How to Save a Life

“Tell him to call me. I’ll give him a good price.”

Rounding the corner, I pick up the pace. If I miss the 1:30, I have to wait another thirty minutes and every second of sleep counts when I have to be up early tomorrow for my main gig.

It’s just my crappy luck that I walk right into a robbery in progress. At least, it looks that way, but I inch closer anyway, hoping to get a better assessment of the situation.

A short, stocky guy with hands the size of Thanksgiving turkeys is in the middle of feeding another guy a knuckle sandwich while his taller, thinner counterpart bounces around on the balls of his feet, ready to jump in. He looks jacked up on meth.

Not cool and potentially very dangerous. It’s definitely a robbery in progress. On the bright side, there appear to be no guns involved.

What to do, though? Calling the cops won’t matter; they’ll take too long to show up. Turn around and go down another block, pretend I didn’t see anything? I’m no delicate snowflake at five foot nine. And I’m in decent shape––working days and nights in manual labor does have its perks. I’m more than able to hold my own in a tussle, but I’m tired from being on my feet all day. And if I intervene and this gets messy, it could be hours before I get home. I have too much work to do tomorrow to go all night and day on little-to-no sleep.

Problem is, I can’t stand bullies and two against one is not fair. Especially since––from what I can make of the guy getting his face rearranged––he’s not equipped to defend himself. The vic is wearing a suit. He’s probably some Wall Streeter inflicted with soft hands and too much easy living.

While I’m busy weighing the pros and cons, criminal number one steps aside long enough for me to catch sight of the victim’s face.

“Ah, shoot…”

The guy getting jumped is the same guy from the restaurant––the rude guy.

Having heard me, both goons turn to get a good look at who’s interrupted their little party of three. Essentially this takes the decision out of my hands. There’s no walking away now.

“What’s up, fellas…”

Pulse racing, I give them a jaunty grin and discreetly delve into my messenger bag for my constant companions, two items I never leave home without and neither are a credit card: bear spray and a titanium telescoping stick. This isn’t my first rodeo.

“Fuck off,” one of them growls.

Nice.

Surprising no one, they are not happy to see me. “I’d love to, but the subway’s in this direction and you’re in my way.” I motion to the corner and blow a bubble, pop it loudly.

“This bitch for real?” soon-to-be inmate number two says with a dry chuckle.

Behind him, the rude guy looks to be shaking off getting his bell rung. He staggers around on his feet. The tall one punches him in the gut.

I swear I can almost feel it as he folds over in pain. Empathy’s a burden.

“C’mon, you have his wallet. Let him go.”

One laughs like he’s completely unhinged while the other stares like he’s imagining me in pieces. There’s clearly no point in hoping common sense will prevail with these two.

The shorter meaner one takes a step toward me, posturing. And that’s my cue to take out my telescoping baton and snap it open. Meanwhile the tall skinny one, who’s clearly a meth head junkie, lets out diabolical laughter right out of a scene from The Joker movie.

“Whatcha gonna do, bitch? You gonna take both of us on?” the stocky one says, puffing himself up.

I should thank him for giving me a larger target to hit. Because make no mistake, even though I’m close to wetting my underpants, I’m still fully prepared to administer some street justice if necessary. There’s no bluffing in real life. Which is why I shove down all semblance of fear and square up.

“Challenge accepted,” is my answer to that. He approaches and adrenaline spills into my veins. “But first…” Spitting my gum out at his feet, I point to the video surveillance cameras outside the door of the Jewish Community Center across the street. “Smile for the cameras, ladies.”

That stops him in his tracks. Glancing up in the direction I indicated, he sees what I saw when I walked up on the scene––the blinking red light on the security cameras. As a woman walking around late at night, it pays to know my surroundings.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” the stout one says to his meth-head buddy. The tall one shoves the rude guy one last time and they both slow-swagger down the street without a care in the world.

As soon as they disappear around the corner, I melt, the tension draining out of me. All in all, it went better than anticipated. I didn’t break a sweat, and after checking my phone, I realize that if I run, I can probably still make the two o’clock ferry.