“I told you that was her,” Smashed Testicles said, as he pushed up the sleeves of a plaid shirt-jacket. It was close to ninety degrees, but I guess fashion outweighed comfort. “You looking for more trouble?”
“Nope,” I said, riding in a tight circle. “Just looking for a friend of mine.”
“Around here? What you think, Jorge? This girl got friends in our hood?”
Jorge wiped the blood from beneath his nose. “I doubt it.”
“How ‘bout you, Johnny? Maybe she’ll give you some Asian-style loving. Make you feel better. Make you forget how she messed up your knee.”
Johnny limped forward to complete the defensive line. He glared at me and spread his hands in challenge. “I already told you, I don’t want your help. Unless you came to finish the job. If so, bring it on.”
I braked and stood on my pedals, balancing the Merida, as I considered my options. The cars parked on either side of the Charger made a bottleneck too narrow to escape. A discarded scooter and toys littered the sidewalk on the right, a Ram truck extended into the sidewalk on the left, and three angry men waited to teach me a lesson in the center. Bad options all around.
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened, okay? It was an honest mistake—three big dudes chasing a couple of scrawny kids? What was I supposed to do?”
“Mind your own business,” Johnny said, and grabbed for my handlebars.
I jerked them away, pedaled a few feet, and slid my bike to safety between parked cars. If these guys were determined to fight, I didn’t want it harmed.
I returned to the street and held out my empty palms in a casual yet calculated stance. “We don’t need to do this.”
Jorge dropped his hand from his nose and swaggered forward. I stepped to the side and positioned myself so his buddies formed a line behind him—better to pick them off one by one. I would have preferred taking out the biggest threat first, but since the smallest guy had taken the lead, he’d have to do.
See, Ma? I can be accommodating.
The thought made me smile, which irritated Jorge.
“You think I’m funny?” He asked, cocking a fist as he grabbed for my shirt.
With my hands already up in front of my shoulders, I barely had to move to deflect his attack. A slight rotation to knock his hand off course. A tiny step forward. A subtle extension of my arm. His head twisted and his body spiraled to the asphalt. On his way down, I captured his arm, wedged my knee into his back, and stepped in front of his thighs to trap his legs. I had him arched on his side with his cheek planted on the road, and still he fought. So I cranked his elbow just shy of dislocation.
“Stay back,” I said to the others, as they moved to come at me.
Since I didn’t want to escalate the situation by dislocating Jorge’s elbow, I let his forearm slip out from under my armpit and captured his hand for an Omote Gyaku wrist lock: I flipped him onto his back, between me and his buddies, then manipulated his wrist from one structural lock to another to create a moving human shield.
“Like I said, boys, I’m sorry about before. What do you say we call it a day and let this one go?”
Johnny tipped his head like a bull and launched off his good leg for a tackle. I reversed Jorge’s wrist to move him between me and his buddy, face down, wrist up, armed locked from shoulder to hand. Bones cracked when Johnny slammed into him.
Jorge howled, Johnny cursed, and Smashed Testicles—whose real name I had yet to learn—attacked.
I launched a stomping side kick—ninja style with my toes up and my hips open—into his sternum. The sneaky yet powerful kick allowed me to continue facing the threat in front of me while effectively dealing with an attack from the side. And since I didn’t have to step, turn, or rotate my hip before launching the kick, Smashed Testicles never saw it coming. He rammed into my stomping heel and landed several feet away on his baggy ass.
I didn’t wait to see who would recover first. I retrieved my bike, bolted past the groaning men, and didn’t stop until I was a good ten miles away.
Chapter Four
Aleisha’s Refuge was a shelter for abused women run by Aleisha and Stan Reiner—my closest friends, my employers, and two of the rare people in this world who knew what I really did with my time. After the mess I had made of my day, I could use a dose of their cheery optimism.
I coasted to a stop in front of the tandem houses, one in front and a second in back. A wall of white painted metal secured the properties. One gate barred the driveway that lead to the rear structure and the other barred to the pathway that lead to the front door. Aleisha and Stan owned them both. Stan had money left over from his career on Wall Street. Since Aleisha had always dreamed of opening a women’s refuge near—but not in—Compton, the twin houses on Alsace Avenue had fit the bill: affordable, secure, and accessible to women in need.
I opened the pathway gate and rolled the Merida toward the house. Today, as on all days before 10 p.m., the gate was unlocked. Women escaping domestic violence already faced innumerable obstacles—some internal, some external—a locked gate this close to freedom could send them home for good. The front door, on the other hand, was triple bolted around the clock.
Since I had encouraged the Reiners to install a sensor on the gate, I wasn’t surprised to see the front door open before I reached the steps. Nor was I surprised to see Stan—a pear-shaped man with a bald dome fringed with white-brown wisps—open his arms for a hug. “Give it here, Lily.”
I balanced the bike against my hip and reached around Stan’s ample belly.
He gave me a squeeze and snorted his disapproval. “You’re as skinny as a twig. You should eat.”
I laughed. “Could you at least let me in the house first?”
Stan’s customary greeting always included some observation about my wellbeing and a firm suggestion to eat. Next, he’d start offering whatever Aleisha had cooked or baked in the last few hours. My stomach grumbled. I had forgotten to retrieve my lunch from Paco. Soul food and TLC would be welcome.
“Is that Lily Wong I hear?” Aleisha asked, her alto voice sang the words like a line in a hymn. Then she chuckled and shoved her husband out of the way. “Stop hogging all the hugs, Stan. There won’t be any left for me.”
I parked the Merida in its usual spot against the entryway wall, and prepared to be overwhelmed.
Aleisha pulled me into her embrace, smothered me with her bosom, and shook me side-to-side like a dog with a favorite toy. “I’ve missed you, girl. Why you stay away so long?”
Her skin was as dark as Stan’s was pale, and her face had huge close-set eyes, a wide down-turned nose, and cupid-bow lips that formed the same long, narrow curve as her chin when she smiled. Her purple-tinged braids, swept slightly to the side, had been gathered into a spiraling bun. But her most remarkable feature were her cheeks, which stood out like a pair of golf balls, high and cheerful on her angular face. No one could be on the receiving end of Aleisha’s smile and not return it.
She pushed me back for inspection. A pursed frown replaced her smile. “Stan’s right, you look scrawnier than usual. How’s that even possible with all your papa’s cooking?” She shook her finger at me. “Worry. That’s what’s put you off your food.”