Come on Isaac, your grandparents could survive extreme poverty in Prague, you can handle a guy knocked on his ass, the frightened teen reasons. Confrontation did not usually fare well for him. It's not a problem of shyness. His parents taught him early that if he has a problem with something or someone, he should speak his mind. It's more so who he chooses to speak against. His somewhat snarky responses against his... "less pleasurable" classmates earned more than a couple bruises. Ever since, another important lesson was taught; choose your battles wisely.
To get some courage to jump down to the seemingly unresponsive man, Isaac begins to hype himself up. Face slapping ensues. Shaking his head left and right rapidly like a rabid dog. If anyone had seen him, They'd probably pay more attention to the rabid psycho on the fire escape than the injured person. Luckily, no one was around. The occasional car rolled around, but no driver seemed too interested. Odd, Isaac thinks. Harlem streets are usually flooded with people on Saturday nights. especially with Thanksgiving coming up. A few seconds of mild self harm later, the young felt fully prepared.
This guy better not jump me. Honestly, that's the last thing I need right now.
With a quick prayer, he leaped down from the last balcony of the fire escape. Upon shakily landing, he found himself right in front of the body, lying in a pile of trash bags near the apartment complex's dumpster. The rancid smell of the garbage from him and his neighbors overtook his nose. A quick peek at the dumpster revealed the source of the horrid, nose-hair-burning scent. Rotten duck and old cabbage. Definitely the Chens' dinner. Now that he was up close, Isaac got a better look of the mysterious stranger.
The guy looks like someone you'd see in a movie. The helmet covering his face had many types of stickers of various logos on it. The "loudest" ones being an MTV sticker on side and the Versace logo on the very top. A little odd, but it adds some flair. His outfit screamed "biker". Slick midnight black motorcycle jacket with matching pants and boots, along with some comfy looking leather gauntlets. Standard attire, but the jacket was definitely the most interesting of the ensemble. Instead of being somewhat tight fitting like most leather jackets, This guy's jacket looked more loose and baggy. No zipper, either. It had buttons to the side, like a winter coat. Stylish. At least this guy has a good sense of fashion. But he does look like he idolizes James Dean.
What stood out the most to Isaac, however, was the injuries of the stranger. Dried blood on a good portion of his clothes, riddled with with holes revealing fresh wounds. Not bleeding profusely, but he definitely needed some form of medical attention.
He was still breathing, at least. Crouching down a bit, Isaac spoke in an attempt at communication.
"Uh, sir, you ok there? You don't look too well."
No response. Maybe he should get a little closer and poke him or something. That gets most people up. Cautiously, he approached. Just a few steps, and the bike enthusiast was no less than a couple feet from him. His body partly covered by Isaac's shadow, thanks to the moon's glow. The teen used this small distance as an opportunity to extend his arm forward. Only his arm. In the case that this person is a raging psychopath, he kept the rest of his body as far back as possible. This way, he could quickly retract his limb and hoof it out of the alley. A small push seemed like a good amount of contact. While nudged slightly, the biker made the tiniest groan of pain.
But no other response. Isaac loosened up a bit, the cautious pose he was taking starting to strain him.
I don't think this guy is getting up. Not sure what to do now, and it's cold as hell out here. I should've brought a jacket or someth-
"GRRRRAGGGH"
His thoughts halted as the previously unconscious motorcyclist jolts up with a guttural yell. In his hand, a lengthy blue steel pipe. The sudden action startles Isaac, causing him to stumble backwards and almost trip. No more than a second later, the deranged man charges at the teen at full speed, winding up his swing towards the boy's head.
Isaac barely reacts in time and ducks, the pipe just missing his head and instead colliding with another dumpster near him.
CLANG!!!
The thunder-like sound echoes throughout the alleyway. Expecting another immediate hit and bracing for impact, the 19-year-old is instead greeted with the shaky stranger catching his breath. The attack seemed to have taken a lot out of him. Perfect opportunity to quickly get out of swinging range of the metal-wielding menace.
Now at the wall opposite of the biker, Isaac collects his thoughts. Christ, this guy's fast for a dude who just crashed. There's no way I'm just running from him. What's his deal? Isaac wondered. Taking a moment to observe his surrounding, he look for something defend himself with from the inevitable second attack. However, a second glance at the recently assaulted dumpster revealed something that caused the boy to go wide eyed...
The dumpster had a MASSIVE dent on the side. It looks as if someone had hit the container with a wrecking ball. Whoever this man is, "strong" is an extreme understatement for him..
Ježiš Maria! How strong is this fucking guy? A hit like that, he'll blow my damn head off. I really can't let this guy touch me. Stupid me, this is what I get for trying to help someone. Goddammit.
The armed motorcyclist seems to have recovered some stamina, turning to face his target. Once again, he raises his arms what little height they can go. Within an instant, he makes a mad dash to the unarmed teenager. Out of desperation, Isaac quickly grabs an untied bag from the dumpster, jolting it around. Trash begins to fly all over the alley, temporarily blinding his pursuer long enough to make his monster swing miss completely, hitting the air. Again, he needs a moment to recover, this time on his knees, his breathing becoming more intense and wheezy.
Ok, that worked for now. Just gotta think of a more permanent method. What else is in here? Hesitantly, he rummages around in the garbage, looking for something to whack the guy with. Digging his hand in trash and trying to not vomit because of the smell, he feels something metal and sturdy. Pulling his arm out reveals a rectangular piece of a metal bed frame in his hands.
Oh yeah, I remember seeing someone move in a new bed. This must be from the old one. This can work. Now, where'll this hurt like hell? A quick once over and the answer was obvious; a hole in his pants exposes a deep cut above his left kneecap.
Bingo. He starts to steady himself, trying to shove the fear of death in the back of his head. Can't attack if his shaky hands can barely hold his weapon. With no combat experience whatsoever, he needs to rely on his instincts and whatever knowledge he has that can be applied to this situation. Alright, he's just been mindlessly charging at me this whole time. There's no variety in his movements. Heavily linear. Easy to follow. The fact that he hasn't recovered from his last swing yet means he's probably running out of steam. If I can get just one hit on that big red target on his leg, he'll likely be down for the count. Just need him to come on my terms...
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Isaac is no hulk of a man, but he still has a decent swing from his brief "baseball nut" phase growing up. Not long after his preparation. the stylish rider stands upright. Once again, he moves to face the teenager. Just from his body language, one could tell he currently harbors an extreme amount of red hot anger. The grip on the pipe tightening enough to make an audible bending sound. Perfect. Now's my chance to lure him.
"Listen man, you got a good swing. But I guarantee, you try that shit again, I'll knock your head off! Don't fuck with me, man!" The young man exclaimed in his best "tough guy" voice.
"The FUCK you say to me?!" The stranger suddenly speaks with a impressively obvious Italian accent. This person clearly hailed from Staten Island. Needless to say, Isaac is surprised. The guy actually spoke.
"Would you look at that, we're on speaking terms now. What changed?" Isaac cockily remarks, trying to keep up his façade of intimidation.
"Sorry for not speaking while I'm actually dyin' over here. You douchebags just can't call it a day, can ya? Just gotta make sure we're all erased from this damn city!"
.....
"Huh?" A face of confusion quickly grows on the teen's face.
"Don't play stupid with me, bro. You think you gonna take me down? Nah, fuck that. I'm about to bash your goddamn skull in!"
Without hesitation, the third chase begins. It's now or never. The accuracy and speed required to incapacitate this guy needs Isaac to be in a state of extreme focus. One foot. As soon as he's a foot away, I'll swing. Deep breaths. Just clear everything and focus. I can't go down like this. I won't leave my parents alone. He ignores the world and its every detail. There's only a blank space. No time for fear. Right now, the only thing that occupies his mind is the threat in front of him.
His strength, incomparable. His speed, unbelievable. His stamina, waning. His movements... predictable.
The motorcyclist sprints at a breakneck speed, ready to slaughter his mark. "YOU FUCKER!" He wildly raises pipe high up with another guttural yell, attempting to perform a devastating overhead attack that would easily turn a skull into a disgusting jigsaw puzzle.
He enters the one foot range, and with that is the young man's chance to strike. As fast as he can, Isaac prepares his own attack, putting a knee on the floor to give him a better angle. Aiming for the left kneecap, he throws a giant swing of his own, with every ounce of power he could possibly put into it. "HYAAAAA" His yell bounces off the walls of the open alley.
He closes his eyes for the very last second, praying for the best.
The sound of a single attack was heard.
Silence soon followed.
As if they were replaced by statues, both fighters remain completely still.
Isaac didn't feel any pain. Everything was still black, and he didn't want to open his eyes. he was too afraid of finding out if he's dead or not. Slowly, with a shaky breath, he opens his eyes. The first thing he notices is his bed frame piece in his arms. He hit his target dead on. His assaulter stands in front of him, but frozen stiff. Looking up, the young New Yorker gets greeted with, and startled by, the ever so durable steel pipe mere inches away from his head. Suddenly, his perpetrator releases his grip on the weapon, landing lightly on the teen and rolling off onto the ground. "GOD-FUCKING-DAMMIT" He holds his knee in excruciating pain and stumbles backwards before falling face first.
The winner of the encounter rises to his feet, and quickly decides to take the pipe himself. Just in the case the guy somehow gets up. He approaches with a more confident demeanor, now that the fight's over.
"Alright sailor mouth, you gotta lot of explaining to do. Who the hell are you, and what happened to you and your bike?"
The biker, still wincing from the pain, managed to spit out a response. "What the hell are you talkin' about? Ain't you with the Caiazzos?"
"The crime family? Hell no!"
"Then what the hell are you doin' here? You some kind of fucking hobo?"
"No, dumbass, I'm from the building you hit with your bike. I came to help, but look where that got us."
An awkward pause occurs in the conversation. After a minute or so, the biker seems to regain the energy to sit upright to continue the face to (covered) face conversation. Wow, this guy has a fucking insane recovery time. "Wait, you telling me you were gonna... help me?"
"Yeah. I heard you crash, and thought I should help. It's almost December, City's starting to get colder. Lotta good that got me." Isaac hears a sigh coming the drifter. It sounds... regretful.
"Fuck. Listen, I'm sorry. That was on me. It's just I got some people on my ass right now and I'm trying to stay alive here. These guys want me dead, and I'm a little jumpy right now. Do you think you could accept my apology?" A hand is extended in hopes of forgiveness.
Isaac finds himself taken aback. He seems like a completely different person now. As for whether he could trust this sudden 180, that's a different question entirely. His face was almost shattered a minute ago, after all. But the way the stranger speaks when he isn't in rage mode seemed... genuine. Like he feels disappointed at himself. A feeling Isaac knows all too well.
"Apology accepted." He takes his hand and helps the motorcyclist stand up. He seems to have recovered enough to stand somewhat normally. Damn anomaly over here...
"Thanks."
"Don't sweat it, but you try anything funny, I won't hesitate to hit you in your bum leg again, understand?"
"Gotcha, pal. So, can you still help me out, or...?"
A long sigh is heard. Can't believe I'm doing this... "What do you need?"
"Alright, the Caiazzos are on my tail like, right now. They're lookin' for me. They almost got me, that's why I got fucked up in the first place, but I managed to slip away. I can explain more but we need to get somewhere they won't find me. I know it's probably a lot, but could I hide in your place for a bit? At least for the night. Help a fella out?"
In the distance, other motorbikes can be heard. Isaac approaches the end of the alleyway to peek out of the corner. At the end of one of the streets, 8 other bikers ride together, their confused looks indicating they're looking for someone. I can take a wild guess on who...
What's most interesting, however, is the fact that two of the riders are wearing the same jacket that the other guy is. Isaac saves the observation in his mental pocket. That's a question for later. As he turns back to assist his... "acquaintance", he almost slips. Looking to see what almost caused him to fall, he finds it to be a tarp. Ah! Perfect. When he returns, he hands the stranger the tarp.
"Here, help me cover up your bike. After, we'll head up the fire escape to my place. Sound good?"
"You're a lifesaver, man. I won't forget this. Let's hurry, I'm freezing my balls off."
"Same here. Hey, I never got your name. If I'm trusting you enough to sleep in my house, I'd at least like a name."
"Oh, uh... It's Ray. Ray Mancini."
"Cool. Isaac. Isaac Pravda. Nice to meet you, Ray." He put out his hand for a proper handshake. Ray reciprocated.
"Sweet name. Russian?"
"Czech, but close enough." Once they start prepping the bike, Isaac's head implodes with thoughts. This is the last thing I expected to do tonight. Near death experience, gang wars, and an "interesting" stranger. Lot to process. I got a lot to ask this guy, but that can wait. Let's just head back, I'm beat...