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Chapter Five

The Fight that Matters

Tony had run a whole block knowing that he was going the wrong way. He imagined going home to an angry stepfather and a vengeful half-brother if he failed his task. He might as well go straight to the hospital. But if he made the delivery, how could he ever live with himself?

In the back of his mind, he had toyed with the idea of informing on Miguel's activities to the police, working on the inside to bring down the gang. This would be his first step toward fighting for the greater good of safer streets.

He saw the corner grocer just ahead. None of his schemes or justifications could bolster him now. Once he crossed the street, he would meet Miguel's accomplice, deliver the bag, and enter a new life as an informant and trusted aid. What was even in the bag? Cocaine? Heroin? How many years of prison would it get him, if somebody caught him in the act? And how long could it put Miguel away if Tony brought down the operation?

Faintly, he thought he heard the creak of rusty swings. Richard's innocent face gazed into the gray sky as he rode higher, higher, then lower, then up again. Richard wasn't even his brother. He was just a stranger like all the hurting people Tony bumped into on the buses, at school, on stairways. But Richard had entered his life and become his responsibility.

Two minutes till 6.

Tony stopped on the curb, heart racing.

What would it matter if he preserved himself, or even brought down the gang, if Richard got caught in the crossfire? How could Tony have left him undefended so he could take on a mission of dubious benefit?

He knew what he had to do, no matter how he would suffer for it. Tony turned to a metal dumpster behind a steaming cantina and stuffed the bag of powder down into its stinking depths. Then he ran as hard as he could back to the projects.

The towers loomed ahead through the fog. Glaring lights began to appear in high windows, and shadows swamped the dusty field. Miguel and a handful of his boys stood alongside a chainlink fence, facing a small group who marched across the dirt with hands inside their coats. Just beyond the fence, Richard and his mother sat obliviously on a playground bench.

Tony had never run harder in his life. His sweat burned against the cold wind and his lungs strained with each pounding step. He darted up to the fence and skidded on dirt just as threats flew and guns drew. At the first thundering BANG, he dove to the bench and pushed Tina and her son to the ground, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder as he moved.

Richard cried out in surprise, and another gunshot cracked above their heads. Tony grabbed his sleeve to pull him further under the bench: "Stay down!" The pain shot up his arm and he winced, trying to shield the squirming boy.

Tina screamed, covering her ears. A bullet zinged off of the metal playground, the chains of a swing spun and clinked.

Miguel's opponents began to retreat, chased by rapid gunfire that they could barely return. POP! POP! The shots screamed back and forth. Soon they were running, and most of Miguel's friends ran after them with a few last warning shots.

Tony could hardly catch an even breath. An odd heat spread down his back, soaking his shirt. Richard looked up at him, face ashen. "You're bleeding!" he gasped.

In the sudden calm, Tina took off running. Tony could tell at a glance that she wasn't sober, and her wobbly exit looked like half-aware panic. She soon disappeared inside the cover of a concrete doorway.

When Tony tried to get up, the pain tore through his arm. He groaned, feeling the leaden heat in his shoulder, wondering if the bullet had gone through or merely lodged itself there. Richard clung to him, until suddenly his tiny hands pulled away. Tony looked up to see Miguel and his right-hand man Hector standing over him, seizing the little boy despite his flailing fists and feet.

"Tony," said Miguel evenly, voiced laced with guarded anger. "You're not supposed to be here. What happened to the delivery?"

Tony coughed and struggled to pull himself upright. "Put Richard down," he choked.

Miguel kicked him swiftly across the jaw, reopening his scabbed lip. Tony landed on his side with a groan.

Miguel's gun leaned over him. "Where is the package?"

If Tony told him, he knew that another bullet would pierce his skull. He touched the blood streaming from his mouth and spat a gob into the dirt. "Help me up," he said softly, "and I'll tell you."

Miguel roughly pulled him to his feet, not caring about his wounded shoulder. Tony swayed, gathering himself. Richard continued to squirm in Hector's grip, pleading for rescue.

Tony took a deep breath, fighting the nausea. "Alright. I'll tell you."

"Well?"

Confidence. Tony remembered Curtis' words and the need to fight. He could do this. For his family.

Surprising even himself, Tony swung back with his good arm and landed a powerful haymaker across Miguel's face. Knocked off balance, Miguel stumbled, and Tony punched Hector until he released the little boy. Miguel recovered quickly, but he had dropped his gun. Tony reached down to scoop up Richard, straining his shoulder in a flash of agony. He cried out but secured his hold on the small boy.

"Espara, hermanito," he said, running as fast and as steady as possible. Richard's little fists closed on his bloody shirt, his heartbeat thundered against Tony's.

BANG! Miguel had found his gun.

Tony didn't know which direction he'd run onto the street, but soon he was passing cars and buses and a few stunned pedestrians. He didn't think he could run anymore, but he had too. If Miguel caught him, he would kill them both. Tony wished he could drop Richard off in some safe place, but he couldn't leave him alone. That would be worse than bringing him along for the mad chase.

He heard the angry shouts not far behind, dodging cars and inciting horns. Miguel cursed in Spanish, and Hector took a few shots that popped the bulb in a streetlight. Tony ducked, hugging Richard to his chest, and turned down an unfamiliar alley, not far from his pursuers.

He could have been home by now. Could have been safe.

But he wouldn't trade Richard's life for his own. Family mattered more to Tony than anything in the world.