all my strength, which whipped him backwards onto the cement with a nice thump.
I stood up, soreness beginning in my knees and elbows, and my hands had pavement scrapes on them. Big and Bigger were doing a lot worse. Big couldn’t decide which to hold, his bleeding head or his eyes, as he whined on his back. Bigger was in the fetal position, cradling his dislocated elbow and muttering. I took another breath to calm down. Their paper hats had come off. They had bald spots.
I squatted next to Bigger and took his left wrist. He winced and tried to pull away but I told him to stay still. I found a good pulse in the wrist and his fingernails re-colored when I squeezed them.
“It’s just dislocated. You’ll be fine,” I told him. “Okay, I lied. I’m Shepherd. Who are you guys?”
They just kept moaning. I noticed a lump
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