Not Quite a Hero
Harvey stood in the shadows of the back lot. Jacket half open. His breath heavy with alcohol. The noise of the bar faded behind him. Only the dripping of a leaky gutter remained. A few hours ago he had begun celebrating the end of his law degree.
He chuckled quietly at the idea of suing the brewery that had brought him to this state. Then he doubled over between two trash cans and threw up. As he wiped his mouth and walked on, he ran into someone.
“Sorry, man,” he muttered. A trembling woman’s voice answered: “Help me.”
He tried to focus. Three men, about five meters off. One was holding a pink handbag, clearly searching it for something.
“That really doesn’t go with your shoes,” Harvey called over.
The other two followed the woman in his direction. She was bleeding at the knee. Her dress was torn.
A mugging. Maybe more.
Harvey stepped forward. “Get behind me,” he said quietly. She obeyed.
Three on one. My trainer would be proud if he could see me now. Stay low. Breathe steady. Take the first one out before they even know what’s happening.
The first punch landed hard. His nose cracked.
Too slow. Damn booze.
Then the kick to the stomach. His face on the asphalt. The taste of blood on his tongue.
He saw the loose brick.
Perfect.
He grabbed it. Hit fingers. Then a temple. The man dropped without a sound.
The other two hesitated. One bolted. Harvey tripped him. Caught him by the back of the head. Slammed him into the wall.
Breathe. Two down.
A quick glance at the woman.
With any luck, none of them had a chance to take what’s coming to me.
The last one stepped up. Drew a knife. “Hand over the girl, then you can leave.”
Harvey turned his head. She was crouched against the wall.
Frightened. Slight. Pretty. Disheveled, but not broken.
“Don’t think so.”
The guy lunged.
This is it. Just like training.
Harvey blocked. Hit the kidney. Then the chin. The man went down. Harvey followed. Knees. Fists. Rage. Not because of her. Not because of him. Just rage.
He kept hitting until someone pulled him back.
“Harvey. What the hell are you doing.” Thomas’s voice. A slap. Back to reality.
“They attacked me.”
Thomas bent over the man. “Shit, Harvey. You killed him.”
Harvey shrugged. “He started it. Call an ambulance for the other two.” Then he picked up the handbag and turned to the woman. “This is yours, isn’t it?”
She took it with trembling fingers. “Thank you.”
He looked her over. Then held out his hand. “Harvey.”
“Isa,” she breathed.
“How about a coffee? Without the brawl this time, ideally.”
“Some other time, maybe. I have to go.”
She turned and disappeared.
Harvey stayed behind. Slightly hurt. Still drunk. And wondered what any of that had been for.