Page 45

They were still on Parade Street, only ten houses away from the Calypso Club, when the attack happened.
A man came out of the narrow space between two old Victorians. He was all in black, with a black cap and a black face covering, and Gabriella just caught the flash of his blade under the weak street light before he darted forward and struck out at Mr. Rodney, who always insisted on being a gentleman and walking closest to the road.
Mr. Rodney gave a soft cry, and Gabriella found her voice had frozen. She couldn’t find a scream inside her.
Instead, to compensate, she attacked, shoving the man as hard as she could.
He obviously didn’t expect it and staggered back, while Gabriella heard Mr. Rodney collapse to the ground behind her.
She needed to scream. There were always a few boys hanging around outside the club, and they’d come running. She needed her throat to work.
The attacker got his balance back and swore softly, squaring up to her again.
“Run, Gabby.” Mr. Rodney’s voice was breathless.
She would not be running. “So brave,” she managed to hiss, pleased that she could actually make a sound. “Attacking an old man. What a hero.”
The words seemed to genuinely throw him. He hesitated, and in that moment, she finally managed to find a scream, and as she did, she shoved him again.
Help came, but not from the direction of the club, as she’d expected.
Beyond the attacker, down the street, she saw Solomon, Melvin, and a third man, and they were running, the silent, focused run of men who weren’t scared to mix it up.
Something about the focus of her gaze made the attacker glance back.
“Fuck me.” He darted into the street, around Mr. Rodney, and ran away, in the direction of the club.
Solomon shouted something, Gabriella guessed an order for the boys outside the club to stop him, but she didn’t really listen, she had turned and was kneeling beside Mr. Rodney.
“Where?” she asked him.
He was lying fully down on the pavement now. His hand lifted weakly, touched his side.
“Call an ambulance,” she ordered the men as they reached her. “I’d say move him to the club, but I don’t think that’s wise.” She looked up at Solomon, who was staring at his uncle with wide eyes. “If there’s a first aid kit in the club, bring it to me.”
Solomon flicked a hand, and Melvin and the other man ran off.
“Did he get away?” Mr. Rodney asked Solomon, trying to sound like he was fine.
“The boys didn’t understand me until it was too late.” Solomon sounded so reasonable, Gabriella looked up, then looked away, fast.
He was enraged.
She went to work removing Mr. Rodney’s jacket, and when Solomon realized what she was doing, he crouched down beside her and helped. When she pulled the white, starched shirt up, they both drew in a breath at the cut across his abdomen.
The other man, not Melvin, arrived with the first aid kit.
Suddenly realizing the police would most likely get involved, now that the ambulance was coming, Gabriella lifted her gaze to Solomon. “Melvin wasn’t here,” she said.
He tilted his head. “He wasn’t?”
“No.” She didn’t want to explain anymore than that here on the street. And not in front of Mr. Rodney.
“All right. He wasn’t.” Solomon glanced at the man next to him.
“Was just you and me, boss,” the man said.
“George, meet Gabriella, my uncle’s neighbor. “Gabriella, George.”