There was no apparent danger, but Vito was still on alert. On patrol in one of the rougher neighborhoods of Manhattan, he had to be. The area was full of organized crime and disorganized narcotics. The criminals might scatter before his patrol car, but he knew they were lurking around every corner.
"So I says to her, 'Hey, it's not even warm!' I come home after a ten hour shift, I'm tired. I expect at least a warm dinner. Is that too much to ask?" Vito's patrolmate, Lieutenant Nichols, complained. Vito wasn't really listening, and Nichols knew that. Nichols liked to talk and Vito liked to stay quiet, so the arrangement benefited them both. Vito scanned the streets around them as Nichols continued his tale.
"Hit the brakes," Vito said suddenly, and Nichols stopped abruptly.
"What is it?" he asked as the car slowed.
"Look at that woman over there," Vito said. He pointed to a woman wearing a short, tight black skirt and heavy makeup. She was talking to a man in a brown leather jacket, and she kept backing away from him. He pressed closer until she was against a wall, and she held her hands out defensively. They couldn't hear what she was saying, but her expression spoke volumes. Vito opened the door when the car was barely stopped.
"Oh, no. Try to go easy, okay?" Nichols said, but Vito didn't respond. He walked toward the man as though nothing was wrong, but inside he was already disgusted. When the man suddenly slapped the woman, who shrank back against the wall, Vito couldn't bear it any more and barreled toward the man like a tank. He stepped between the pair and poked the man in the chest.
"Hey, you feel like a man hitting women? Because all I see is a little boy," Vito seethed. The man smacked his hand away.
"Fuck off. The bitch stole my money. All I ever did is help her. I'm her manager," the man said. Vito turned to the woman.
"Is that so?" he asked. The woman was holding her hand to her bruised cheek, and her mascara was smudged with tears.
"Yeah, it's fine. He's a good manager," she said.
"I don't think he is," Vito said, and he turned back to the man. "Why don't you get out of here before I do to you what you did to her?"
The man snarled and threw a punch at Vito. It didn't land, mostly because Vito smacked it aside like a fly and shoved the flat of his hand into the man's nose. Blood oozed from the wound and the man screamed. He pulled a knife from his pocket and Vito grabbed his arm, twisting it until the man dropped the knife. He flipped the man over his own arm and slammed him to the ground. He saw Nichols running toward them and turned to reassure the woman. While Vito had been in plainclothes, Nichols was in uniform, and the woman fled the other way when she saw him coming. Vito let her go. She was the victim here, and the law was too often judgmental and negligent in cases like hers.
Vito would have let the fight end there, but the man wouldn't give up. He lurched up and grabbed Vito's leg. Vito pivoted and kicked the man across the face. He slumped back down and this time, he didn't get up.
"Easy enough for you?" Vito asked when Nichols reached him.
"For his kind, nothing's too hard," Nichols said. He reached for his radio to call in the details of the action when they both heard the radio in their patrol car go off. Nichols hastily snapped handcuffs onto the man while Vito returned to the car to hear what was going on. He snapped into high alert when he heard the announcement.
Calling all cars, calling all cars. Possible 10-33 in progress. Proceed immediately to location. Repeat, 10-33 in progress. All officers report immediately to 5336 Fellini Lane, zip code 10004.
The calling officer repeated his message, but Vito was beyond hearing. There were two things that caught his attention, so much so that he slammed the door shut and sped off, leaving Nichols shouting and running after him. First, a 10-33 was a bomb threat.
Second, the address was his own.
