us.
The police were wading into the crowd, trying to get to us and not gaining much ground. Behind them a news crew circled for position. The mounted spot on the cameraman’s unit flashed on, and he pressed in to get a good shot, the reporter with him on point, but both were repelled by a gray-haired woman who thrust a NARAL sign at the camera. An Asian cop took a punch on his shoulder and responded by putting the teenage offender in a head lock. Someone was screaming that she had been assaulted.
“You’re in the shit,” I shouted in the thrower’s ear.
“Fuck my ass, cockbreath,” he snarled back.
I twisted his arm until he made a noise, still backing toward the sidewalk. “Fucking coward. You been pregnant?” Someone grabbed my shoulder and I heard Dale grunt and then the touch was gone. “Self-righteous bastard,” I said to the thrower. “Who gave you the right? Who gave you the fucking right?”
I felt the curb against my left heel and stepped up smoothly, yanking the man after me. “You’re under citizen’s arrest,” I told the thrower.
“Natalie got a cop,” Dale shouted in my ear. “Get him inside.”
The news crew made us, then, the cameraman just behind the reporter, and they forced their way to the steps as Dale and I tried to manhandle the thrower through the door. The thrower chose this moment to start resisting again, as the reporter, a white woman with blond hair and pale brown lipstick, leaned forward and started to shout a question at us. The thrower lashed his right foot out before we could react, and Dale almost lost him. The reporter recoiled and dropped her microphone, then swore and tried to take a swing at him but I beat her to it, taking a handful of the thrower’s hair and yanking hard back. He yelped like a dog whose tail has been stepped on. Dale fixed his grip on the thrower and we managed him through the door.
The cop was waiting, and without any preamble he spun the thrower back around, pressed him to a wall, and slapped the cuffs on him. I got a good look at his face while the cop patted him down, and then placed him.
“You’re Crowell’s driver,” I said.
The thrower jerked his head toward me, alarmed, then went back to staring at the wall.
“You’re shorter in person,” I said.
That must have hit a nerve, because he let loose with a torrent of profanity that nearly drowned out the noise from the street.
“Big words for such a little guy,” I said.
He tried to go for me; the cop slammed him hard back against the wall and read him his rights. While the officer called for a sector car, the thrower said, “I’ll get you, cock-sucker.”
“Taller men have tried,” I told him. Then I turned to Dale and asked, “Where’s the principal?”
“Secured. She’s okay, no scrapes, not a thing.”
“Good.”
Through the barred window I could see the police restraining and separating the protesters, running a gauntlet of SOS signs and NARAL banners. Another naked baby doll fell in the street, red paint on its too-pink skin. Feet quickly broke the doll off the coat hanger it had been impaled on.
There were sirens now, but in Manhattan there are always sirens. Placards were falling into the street, forgotten in the melee. Any trace of civility had gone the way of the dodo, and the police were starting to get angry, shouting as incoherently as everyone else.
“What are you charging him with?” I asked the cop, gesturing at the thrower.
“Inciting, felonious assault.”
“Tack on attempted murder. He’s a member of SOS, and they’ve been threatening the doctor’s life.”
The cop blinked at me.
“I’ll follow you to the precinct,” I told him. “Two-six, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
I shook my head and told Dale to stay put, then went to find Romero. The thrower never took his eyes off me.
——
Felice slumped in a chair in the lounge on the first floor, drinking a cup of tea with both hands around the mug. Natalie stood by the door as I
The police were wading into the crowd, trying to get to us and not gaining much ground. Behind them a news crew circled for position. The mounted spot on the cameraman’s unit flashed on, and he pressed in to get a good shot, the reporter with him on point, but both were repelled by a gray-haired woman who thrust a NARAL sign at the camera. An Asian cop took a punch on his shoulder and responded by putting the teenage offender in a head lock. Someone was screaming that she had been assaulted.
“You’re in the shit,” I shouted in the thrower’s ear.
“Fuck my ass, cockbreath,” he snarled back.
I twisted his arm until he made a noise, still backing toward the sidewalk. “Fucking coward. You been pregnant?” Someone grabbed my shoulder and I heard Dale grunt and then the touch was gone. “Self-righteous bastard,” I said to the thrower. “Who gave you the right? Who gave you the fucking right?”
I felt the curb against my left heel and stepped up smoothly, yanking the man after me. “You’re under citizen’s arrest,” I told the thrower.
“Natalie got a cop,” Dale shouted in my ear. “Get him inside.”
The news crew made us, then, the cameraman just behind the reporter, and they forced their way to the steps as Dale and I tried to manhandle the thrower through the door. The thrower chose this moment to start resisting again, as the reporter, a white woman with blond hair and pale brown lipstick, leaned forward and started to shout a question at us. The thrower lashed his right foot out before we could react, and Dale almost lost him. The reporter recoiled and dropped her microphone, then swore and tried to take a swing at him but I beat her to it, taking a handful of the thrower’s hair and yanking hard back. He yelped like a dog whose tail has been stepped on. Dale fixed his grip on the thrower and we managed him through the door.
The cop was waiting, and without any preamble he spun the thrower back around, pressed him to a wall, and slapped the cuffs on him. I got a good look at his face while the cop patted him down, and then placed him.
“You’re Crowell’s driver,” I said.
The thrower jerked his head toward me, alarmed, then went back to staring at the wall.
“You’re shorter in person,” I said.
That must have hit a nerve, because he let loose with a torrent of profanity that nearly drowned out the noise from the street.
“Big words for such a little guy,” I said.
He tried to go for me; the cop slammed him hard back against the wall and read him his rights. While the officer called for a sector car, the thrower said, “I’ll get you, cock-sucker.”
“Taller men have tried,” I told him. Then I turned to Dale and asked, “Where’s the principal?”
“Secured. She’s okay, no scrapes, not a thing.”
“Good.”
Through the barred window I could see the police restraining and separating the protesters, running a gauntlet of SOS signs and NARAL banners. Another naked baby doll fell in the street, red paint on its too-pink skin. Feet quickly broke the doll off the coat hanger it had been impaled on.
There were sirens now, but in Manhattan there are always sirens. Placards were falling into the street, forgotten in the melee. Any trace of civility had gone the way of the dodo, and the police were starting to get angry, shouting as incoherently as everyone else.
“What are you charging him with?” I asked the cop, gesturing at the thrower.
“Inciting, felonious assault.”
“Tack on attempted murder. He’s a member of SOS, and they’ve been threatening the doctor’s life.”
The cop blinked at me.
“I’ll follow you to the precinct,” I told him. “Two-six, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
I shook my head and told Dale to stay put, then went to find Romero. The thrower never took his eyes off me.
——
Felice slumped in a chair in the lounge on the first floor, drinking a cup of tea with both hands around the mug. Natalie stood by the door as I
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