Bronx Requiem(121)

*

Out on Harrod Avenue, Beck and Ciro were about to step out of the Escalade when Beck said, “Wait. We can’t both be on the street while he’s in a car. If he tries to drive out of here, run the son of a bitch off the road.”

Beck slipped out the passenger door. In one hand he carried Ciro’s fish bat. In the other, his Browning forty-five. The only way to get to Jackson without being seen was to duck down and walk hidden by the cars parked along his side of the street. But the damage Remsen’s men had done to him made walking bent over excruciating.

By the time he reached a spot across the street from Jackson, he had to take a knee and recover. He leaned out past the front bumper of a parked car. Jackson stared off to his right, trying to make out what was happening in the roiling mass of people gathering in and around the plaza.

Beck saw Bondurant emerge from the crowd and make it to the platform. He saw Jackson shifting in the driver’s seat as if about to make a move. Was he going to flee the scene to save himself? Get out and help Bondurant? Start firing into the crowd?

Juju Jackson shoved the Range Rover into gear.

*

Amelia’s shout stopped Bondurant for a moment. And in that split second Demarco Jones leaped onto the concrete stage and yelled at Bondurant.

“Hey!”

Whitey Bondurant turned toward him. There wasn’t much distance for Demarco to cover, but it was enough so that Bondurant had time to raise his gun into firing position. Even though he was a trigger pull from taking a bullet, Demarco kept coming. As Bondurant’s gun came level with Demarco’s chest, he heard a primal scream as Amelia Johnson threw herself at Whitey Bondurant. She hit him hard, knocking him back, but only a step. Bondurant was much too big to go down. He shoved Amelia away, sending her sprawling onto the hard concrete. It took only two seconds, but time enough for Demarco to close the distance and grab the barrel of Bondurant’s Colt, twist the gun out of his hand, and backhand the butt of the gun across Bondurant’s face.

Bondurant’s sunglasses flew off, his cheek split open, and this time he staggered backward.

Demarco casually looked behind him and underhanded the gun to Manny Guzman who had stepped up onto the platform. Manny caught the Colt, then turned and joined Big Ben Woods and his deacons, who had taken up positions on the top step, ready to hold back Bondurant’s crew. But none of them tried to storm the stage. Every person in the plaza stood where they were, waiting to see the fight about to happen between the feared Whitey Bondurant and someone who almost matched his size.

Demarco circled between Bondurant and the women as Esther helped Amelia to her feet and moved her out of the way toward a door set into the wall bordering the back of the stage.

Demarco taunted Bondurant. “You like hitting girls, you nancy bitch?”

The crowd stood, transfixed. For years, every one of them had dreaded even hearing the name Whitey Bondurant. It didn’t seem possible that someone had taken away Bondurant’s gun and stood taunting him, goading him to fight.

Bondurant’s men called out, telling him to kick the guy’s ass. To kill him. To tear him up. They wanted to see what Whitey could do. They needed to see it.

Without warning, Bondurant rushed Demarco, throwing all of his two hundred fifty pounds at him. Demarco countered. He met the force of Bondurant’s rush with a forearm rammed into Bondurant’s chest. He grabbed Bondurant’s right arm, turned, and threw him onto the concrete stage.

Bondurant hit the concrete hard. He rolled over onto his hands and knees. Demarco took a step and kicked him in the ribs.

Demarco yelled, “Get up, bitch!”

Blind with rage, Bondurant rushed Demarco again, this time shooting in low, trying to get his long arms around Demarco and take him down.

Demarco absorbed the force of Bondurant’s rush, sprawled backward, grabbed Bondurant’s left arm, dug his right arm under his chin, and dropped all his weight onto Bondurant’s neck and back, forcing the bigger man to the ground.

He leaned close to Bondurant’s ear and whispered, “You can’t beat me. I’m not a girl.”

Bondurant tried to twist away, to get out from under Demarco, but Demarco pulled up on his choke hold and kept him under control.

One of Bondurant’s hard guys rushed the stage, pulling his gun. Ben Woods slapped the side of his head hard enough to send him flying back off the steps. Another made it to the second step, but Manny cracked the barrel of Bondurant’s Colt across his jaw, and he went down. Pushing and fighting broke out among the residents and a few of Bondurant’s men. A third man pushed past one of Woods’s deacons and made it onto the top step, and then Beck’s final line of defense appeared. The door behind the stage opened and Willie Reese stepped out holding a Serbu Super-Shorty 12-gauge shotgun.

He raised the weapon with one hand and aimed it at Bondurant’s man who had tried to join the fight. The man froze. Willie took two steps toward the man, planted his huge foot on his chest, and sent Bondurant’s thug flying off the stage.

Willie stood at the edge of the platform, sweeping his shotgun back and forth, keeping back anybody else who might want to help Bondurant.

Behind Willie, in a desperate move, Bondurant managed to grab Demarco’s left elbow, pull down and twist out from under Demarco, landing with his back on Demarco’s chest. A flurry of motion exploded. Demarco tried to counter and push off the bigger man. Bondurant surprised Demarco with his speed. He twisted and landed on top of Demarco, scrambling forward, avoiding Demarco’s guard, straddling his chest. He reared up and landed a huge punch to Demarco’s forehead, driving Demarco’s head onto the hard concrete.