Page 21 of Help Me Remember
Me though? I knew what these guys were, or at least I had a pretty good idea. But dangerous or not, they were shaking down an old man who could barely get around on his own without a cane, let alone defend himself. Everything inside me screamed that it was not only wrong but disgusting. I wasn’t in the best shape considering everything that had happened, but it was better for me to deal with them than some old man with a bent back and poor eyesight.
“Back,” I told Eric, glancing over my right shoulder.
“Dylan!” Eric yelped, his head snapping to my left with a sharp gesture.
Which is precisely when everything went to hell.
I snapped my head to the left and saw buddy number one swinging a blunt object my way. Time moved in a stuttering snapshot, and only as my body moved did I realize it was a collapsible baton. Without thought, I twisted to take the blow on the thick part of my upper arm, where fat and muscle absorbed it with only a twinge of pain rather than the crack of bone of my shoulder or elbow. The baton barely caused a twinge, and I shoved forward, driving my elbow against the man’s wrist and chest before he slammed into the wall.
The small alleyway seemed to grow less dim, and every line and color came into sharp focus as I turned toward Ryan’s second friend. I spotted the flash of the metal on the knife as he sped toward me. Using the body of the pinned man, I launched myself toward the second man, my foot driving into his exposed knee. The crack of bone was as sharp as his scream of agony, but I didn’t hesitate as I drove my elbow into his nose.
Movement to my left reminded me of the first buddy, and I turned as he came for me again. This time I was ready, reaching up to catch his swinging arm. With a hard jerk, I twisted his wrist back and brought the flat of my other palm up and into his elbow with a gesture that was too clean, too precise to be anything but practiced and mastered.
It worked, and the baton clattered to the ground. I adjusted my grip on him smoothly, and held him only to throw him away from me, sending him reeling into the dirt and grime of the alley several feet away. I barely noticed, however, as the sound of feet behind me brought my attention around, and I saw limbs moving.
Without thought, I grabbed Ryan’s wrist, snapping it so hard I could hear bone and cartilage snap as he tried to stumble away. The knife he’d meant to drive into me slipped from his grasp, and I released him long enough to grab it from the air. The handle was unusual, but I flipped it around with only mild fumbling to bring it down and drive it into his—
A hand slammed into my arm with surprising desperation and strength. “Dylan, stop!”
The same instinct that had gripped me the entire time brought my attention back toward this potential threat. Instead of danger, I found bright blue eyes, wider and more fearful than I’d seen them before. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on Eric’s brow, and I could see the way his lip trembled when he caught the look in my eye. However, his grip on my arm never wavered, and I saw his jaw tighten.
“Stop,” he said, more quietly but no less firm. “They’re done. You won. There’s no need to kill them.”
The ironclad grip of instinct that held me melted away like ice, and I released Ryan, allowing the man to stumble away from me with a whimper, his legs tangling under him and sending him sprawling to the ground. Eric glanced at him, giving me a warning look and taking a step toward the injured man. I tensed when Ryan shot him a filthy look and kicked out half-heartedly, warding Eric off.
Eric sighed. “Look, take you and your friends to the clinic. You know they’ll take care of you there.”
With a grunt, I looked around to try to find Mr. Reyes. A cursory glance showed me the older man had already taken off. A delayed memory bubbled up in my head of Eric grabbing Mr. Reyes while I’d been fighting, dragging him out of harm’s way. Amid the confusion of what I’d done and the tenseness of the situation, I felt warmth at Eric’s unflinching instinct to care for someone in the heat of the moment.
“No cops?” I asked Eric as I felt his hand close over my arm again, beginning to pull me away.
“There’s not many cops in this area that I wouldn’t trust to make this worse,” Eric told me grimly as we left the alley.
“Worse, how?” I asked gruffly. “Those guys—”
“I’m forgiving you for your ignorance because you can’t remember shit, but don’t try to lecture me right now,” Eric told me through gritted teeth. “Most of the cops that work this area are part of the reason guys like that exist. The rest are too weak, scared, or outnumbered to do anything about the problem.”
“They were going to hurt him,” I spat back, yanking my hand from Eric’s grip.
Eric let out a frustrated noise and turned on me. The worry and fear on his face were gone as he jabbed his fingers into my chest. “And what are the cops going to do? Huh?”
“Arrest them?” I shot back.
“Or beat the shit out of them despite the fact that you already did. Or let them off because they’re a dirty cop and easily bought. Or stuff them into an already overcrowded jail, where they’ll be let out quickly to clear some space,” Eric told me without flinching.
“Eric—” I began, already feeling my outrage wilting rapidly.
“Around here? The law is just another word for the pricks in badges who use their power to abuse other people, no different than the assholes you just beat up,” Eric told me, his eyes narrowing. “We aren’t the rich people uptown who get all the best and brightest, who will show up and treat everyone with respect so the place stays nice. Welcome back to this part of Port Dale, Dylan, where people have to deal with most of their problems on their own.”
That was twice he’d mentioned what I’d done. Several questions arose in my mind and threatened the tip of my tongue, but I held them back. It wasn’t a subject I was ready to address just yet.
“Good,” Eric said, his shoulders relaxing as he turned back toward his car. “Now get in. I want to go home.”
My jaw was tight as I did as he said, slamming the door a little harder than was necessary. It wasn’t until we pulled away from the curb that I finally spoke up. “That Ryan guy…”
“Ryan Vasquez,” Eric said quietly, tone thick with emotion. “Born and raised here. Off and on user, and constantly pulled into gang activity. His parents were useless addicts who took turns beating the shit out of him and his siblings. He always danced between being and not being part of a gang. I guess Los Muertos got their claws in him again.”
“Sounds like you’re familiar with him,” I said, feeling the first prickles of unhappiness at the thought.