The Wrong Alley Short Story

“Dammit.”

Gerald looked down at his shoe. He felt the squish and even heard it, just a bit. He was sure he’d stepped in dog crap. Frustrated, he looked around for a stick or a random piece of plastic. Hell, even a beer can would work for scraping it off.

Then he saw a broken dowel, likely from an old broom, just a few feet into the alley. He walked the 10 yards or so up the sidewalk and cut left, intent on the stick.

“This isn’t what I need right now. Nicole’s waiting on me,” he mumbled to himself. His mind started to wander to the last time they’d had dinner as he reached out for the broken scrap of wood.

SMACK

Just at that moment, Gerald’s vision narrowed and he felt his legs give out from under him. He fell towards the ground, managing to keep his knees under him. A powerful headache erupted across his skull and it was all he could do to keep from losing consciousness.

Somehow, some aspect of his training kicked in and he managed to get his hands – still holding on to the stick – up to protect his head. The next blow came quickly but was softened, to whatever degree it could be, by his feeble defense. It didn’t do nearly the damage of the first strike.

That wasn’t what the attacker had anticipated, and it gave Gerald just enough time to open his eyes and see what the hell was going on. All he could see in front of him was dirty denim. Looking up from the filthy pants he saw a man wearing a threadbare flannel shirt. His face was thin, and covered with a long, patchy beard. Like the rest of him, the facial hair was dirty and it was hard to tell the color. All considered, the man could have been 25 or 75. However, it didn’t matter how old he was because he swung the broken pool cue with enough force that Gerald didn’t want to eat another blow…

As the dirty man pulled back, Gerald took the opportunity to stand up and extend his empty left hand to the right elbow of the assailant. That push to his right side was enough for him to lose his balance, forcing him to step back and catch himself. With the tables turned, Gerald kept his left hand up and brought the bottom two inches of the broom handle into the left side of the man’s temple, making a loud crack. Stunned from the blow, the attacker froze, giving the intended victim the chance to hook the stick under the attacker’s chin and pivot to the side, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The pain in Gerald’s head was intense, and it was all he could do to remain standing but somehow the adrenaline compensated. With his attacker on the ground, Gerald took the two steps over to his side, pinning his right wrist under his left foot.

He took a quick survey of the alley to be sure that they were alone, and was thankful to not see any other threats. Looking back down at the attacker, he was able to get a much better read on the man. He was neither 25 nor 75, but likely in his late 40s. He was clearly malnourished and had dirt and scabs on his face and neck

“I should kill you,” Gerald said to his defeated attacker.

“No, please!” the other man whined.

“Why not? You were gonna kill me.” Gerald said flatly.

It was a struggle to feel empathy for someone like this. Drug addicted, probably homeless, and willing to take whatever he could from whomever he could. It was a way of life that more people were choosing, and Gerald just couldn’t wrap his brain around it.

“No, man, I wasn’t! I promise! I was just gonna take your money, man. I’m really hard up, and my old lady’s sick.”

“Uh-huh. You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Somehow Gerald’s voice had even less empathy than he felt. It was getting worse everywhere, and this wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked. Although, it was the first time he’d ever been caught so off-guard.

“I can’t just let you go. You’ll do this again, to someone else. And you might kill that person and I can’t live with that.” He raised his voice with the last few words, surprising both of them.

“…then…what are you… going to… do?” the would-be opportunist said, trying to keep his composure.

“How about this. Which hand do you write with? This one, the one I’m stepping on?”

“Y-yes.” He stammered.

CRUNCH

Gerald had quickly pressed down with his heel and twisted, snapping the man’s ulna. He cried out in pain, cursing the act of vigilantism.

Feeling like there wasn’t much risk anymore, Gerald stepped off the broken wrist and kicked the pool cue away. He looked down at the man once more. Seeing him writhe in pain. He did feel sorry for him. Drugs were hell. Who knows what this guy had been through? For all Gerald knew, the guy did have a sick wife. Maybe he was trying to get money to help her…

He shook his head. No, that didn’t give him the right to try and kill someone.

“I’m sorry for breaking your wrist. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I really am. Hopefully, you’ve learned a lesson…”

“Yes, yes, I have! I promise”

Satisfied, or at least feeling like the exchange was complete, Gerald backed away a few paces. When he was sure the man wouldn’t come after him, he turned and walked off, heading to Nicole’s once again. Hopefully, she had some aspirin.

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