*Yes, yes…I know it’s Tuesday, I got caught up with stuff*
Note: These events take place six months after the last episode
Wednesday 3:45 p.m.
Tony’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he barreled down the sidewalk, shoving people out of his way with a panicked “Move!”. Three teens, two black and one latino, closed in on him from behind. His vision swam, spots forming along the edges of his sight. The mouth of an alley yawned just ahead and he dug for one last burst of speed, ducking into it. He ran past rotting garbage and a large dumpster, stopping short when he reached the dead end. “Son of a bitch!”
He turned to see the outlines of his pursuers, features hidden by the shadowed confines, stroll down the stinking path toward him. “Ha! Got you now, ya little dago. Nowhere to run. Now what did you call me?” the largest of the trio said.
The three passed the invisible line Tony drew in his head, and he grinned. “I called you a rubber-lipped, baboon-nosed, stinkin’ moolie, ya moolie.”
The click of a blade springing into place echoed. “You are dead!”
They charged past the dumpster, the switchblade wielder’s ribs meeting with a baseball bat swung by Bernardo springing from hiding. The knife went flying forward while the boy went back, head cracking on the ground. Bernardo didn’t hesitate, using the remaining duo’s astonishment to his advantage. The bat whistled through the shadows, cries and breaking bones answering in return.
“Yeah, Bernardo! Give it to the bastards!” Tony leaped up and down in excitement, hands flashing forward as he boxed at nothing. “Teach ’em a lesson! Whoo! Eye of the tiger, baby!”
Bernardo finished his grisly chore and Tony shadow-boxed his way to his prone and groaning former pursuers. The blade-wielder lay unconscious, and Tony kicked him in the balls. Then he kicked him again. Again. The kicks sped up, more force behind each one. “Stupid, bastard.” Kick. “Think you were gonna cut me?” Kick. “I’m too smart, for ya, boy.” Kick.
Bernardo grabbed Tony by the shoulder, mid-kick, and yanked him away. “Yeah, yeah, Bernie. I got it.” Tony sniffed and smoothed back his hair. “I’m cool now. I’m cool.”
He knelt next to the Puerto Rican member of the group and slapped the boy’s face. “Hablo English, prick?” Hatred rolled off the banger and he spit a glob of blood at Tony’s feet. “I guess that’s a ‘yes’.” He punched the kid across the jaw. “You know Kurtzman’s Deli? The one you and your scumbag pals decided to rob? That’s under the protection of Mr. de Rossi. He doesn’t like wetbacks and moolies hasslin’ the good people of the neighborhood, ya know?”
Tony punched him again, then rifled the guys pockets, pulling out a wallet. He opened it up to read the driver’s license, noticing pictures of an older woman and young girl of about twelve on the opposite fold. He smirked and reached inside his track-suit, pulling his Browning out.
The Latino boy’s eyes widened in fear, and Tony chuckled. He tapped the barrel against the helpless man’s forehead, hard. “I ain’t gonna kill you…right now.” He held up the wallet, the pictures clearly visible. “Nah. This is just a message. Stay away from the deli…actually, you know what? Stay outta that neighborhood.” Tony glanced at the picture of the mother and little sister with mock concern. “I’d hate for anything to happen to lil’ sis here. Seems like she might grow up to a sweet piece.”
He pulled the cash from the wallet, along with the picture and license, tossing the emptied leather on the fallen man’s chest. He glanced at Bernardo, who held up the other two’s wallet contents. “We know where you live. Remember that.”
Bernardo grunted his assent, and the two of them strolled out of the alley.