Louie Hernandez studied the frail, elderly woman in front of him at the outdoor cash machine. He could see she was making a withdrawal and he marvelled at the slow precision with which she manipulated the screens.
     Though he was small man, about five six and a hundred thirty pounds, Louie knew he could lift the old woman up and set her down out of his way.
     He wondered why old people moved so slowly. You’d think that since they had more practice at doing things, they’d do things faster than younger people did.
     The lady finally finished up, and after carefully checking the receipt while still standing in front of the machine, she shuffled off into the twilight.
     Louie deposited his paycheck and took out two hundred dollars. That was more than usual but his wife needed some extra cash for the weekend.
     He turned to walk down the darkening street and didn’t pay much attention to the man behind him.
     Louie decided to cut through a wide alley on his right. It would shave about fifteen minutes off his walk home and he was hungry.
     He walked about half way through the alley when he heard a man’s voice behind him.
     "Hey, you, stop."
     Louie didn’t care for the tone but he turned to face a big man who was jogging up to him. The man was about thirty, white, and was wearing jeans, sneakers, an ugly printed shirt, and a ratty leather jacket. His face was sweaty and pockmarked. He had greasy hair.
     At one time Louie had been in the life and he could recognize a thief the way a dog knows another dog.
     The man pulled a nasty looking stiletto out of his jacket pocket.
     "You know what’s happening," he said. "Gimme the money, asshole. Now."
     "I can’t do that," Louie said.
     "The fuck you can’t," the man said. "Don’t fuck with me, shit for brains. I’m not fucking with you."
     "You got a gun?" Louie said.
     "Of course I’ve got a fucking gun."
     "Show it to me," Louie said.
     The man didn’t expect that.
     After a moment he said, "I don’t need no fucking gun." He waved the knife a bit. "I’m gonna cut you," he said.
     "You mean you’re going kill me?"
     "Hell, yes, motherfucker. What’cha you waiting for?"
     "Well, you might as well kill me ‘cause if I give you that money, my wife’s gonna kill me anyway."
     "I don’t give a shit what your wife’s gonna do."
     "Hey, maybe you don’t, but I’m serious. I’d rather be dead than have to go home and tell her I gave away her money."
     The mugger brought the knife closer.
     "I’m through fucking with you. Now I gotta stick you. You fuck with me, the shit must fly."
     "Man, you are one colorful dude," Louie said.
     The mugger moved forward.
     "Hold it," said Louie. "Look, I can’t have you rob me. I couldn’t go home if that happened. Seriously, my wife would rather I be dead. But I tell you what. I have an easy way for you to get the money for your fix. No fuss, no trouble."
     "What are you talking about?"
     "Let me buy that knife from you. I’ll give you fifty dollars for it."
     The junkie stared at Louie.
     "You must be fucking crazy, man."
     "No. I’m serious. Think about it. It makes sense. This way I’m not getting ripped off and you’re not even doing a crime. It’s a straight business deal. Strictly legal."
     "You think I’m going to take fifty dollars? I know you got more."
     "Yeah, but you’re not going to get it, not unless you kill me. That means you’re going to have to fight for it. You win and you’ve done a murder instead of a mugging. I win and you’re not going to like what happens. Either way it’s bad. My way you make an easy fifty bucks."
     "I don’t the believe balls on you," the mugger said, shaking his head. "You think I’m just going to hand you my knife?"
     "You don’t have to. Just throw it over there and I’ll give you the money."
     Louie reached in his pocket and pulled out three twenties.
     "Why would you give me anything after I toss away the knife?" said the mugger.
     "Hey, man, I make a deal, I stick. Besides, you telling me you can’t handle me without that knife?"
     The big man grunted and said, "All right. But don’t do anything stupid."
     He tossed the knife about ten feet and it clattered against the alley wall.
     Louie held the bills out with his left hand and said, "You got ten dollars change?"
     "Fuck no," said the junkie, his eyes fixed on the money.
     Louie pivoted and executed three fast sidekicks. The first two landed on the side of the mugger’s solar plexus, turning him and doubling him over, the last one brutally collided with the side of his head. The man collapsed into semi-consciousness.
     Louie, putting his money back in his pocket, calmly strolled over and picked up the knife. He turned and said, "I’ll use the pay phone on the corner to call nine one one." He wasn’t sure the big man heard him.
     As he walked out of the alley, he felt warm from the exercise. He opened his jacket. A young woman walking towards him saw a bright picture of a dragon on his tee sheet.

 

JOHN HEARTFIELD is a writer, songwriter, and Internet interface designer. Currently, he's working on a new novel, Duplicate Threat. He lives in New York City. He's open to suggestion.