No Show of Remorse by David J. Walker Read Free Book Online Page B

on my right a row of parked cars facing north. Mine was at the end of the line, parked just beyond the last legal space on the block. From thirty yards away I spotted a parking ticket stuck to the windshield.
    My shadow stayed with me, apparently satisfied to be just that—only a shadow, not a danger; much too far back to reach me before I got to the car and was out of there. Even so, I picked up the pace a bit. It was raining harder now.
    The ticket was stuck with its own adhesive to my windshield, low on the passenger side. I pulled it off. I’d have to squeeze it into the glove compartment with the rest of them and one of these days take them all to traffic court and try to settle up with—
    A footstep then—or maybe just a breath—behind me. I turned, but too late. What felt like a sock full of sand slammed hard across my left ear. It lifted me up on my toes and spun my head, and for an instant I saw someone a block away, running toward us on the sidewalk. The shadow, the one who’d drawn my attention away from the man hiding by my car.
    But the man sapped me again, and there was nothing then but pounding pain and bright, wild streaks of red, like tail-lights reflecting off wet pavement that heaved and tilted up around me. My knees turned to pudding and my body slumped and I was glad, because I couldn’t wait to be on the ground.
    The man caught me under the arms, though, and stood me up with my back against the side of the car. I gasped for breath and he stuffed a wadded ball of paper into my gaping mouth. I choked and gagged, and he went to work on my body. Hard punches—painful, professional blows, deep into the gut. I took two of them, shook my head, but still saw only the blurred shape of a man in a ski mask in front of me. With my hands too heavy to lift above my waist, fighting for breath through blocked nasal passages, I could only sag back against the car and wait for more.
    But instead, another blurred shape came from my left and threw itself into the man in front of me. The two of them went to the sidewalk, thrashing and kicking. One of them was silent, but the other kept shouting, “Bam! Bam! Bam!” over and over. I suddenly realized the noisy one was Yogi. He seemed to be pretending he was hitting my attacker, but he wasn’t hitting anyone. He had his arms and legs wrapped around the man, trying to roll him around on the concrete.
    I backed off a little and managed to get the wad of paper out of my mouth, breathing hard and trying to figure out how to get them apart without Yogi getting hurt. Then, as though magically, Yogi broke free of the man and was on his feet, and then suddenly up on the roof of the Cavalier.
    He kept right on shouting, but it was “Run! Run! Run!” now, and it was me he was yelling at.
    I stayed put, though, as the man lunged toward the car, reaching up for Yogi. Then he must suddenly have remembered me because he started to turn—and I caught the side of his jaw with my right elbow.
    I was still too dazed to make it a direct hit, but it shook him, and he turned and ran. I took three steps after him and knew it was hopeless.
    â€œYou okay, big mon?” Yogi called.
    â€œYeah. I’m fine.” I swung around to find him back on the sidewalk. “I was just about to take the bastard down, though, until you got in the way. Now he’s gone.”
    His mouth gaped open for just an instant, then he broke into a grin. “You jokin’, hey?”
    â€œRight,” I said. “So that was you? Following me all the way from Marshall Field’s?”
    â€œSure.” He smiled a wide happy smile and tapped his temple with his finger. “Good tinkin’, huh?”
    â€œGood for me, maybe,” I said. “But for you? Guys like that don’t like to be interfered with.”
    â€œI be okay. I run away … quick an’ easy.”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “That’s how you got