Chapter 16: Older Friends

Kennedy snapped her locker shut and turned to head off to American Lit and the start of a new school day. Juan Baptiste was leaning against the corridor wall, behind her locker door.

"Chica, you have a second?"

She inclined her head and walked over to him, ignoring the others in the bustling hallway.

"That cop, Harrison, came to me a coupla days ago, tol' me about what you did. That it was you that got Dwight sent away, that I should thank my lucky stars because if I kept on, Dwight would have fucked me even worse than he did Nita."

"This isn't news to me, Juan Baptiste," Kennedy told him evenly. "You made yourself very clear the last time. I've been a good little girl. You should try being a good little boy."

"Someone saying he was Dwight called Nita's old man, night before last, told him what he'd done to his daughter. Laughed at him, told him that his grandfather was protecting him." Juan Baptiste's expression turned grim. "Nita's little brother told me, 'cause he knew about us. He pretty much knows what happened to his sister. If I didn't make it, he'd have taken a shot. Now, well ... Nita's parents put her in a convent yesterday."

Kennedy turned pale. "That's ... awful."

"Yeah, 'cause those sisters don't give a rat fuck about why you got screwed, just that you did. You're fallen, a sinner forever more. She'll spend a year on her knees, saying her rosary, then she'll be sent someplace like Africa or South America to teach the heathen."

"Gosh, Juan Baptiste! I don't know what I can do, but I'll sure try!"

"It's bad," he agreed. "It really bites. I know where she is. Me and some friends, we're getting her out this weekend. Fuck 'em!"

"If you need a hand, let me know."

"Well, I do. Nita's old man is an asshole, her uncles are assholes, her older brother is an asshole. But that doesn't mean they don't think they're helping Nita. They're going to that man's restaurant in New York tonight. They're going to kill him."

Kennedy laughed. "Juan Baptiste, surely someone told them who he is? Surely they know they'll never get close to him?"

"They don't care. This is machismo -- being a man. Nita's blood was spilled, her honor taken. It's do or die for them. Talk isn't going to do anything, just blood will talk."

Kennedy sighed. "And you'd like me to do what?"

"Look, you talked to that guy once already. Do it again. They're assholes, yeah. But they don't deserve to die. Nita would be upset."

"You just said they wouldn't be satisfied unless blood was shed?"

"Yeah, well, you're good with your mouth. Convince them they're at the wrong door."

"Then they'd find the right door. Juan Baptiste, the old man's giving Dwight another chance. He's not going to be happy if Nita's father and other male relatives come calling. Even if they get to Dwight, that will bring about retaliation."

"You always seem to think of something."

Kennedy sighed. "I'm not a crutch, Juan Baptiste. People have to stand on their own two feet, fight their own battles."

His face fell. "It's gonna kill Nita if her old man, her brother and uncles get whacked."

"Darwin in action," she told him roughly. He spat at her feet, turned and stalked away.

She sighed again then, instead of heading to English, she turned for the office. Mr. Dunbar was standing in the outer office talking to two boys and she waved at him and went over to him.

"Sorry, guys, but I'm in kind of a rush. How much trouble do I get in if I cut a day of classes?"

He smiled at her. "You want the truth or the bullshit?"

"The truth works best for me."

"Your teachers mark you absent. Tomorrow morning, your parents get a recorded call saying you were absent today."

Kennedy blinked in astonishment. The odds of either one of her parents ever hearing about such a call was zero. Mr. Glastonbury would hear, she was sure. He was someone she could deal with.

"Well, mark me absent for the rest of the day."

"Miss Kennedy..." she'd turned away. Hearing her name, she turned back.

"Do you have an excuse?"

"Someone called Nita's father and told him about what happened to his daughter and gave them an address. That person said his name was Dwight. Call it prophylaxis."

"Can you spell the last word?"

"R-U-B-B-E-R," she came right back.

He laughed and waved for her to go. "Be careful. I assume you think you can do something?"

"I can try."

She contemplated life, liberty, school and Watchers. It wasn't a very long bus ride to the train station. She had money, she had the time, a little while later she was on the way into the City.

She got off near Madison Square Garden and walked the few blocks to the Italian restaurant. It was barely ten in the morning and the front door was locked. She could hear faint sounds coming from within, so she went looking for the back door.

The kitchen was quite busy and to her surprise, she recognized one of the men standing next to the door. "Fatso! How are they hanging?"

He glanced at her, frowned, and without hesitation, lifted a walkie-talkie to his ear and started talking into it. A few minutes later number six came into the kitchen and walked up to her.

"Leave, Miss Kennedy. You wore out your welcome the last time. This is no place for a danger junkie."

"I have a piece of news for your boss. Intelligence, if you will. Forewarned is forearmed and all that."

"Where is your friend?"

"In ignorant bliss, back home. I'm here on a peace-making mission this time. No violence, I promise."

He started to walk away and she spoke up. "Say, I know Fatso's nickname. What's yours?"

"Pipes," he replied, without really stopping or even looking back.

He too talked into a walkie-talkie, then gestured for her to come along. Kennedy fell into step next to him, as he led her through the kitchen. "That's because of the voice, right?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I didn't think it was a description of..." she waved at his groin.

He laughed. "You like to live dangerously, girl."

"How about you and me? A little arm wrestling?"

"Girl, I cheat."

"Drat! I cheat, too! Chess?"

"Poker?"

"Sure! Stakes?"

"Strip poker?"

Kennedy laughed. "Dream on! Nickel, dime, quarter."

"Five card draw and stud, seven card stud. No wild cards."

"Sounds like fun. When's good for you?"

"We play every afternoon at one."

"Sounds good. I got fifty bucks on me, I hope that's enough because I guess asking for a marker would be a bad idea."

"Very bad. Fifty will get you in the game."

"Cool!"

In a few minutes, she was ushered into the old man's presence.

"I told you never to come back."

"You did and normally I'm pretty obedient. However, I have some intelligence for you. Something you'll want to hear."

He made a come-along gesture.

"Someone, claiming he was Dwight, called one of the abused girls' fathers night before last and told him about what he'd done to the man's daughter; graphic detail I imagine. Laughed, he did, then told them you're protecting him and gave him this address. Today that girl is in a convent and the father, older son and two of the girl's uncles have said that before the end of the day, you'll bleed for what Dwight did."

The old man grinned sardonically. "That wouldn't be a problem, with or without a warning."

"With a warning, I was rather hoping you might be willing to temper your obviously justified response."

He paused, then spoke deliberately. "You don't seem stupid. Do you understand that if it became known that I let men who intend me harm to come here, into my place of business, if I let them go away unharmed, it would be taken as carte blanche by a lot of my enemies? That I would have to spend months, perhaps years, to disabuse people of the notion that they could come here with impunity?"

"I won't pretend to tell you how to run your affairs, sir. I just know that the other day you and I talked, and while there were some hard feelings, regardless, we worked out our issues and came to what I thought was a workable agreement.

"Sir, the girl had a very bad time. I realize it's not your responsibility, sir, but the fact remains that she didn't deserve what happened to her then or since. She doesn't deserve to have her father, brother and uncles set up like clay pigeons in a shooting gallery."

Pipes spoke up. "There's a call for the girl."

Kennedy glanced at him, seeing the earpiece only at the last moment when she focused on his ear.

The old man reached over to a phone, pushed some buttons. "You're on the speaker, Miss Kennedy."

"This is Kennedy."

"Kennedy, this is Harrison. I have some news."

"If you know where to find me, I can imagine what it is."

He ignored her. "A bird whispered in Dunbar's ear this morning about Nita's father and brother. What happened to her. He called us and we went to their place, but they were already gone. Dunbar said you'd come to see him earlier, so I took a chance."

"You understand you're on a speaker," Kennedy said evenly, eyeing the old man as she spoke. The old man shrugged.

"I could tell," the detective told her. "I went to my lieutenant and he told me to back off. The captain said the same thing. My hands are tied, you understand."

"I understand."

"I was impressed about Larkin; that was well done. Your stepfather has what appears to be completely clean hands."

"He had nothing to do with it. You don't even want to go there, detective. The people who did the deed have been fighting people like you for a long time."

He laughed. "Which is like drawing a glaring neon arrow at who it was. You're a piece of work, girl!"

"You won't find anything there, either."

"Girl, something like ten guys were beating on that man at the end. Two of them had met Larkin before in the course of his professional duties. Clearly no involvement of anyone, anywhere, in that untimely death. Just jail yard revenge."

"Well, I'm going to see if I can cadge some cookies and milk here. There's a poker game later..." she paused dramatically, "for chips of course."

"Of course," the detective replied drolly. "Aren't poker games always for chips?"

"Yes. I'm hoping to learn a few things about filling an inside straight."

"I can tell you about that: hope springs eternal, but the odds are better doing almost anything else."

"Cool! I'll try to remember that. Sorry, got to go, cookie and milk time!"

She waved and the old man cut the connection.

"I don't suppose," Kennedy said, "I could get a doughnut and a glass of milk?"

"We have coffee, if you want," he told her.

Kennedy shuddered. "Caffeine, sir! Ick! Throws my timing all off! Cookies and milk, doughnuts and milk ... that's for me. I figured you were more likely to have doughnuts."

"Well, you're right." He waved at the phone. "Larkin? That was the FBI agent who has been bothering you?"

"That's the one. He died in prison last week."

"A man with a moronic attorney. The fool actually petitioned the court to have him removed from solitary, where there was some slight chance he might live. He was and he didn't."

"You seem to be right current with current events, sir!" Kennedy said brightly.

"Girl, sarcasm is amusing for a little while. Then it gets old."

"Sir, threatening to kill everyone isn't amusing, and it's old the first time you hear it."

"Miss Kennedy, I have a personal question for you," he asked.

"Whatever, I don't promise to answer those."

"Like your stepfather, I'm not totally ignorant. We discussed you, when we both realized that we knew the nature of who you are and what you do. It's not something I get involved in, you understand?"

"Of course. Good deeds? You probably flunked that class in first grade and haven't taken it since."

"Let's just say that it's hard to get good help these days, particularly when it comes to special assignments like that. Pipes here, he faced some of those once. He put forty-five rounds into one of them with an AK-47. Pissed it off, something fierce."

"Bullets do that," Kennedy agreed with him, "piss them off."

Pipes spoke up. "It's a little hard to take, when you see someone shrug off that many rounds, kill two men on your crew and keep coming for you. Still, I had my job to do, and I did it."

Kennedy parsed that. Evidently his job hadn't been to hang around or to kill vampires.

"I've fought them," Kennedy told him. "Once it was a short little guy, a midget, I think. Even though I was pretty sure what it was, it still ambushed me from behind. I got lucky."

"A little guy?" Pipes said.

Kennedy wasn't stupid. She saw his eyes narrow, his whole body tauten, his gaze focus on her.

"Yeah. He cut my neck with his fangs, but I did a flip and landed midget-side-down. Then, well -- wooden stakes work a lot better than AK-47s."

"Crunchy," Pipes whispered. "I wondered where he went. He wasn't one of the bodies we found the next day."

"The consensus was that he'd pissed off a vampire someplace," Kennedy said the word without hesitation, "because someone as short as he was would have a hard time feeding on an adult."

"Crunchy was a dwarf, who wore a crucifix around his neck. I heard someone scream, over in his direction, but afterwards, I thought it was him, not someone else. One of the other guys who got out said he thought Crunchy stuck his silver crucifix down one of their throats."

Kennedy grimaced. Way too much information! "That might work," she agreed. And would have really pissed off the vamp with the sore throat, to be sure.

"And you killed him?" Pipes said, his voice low and hard.

"I killed it, not him," Kennedy said, trying to remind him. "It wasn't human any more, he had no more soul than a TV set. It's called 'dusting.' Stick one with a wooden stake in the heart and they turn to a fine dust."

"This is all nice," the old man told her, "but not the issue. Some stupid pacos are the issue." He pointed at Kennedy. "You think you are so smart, so good! Well, it will all be on your shoulders. Talk, tap dance, perform whatever miracles you want. Convince them not to bother me. The first time I'm bothered, threatened, hassled ... or if any of my people are, I'll step on them. Cops or no cops."

He grinned at Kennedy. "Mi casa is mi casa, you understand? Nobody comes into my house and messes with me and mine!"

"I understand."

"So, do you have a plan?" Pipes asked.

"Of course. I'll check out the situation and come up with something that works, once I have a better idea what they're up to."

She smiled at them. "Now, can we get back to the subject of food? I'm a growing girl and need sustenance."

The old man waved at Pipes. "You see to it. Keep her in the restaurant. I have things to do."

Kennedy smiled and thanked him, then sat with Pipes, Fatso and one of the others known as "Pistol" in the restaurant while she had cookies and milk. The cookies were unfamiliar, but tasty. The milk was refreshing.

A little before eleven, they opened the front door of the restaurant and a couple of people came in. They seemed to be well known to the staff and vice-versa, and after a second, Kennedy ignored them.

One of the big guys from the back came up to Pipes and leaned over and whispered in his ear. Pipes nodded, and waved towards the office. "Get the others."

The man nodded and left.

Pipes turned to Kennedy. "Four men of Hispanic appearance are coming down the street, carrying baseball bats."

Kennedy perked up. "Bats? Good! I learned how to play softball this summer. I really don't know much about team sports and I'm always looking to expand my education."

"So, do you have a plan now?" Pipes said, sounding sarcastic.

"Oh yes, baseball bats! Piece of cake! A simple discussion of choices. One from column A, that's me. Six from column B, that's you and yours, all to find out what's behind door number one. No problem!"

She gestured towards the back, where the other four big guys were now visible. "You go over there and I'll work the door."

"This isn't funny," Pipes said. "You make it sound like a joke."

"It's not a joke. I know that," Kennedy told him. "It's brainless, you see? I can say it, but I'm not distracted."

"Well, if nothing else, you can always talk people to death."

Kennedy got up and faced the door. "You see, that's the problem. I can't hurt people, not really. Talk is all I have."

She walked forward and timed it pretty good, standing where the hostess would normally stand. The hostess was at the cash register, without any expression on her face. No doubt remembering the tap on her butt. Kennedy grinned at her. The woman had a cute butt.

The door opened and the four men came in. Three older men, and it was easy to see which was Nita's father. The fourth was a younger man, who had to be Nita's older brother.

"Good morning," Kennedy said cheerfully. "I'd like to talk to you, sir, about your daughter Juanita."

"Get out of the way, girl," he said, hefting his bat. "We have business here."

"You think you have business here. You're wrong about that. I'd like to sit down and talk; maybe you guys would like some coffee? We'll talk about your daughter."

He took a step forward, but Kennedy didn't move. He was now less than a foot away from her. "Move out of the way, girl!"

Kennedy held up her hands. "Are you just brain dead stupid or what? Just what do you expect to find here, eh? You have me and these," she wiggled her hands. "Or those gents, back there," she pointed at Pipes and the others, standing quietly, lined up, silently waiting for events to unfold.

"Those guys each have a 9mm pistol, and if I remember my teacher right, each of those have like fifteen or sixteen bullets in the clip, plus another up the spout. That's like 22 shots at each of you. Now please, let's be sensible. Talk to me. What do you want?"

"A man named Febreeze," Nita's father said.

Kennedy frowned. "Say what?"

"Febreeze. I got a call this guy is protecting the bastard that raped my daughter."

"Sir, do you realize that you were set up? The caller expected you to walk in here, just like you did, and confront Mr. Febreeze. Except, sir, Febreeze is a kind of laundry detergent, not someone's name. The man whose place this is has a totally different name."

She paused for effect. "An Italian name, sir. Think stereotypical Italian."

"If he's the guy protecting the bastard who raped my daughter, he's a dead man."

Kennedy sighed in exasperation. "Sir, you really need to think. Before you get to that man, you'll have to go through me and these." Once more she wiggled her empty hands. "If you get through me, you'll face those rather large gentlemen in the back with the automatic pistols.

"Look, lose the bats. Sit down and we'll talk. If, at the end, you're still upset, you can still get yourself killed, if that's what you want."

He moved, putting the bat on his shoulder. "Get out of the way, girl. We're not here for you."

"Yes, you are. Last warning, sir: use the bat or lose it."

He laughed nastily. The laugh was cut off short when Kennedy punched with her open palm, slamming into the heel of the bat. It shot out of the man's hand and slapped into a drapery, inches from a window.

One of the two uncles started to swing his bat at Kennedy, but the swing was from a bad position and he wasn't swinging very hard. She caught the bulk of the bat with both her hands, twisted and it came free. There was plenty of time for her to use it to meet the second uncle's swing.

She couldn't do much more than push the other bat offline, but like Batsman Number Two, he hadn't swung very hard. Nita's father stepped forward and Kennedy jabbed him in the solar plexus with the heel of the bat, but not very hard. She let the last of the momentum of the move allow her hands to slide along the bat, so she could get a grip at the sweet spot on the bat handle.

Uncle Number Two had wound up for another swing and this time she met power with power. There was a shattering crash as both bats exploded, sending a shower of wooden splinters in all directions. All four men flinched, which let Kennedy turn to Nita's brother.

"Lose the bat." Each word was said with deliberate force, separated by a second or so. When he didn't move right away, Kennedy snapped a kick out, the heel of her boot landing on the small of the bat handle, still hanging limply at the young man's side. It shot out of his hand and ended up inches from his father's.

"Sit!" Kennedy commanded.

Inwardly, she cursed being a woman for the first time, because uncle number one was stepping forward, trying to grapple with her. She dumped him on his ass, then she was behind the three still standing. Two quick punches into the back of the knees put the father and uncle number two on the ground. She stood up and glared at the Nita's brother.

"Maybe you all want to take a few seconds down there on the floor to think," she told them. "I mean, I'm comfortable sitting on the floor, if that's what you want, but most people find chairs a better option."

"What do you want?" growled the patriarch.

"To talk. Are you really as stupid as you seem? I took the four of you. A couple of weeks ago, I got just one of those six guys. Wise up!"

A minute later, she was sitting facing Nita's father. "So, talk!" he said, obviously furious.

"Two things for you to contemplate. Where is your daughter today?"

"She has lost her honor! She's with the church. She will find redemption in Jesus Christ."

"She lost her virginity, sir. A guy leaped out of the bushes and beat her bloody and raped her. He didn't attack her honor -- he attacked her. He didn't hurt her honor -- he hurt her. And you, you stupid moron, what do you think someone being put away like that thinks you've done to them? Do you think she's cheering? Do you think she's happy? Do you seriously think a church is more effective than a loving, caring family of living people to support you?