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Two guys. Roughing up an old lady, holding her at knifepoint in the front of her café.

“I already paid you this week. You Volk said that I would have till next month to make the rest of the money and to come back. I was told by the boss himself!”

“Oh yeah? Which boss was that? Me?”

“Ha, right? We don’t care who it is that you think you know. Give us more money right now to ensure that we don’t bust up this place.”

“P-please. There is no need to?—”

“Hey,” I say before I can stop myself. Stepping out into the open, I grin my best “fuck you” smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the giggling wonder?” One of them sneers, his eyes looking glazed. Drunk.

“Yep. Always good for a laugh.”

“Only because you are a joke!”

“Hey, we’re all brothers here.”

“Bullshit, you’ll never be one of us. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Or better, since you think you are Volk, keep watch while we take care of this old lady. I think she has a pretty daughter upstairs in college, no?”

“Hey, maybe she can pay…”

I watch the older woman’s face go pale. Well. Shit.

Guess this is happening.

“Fuhgeddaboudit. That ain’t gonna happen, boys,” I say doing my best impression of my uncle Giancarlo. “How about we all take this little party outside? We can sit down and have a cuppa coffee and call it night, eh?”

Just as I thought, one of them watches American films. And my thick accent has him chuckling and slapping his friend on the back.

“You talk like American gangster from the movies! This is cute. Too bad you are weak-assed American punk, instead.”

“Come over here and I’ll show you exactly how weak I am. I’ll show you a good time.” My lips peel back in a teeth-gritting rictus.

Bring. It. On.

And the stupid shit rushes me headlong, raising his fists.

“I will show you how to talk to me, bitch!”

I really need to learn my lesson about getting myself into these situations. Just for the sake of not breaking so many asshats’ bones.

His first swing flies wide, careless. I slap his hand aside, kneeing him in the groin, dropping him to his knees. Winding up my right hand, I open my palm full, striking him across the face hard.

“Who’s the bitch now? You gonna act like a bitch, you’ll get slapped like one you piece of shit!” I cackle in my best Jack voice. Another slap drives him to the pavement.

Right in time to welcome his buddy, whipping out a switchblade.

Small time, low-level d-bags.

“What is this?East Side Story? Put that shit away before I break your wrist.”

“I will gut you, swine!”

“Rum-digga-tum,” I sing, swiveling on my feet and leaving an opening. He lunges into my trap, stabbing the blade straight forward, right between my arm and ribcage. Pinning his arm tight, I beam down at his stunned expression. Right before I ram my forehead into his nose.