by D A Carey
Under other circumstances, this would be a man she’d want to know better. Not in a romantic way, but as a man. Liz had always liked no nonsense, confident people who got things done and didn’t need accolades or seek attention.
Liz stopped listening to Kate’s side of the conversation with her dad. Even Kate was partially distracted at this point, and her words drifted off. They were all rapt spectators to the demands and shouts between the gang leader and Malcolm.
Raheem spoke from the cover of cars in front of Malcolm’s home. “Send out the guns, women, and food and I’ll let the men live.”
The other survivors from the block were crowded into Malcolm’s house and heard the exchange. Liz was scared when a couple of the other men looked around the room as if considering the offer; she could see a moment of terror on Kate’s face as she saw the same looks.
Malcolm defiantly yelled out, “Raheem, I know who you are, and I know Malik too. You are a no-good son of a bitch. You ain’t getting nothing but a world of hurt if you keep coming at us! Any man that hurts me or mine won’t live long. You all know me!”
Raheem didn’t see that when Malcolm spoke those words, he was glaring directly at his neighbors in his own home. “Raheem, this whole city and possibly this whole country’s gone to hell. It’s your world now. It would be a shame to die here on this block right near where you grew up and miss out. Leave us be!”
Malik responded with a hail of bullets before Raheem could get a word out. The speech might have worked on Raheem. Malik was plain crazy. After the barrage, a couple of people were bleeding with scratches. None appeared to be hit badly.
The only person whose injury was more serious was old Mr. Goldberg. He was the son of Holocaust survivors and was born not long after the war. Ellie had told Liz how his house was kept up so fastidiously. Liz and Ellie helped Mr. Goldberg wrap a pressure dressing around his side, where he was bleeding. He insisted it wasn’t that bad.
After the barrage, Kate purposefully laid the phone down so the call wouldn’t disconnect and approached Malcolm with an expression of confidence that hadn’t been there a few minutes earlier. Liz sensed that things were about to change in their favor.
Malcolm called for most of their attention while a few still fired random shots to keep the gang’s attention. “Vince is only a little ways down the block,” he said hurriedly. “His plan is to hit the gang hard to disperse as many of them as possible. Without doing that, the gang could hurt many of us when we go out. Vince needs most of the gang in the front yard so they can hit them hard in crossfire both from the house and behind.”
“Who is Vince? Why should we trust him?” one of the neighbors asked.
Ellie’s face got tight. Kate seemed about the burst with anger. Malcolm stepped in the middle and just said, “He’s the cavalry.”
While Malcolm spoke to Vince, Kate and Ellie began cutting up white bedsheets and handing them out, explaining the purpose for them as Vince had directed. Everyone began talking in a rush, putting forth different ideas to get the gang in the front yard.
Then the front door opened.
<< Ellie >>
Ellie picked up the phone. “Vince…” Before he could respond, he heard Ellie’s frantic voice saying, “Oh my God, he’s going outside!”
Vince wasn’t ready to act and wasn’t sure what Ellie’s shout meant. All Vince could see from his vantage after hearing Ellie’s words was an older man holding his bleeding side walk onto the lawn in front of Ellie and Malcolm’s home. He held up a white handkerchief speckled with blood from his coughs.
“Don’t shoot.” He turned back to the house, raised a single hand. “Stop shooting.”
Everyone paused. No one on either side knew quite what to do. It was obvious no one planned for this. Some of the gang members came out to see what he wanted. Others held back, suspicious of a trap. Soon the old man was standing in the front yard near the cars at the curb surrounded by half of the gang. They gathered around him, cutting off the view from the house and Vince both. None of them could hear what was being said.
Andy and Dwight reported in by radio that they were loaded and ready. Vince instructed them to hold their position until he could decide what was going on.
There was a commotion in the middle of the group, and gunshots rang out. Vince was still confused as to who the old man was and who was shooting at whom. He dared not interrupt if this was some scheme by the defenders.
***
Ellie looked on in horror. Mr. Goldberg walked through the front door waving what was once an elegant monogrammed white handkerchief, now speckled with blood.
He called for Raheem. As he did, many of the gang circled him. Raheem approached, blocked from those in the house by his own men. Raheem held an unusually large gold-plated handgun to Mr. Goldberg’s head. Ellie had once seen Vince scoff at a similar one in a gun shop as a showpiece. It was a Desert Eagle and was comical at the end of Raheem’s long, slender arm.
Mr. Goldberg stood tall and said defiantly, “You don’t want to shoot me yet, son. If you do, you won’t find my gold coins.”
“What gold, old man? You ain’t got no gold or you wouldn’t be living here,” Malik said with a sneer, while Raheem peered at him speculatively.
Mr. Goldberg ignored Malik and stared back at Raheem defiantly.
Raheem lowered the gun an inch and spoke in a low, measured way that was the opposite of Malik’s maniacal rant. “You’ll give me the gold, guns, women, food, and anything else I want if you want to live.”
“What is he saying?” Liz said to the group in general as she peered out the window, her voice betraying her distress. “I can’t hear him. Why are they all getting around him? Can’t we go help him?”
“Mr. Raheem, I am an old man. I am injured and will die soon one way or the other. I like to think I’m a good man. I know this world cannot rebound or thrive when good men stand aside and watch bad men flourish. I’ve lived a long life with the stories of what it was like when we last allowed bad men to flourish.” He paused to get his breath and wipe more blood from his mouth. “You, Mr. Raheem, are not as mean and scary as Hitler. Then again, I’m not as good or heroic as a man would have to be to face down a Hitler. Nevertheless, I can do for you.” Mr. Goldberg bent over and coughed up more blood, his voice becoming little more than a whisper. All Raheem could hear was the word “gold.”
As Raheem bent down to hear better and Mr. Goldberg was fighting to stand again, they came together. Mr. Goldberg wrapped one arm around Raheem’s shoulder in an effort to keep from falling. With the other, he pulled a .38 Special revolver that had been a gift from his father who had survived the Holocaust. He shoved it into Raheem’s belly and pulled the trigger repeatedly until it was empty and both men, the good and the bad, collapsed to the ground.
Had anyone been able to hear Mr. Goldberg’s last words, they would have heard him say, “My people will never be victims again.”
<< Vince >>
The gang erupted after the gunshots. Someone was getting the bad end of that bargaining session. Vince assumed it was the old man he saw leave Ellie’s home. He was still unsure if this was the time to act. He wanted to take his cue from the people inside the house. It was hearing Malcolm’s primal yell that made the decision for him. Malcolm saw the sweet old man go down. He didn’t know that Mr. Goldberg shot Raheem. He only saw the gang fall upon the old man with guns and knives in a fury. Malcolm’s own buried rage at being forced from his job, home, and city came boiling to the top. He opened up with the old pump shotgun that sat under the counter of his dad’s shop for so many years. He didn’t know if he hit anything. He didn’t care. He only knew he needed to fight back. The others took his lead and fired into the gang as well.
That was all Vince needed to see. He directed his team to open fire. When Vince’s men opened up on the unprotected flank of the gang, the damage was devastating. Some tried to return fire on Vince’s position. Then the enraged people from the house led by Malcolm p
oured out and began firing at point-blank range. All the targets left standing in the open were wearing their gang colors. None of them, except the bloodied, ravaged corpse of the old man, had the white sheets tied to them that Vince requested.
After most of the gang was killed or routed, Vince searched for his ex-wife and daughter. When he saw them alive and safe, his knees shook and nearly buckled with relief.
It was that distraction that allowed Malik and a few others that had been hiding behind a car to make their dash for safety.
When it was over, Malcolm wanted to bury Mr. Goldberg properly. Vince insisted they didn’t have time. They needed to honor Mr. Goldberg’s sacrifice by getting the people out to safety. Malcolm did speak the words from John 15:13 over Mr. Goldberg’s body even though it wasn’t his religion; he thought the sweet old man wouldn’t mind. “No one has greater love than this. To lay down one’s life for his friends.”
Then Malcolm wrapped Mr. Goldberg in a sheet and picked him up as sweetly as a father might carry his newborn child and put him to bed one last time in his neat little home on Kilpatrick Avenue.
<< Liz >>
When Malcolm gave that primal scream in anger at Mr. Goldberg’s death, it galvanized the others. They began shooting and poured out of the house to finish off the gang.
Liz wasn’t able to move. This shouldn’t be happening. They needed her. She was part of the team. There were no police to help and no one to call. It was simply their group against the bad guys, an age-old tale of good versus evil. While her mind was able to reconcile that what they were doing was right, something in her chest insisted this was wrong. As those thoughts were going through her mind, she could see the gang being killed a few feet in front of her while her body froze in place.
When it was over, she followed the rest of the group out of the house in a daze, an unfired revolver hanging limp in her hand. Seeing poor Mr. Goldberg’s frail, ravaged body lying in the small yard made something turn cold inside her. It was resolve. She had seen Jennifer and now Mr. Goldberg die horrible deaths while she’d been helpless to stop it. As she saw his body, she reflected that he had known what needed doing and he’d gone out and stood for something that was right and gave his life for them.
That resolve hardened in her chest. She would no longer be a victim. She whispered the words of Maimonides that she had once practiced for a play: “The risk of a wrong decision is preferable to the terror of indecision.”
She would not be a spectator in her life again.
Storms Abate
“If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader.”
- John Quincy Adama
<< Vince >>
Vince looked into each of their faces. He saw the same looks he’d seen dozens of times before, a mixture of hope and uncertainty. These were people who had lost direction and confidence and needed someone to provide those things. They needed someone to step up. They didn’t know that when they gave over to someone to provide guidance and hope, they also laid a heavy burden at that person’s feet. The results of good decisions and bad, and who lived or died, now resided with the leader. For a conscientious person, that burden was heavy. Every loss or injury to the people you led stayed with you for a lifetime. It was a leader’s version of PTSD.
Vince thought he was done with all that. He was content to go to the office and do his nine to five work. The memories of people he’d failed in war and in his personal life was enough for a lifetime. He didn’t want more.
He also knew he would carry the burden of this mission’s successes or failure whether he led or not. If he gave them over to someone else who failed or couldn’t do what he could do, then he was just as at fault as if he’d led. He was a good leader and made good choices. He wasn’t perfect. No man could be.
Vince steeled his resolve and took a moment to peer back at each one of them. He saw a cocktail of relief, hope, concern, and worry etched in their faces. Every face was different, yet all had one thing in common. They needed hope and leadership. Vince knew that look. This was his time to step forward. He didn’t do it with pride. He didn’t do it with elation, fear, or even uncertainty. He did it with a type of weight that laid heavy on the soul. From the next moment on, their fate was in his hands. Maybe not totally and maybe they didn’t even feel that way consciously, but he knew it. If someone got hurt or died, a piece of him would die too. When he took on that weight, it would feel like he was walking with a rucksack loaded with a hundred pounds of rocks. In reality, he’d been carrying that weight since he began this trip. It was only now as he looked in their faces that he knew it soul deep. There was no turning back. Only when they made it home safely would he be able to lay down that burden.
If any didn’t make it, that weight could never totally be put down. There were rocks in his emotional rucksack he’d been carrying for years that he would never put down. Somehow, someway, you got used to it. Or else.
Vince stood a bit taller and addressed the group. “Folks, we need to get moving. We have them on the run for now. They’ll be back with friends for sure. Others will have heard the gunshots too. They’ll be like scavengers coming for scraps or spoils. Malcolm, I can fit a few folks in our vehicles. Do you have more vehicles ready?”
“Yes. I’ve got a minivan and an Expedition parked out back. They’re partly loaded and ready to run. With what you have and those, we should be good.”
Vince nodded to Malcolm and spoke to the group. “Does anyone else have anything to load? I want to be on the road in less than ten minutes. We’re in good shape, and we’re going to get through this together. I’m going to do something that’s a little risky, but it’s our best chance. I expect it to work because we will do it fast and unexpectedly. We’re going out now in daylight, right back out the way we came in.”
People murmured and shuffled nervously.
“You can’t stay here. Malcolm has told me some of you want to go your own way. I want you to know you’re all welcome to come with us. In either event, you need to trust me that this place is going to be crawling with crooks and killers inside an hour. Whichever way you’re going we need to be long gone before they come back.”
“We’re with you, Vince,” Malcolm said. “We can be packed in five minutes. What’s your plan?”
“I want to make a serious run at getting south of the city before it gets dark to an old warehouse district we stayed in last night. We’ll rest there for a few hours and be back on the road by two or three in the morning. I can go through more of the wheres and whys later. For now, we need to be away from here. Get what you need, folks. Take only what you can carry. Focus on guns, ammo, and food. If you can’t hold it in your arms, we don’t have room for it.”
Kate stayed back a step out respect for her father. When he finished, she ran into his arms and hugged him tightly. “I want to ride with you, Daddy!”
Vince held her for a moment, savoring the feel of his daughter in his arms, safe for the moment. He leaned back, his eyes locked on hers. “No, I need you to ride with your mom and Malcolm. They need a good shot like you with them. Your mom will worry if you’re not with her. Plus, I’ll be lagging back a bit to check on a few things.”
Kate’s voice rose, and there was a tinge of panic building in it. “Daddy, don’t! I know what you’re going to do! You’re going to stay back and fight anyone who tries to hurt us. It doesn’t always have to be you! You don’t always have to be the one who saves people and fixes things. Let one of the other men do it! They will. I know they will!”
Vince hugged her, his eyes damp, and his heart aching. “Yes, it does have to be me, honey. It’s my job, and I need to do it. I don’t know why. I expect I’ll know when it’s someone else’s turn. For now, it’s me, and we both know it. You know me better than anyone in this world. We’re a lot alike. But hey, Squirrel, I’m hard to kill. I’ll be there to tease you before you know I’m gone. I’ll only be a bit. Now don’t worry, and go help your
mom.”
<< Ellie >>
Ellie observed her ex-husband from a distance of feet and time. She couldn’t help feeling a sense of guilt on many levels. Guilt because Malcolm was a good man and yet she was so relieved to see her ex. Vince was a man who got things done and always knew where to be or what to do when he was needed. Well, at least he was good in life or death situations, she thought with a wry smile.
It was the normal day to day stuff in which he wasn’t so good. Darn it, though, if he wasn’t a man’s man, the kind women were drawn to. He was still attractive in a rugged way, she admitted to herself as long as she was indulging in these thoughts.
Then she had the other type of guilt. Had she tried hard enough? Vince was a good man in his own way. He could be cold and distant, even moody at times. Why couldn’t he tell that a woman needed more than that? In her self-doubt, she wondered if he needed more help than she’d been able to give. Maybe she wasn’t able to learn what he needed. She wondered for a moment if she quit too soon. They had tried for twelve years. Well, she had tried for twelve years.
It was over and done, and they needed to deal with the here and now.
<< Liz >>
Liz was impressed with Vince. Not in a romantic way, but in the way that a man can make a woman feel safe and protected. Having been raised in a rural Kentucky family, she knew his type. Vince wasn’t pretty like the men in Hollywood. His muscles weren’t bulky and defined like the models always ready for a photo shoot. He had a few days’ beard growth, mussed hair, and a faraway look in his eyes that spoke of a heavy weight on his mind and haunted memories. He exhibited confidence and a protective nature about him that women were drawn to and men followed. Liz observed the group one by one and saw that both the old and young felt more protected, confident, and hopeful than before he showed up. The men were more assured in their step. They had a plan and a leader. While some men rose to the occasion when a leader was needed, others preferred being the strong arm of implementation of another man’s plan. It was clear to see that Vince was born to lead and these men gained strength and confidence by having a man to follow. It wasn’t that Malcolm wasn’t a good man and a strong man; it was only that he didn’t inspire confidence the way Vince did.
