The Maine Events by Rodney Riesel (spanish books to read .TXT) 📗

dual cab pickup slow down and turn rightonto Oceanside Avenue. “Does that happen often?” he asked.

“Rarely, these days. More so when I was a kid.”

A few minutes later, Allen observed the same pickup making aleft off Beacon Street. The vehicle was driving slowly toward them. Allen had afunny feeling in his gut; he surveyed the steps of the seawall for anything hemight use to his advantage when the shit went down. He had pegged some likelyweapons when Donnie spoke.

“That's the same truck.”

“I know,” Allen replied. He tried to step in front ofDonnie.

With his forearm, Donnie gently pushed Allen back into hislane. “Don't do that,” he said.

“Sorry. I just—”

“Well, looky here, guys,” said a young man in the frontpassenger side of the truck, as it slowed to a stop. “It's our dainty littlefriend from the other night.”

The other men in the truck laughed, and made remarksdisparaging Donnie's sexual preference.

“It's the guys who attacked me,” Donnie whispered.

“Why don't you guys move along,” Allen said. He tried tocount how many men were in the truck, but it was too dark. He was guessingfour.

“Why don't you kiss my ass, homo?” the guy shot back.

“Yeah, fag!” someone else in the truck shouted.

“You boys know all the words, don't you?” Donnie said. “Fag,homo, queer. They roll right so trippingly off your lips.”

“You better watch your mouth,” said the guy in the backseat.

“Sounds more like I better watch your mouth … homo,” Donniereplied.

Being called a homo by a gay man was more than that littleredneck could take. The rear door swung open. Allen readied himself. He backedup to the edge of the seawall and looked down the steps. There wasn't much roomfor a scuffle. The front door swung open. Donnie clenched his fists and broughtthem up.

“Come on,” Donnie said, “let's see if you do better than thelast time.”

Allen and Donnie backed down the sidewalk a few steps togive themselves more room to fight. The occupants exited the truck. Donniestepped into the street. Allen remained on the sidewalk.

The guy in the back seat hopped to the sidewalk. He was alittle guy, no taller than five seven. The guy who got out of the front seatwas bigger—about Allen's height and weight.

From where Allen now stood, he could see that his guess wasright; there were four of them. The other two guys stayed in the truck. Allencould see they were laughing.

“I got this girl,” said the smaller guy about Donnie.

Great, Allen thought, I guess that leaves me withthe bigger guy.

 “Oh, that's so funny,” Donnie said. “I'm gay, so that makesme the same as a girl. I get it. Very original”

“Kick his ass, Tim!” the driver hollered. He opened his doorand got out.

This prompted the fourth man to climb out of the big Dodgedually.

Allen glanced both ways, up and down the street, hoping acop would come along. He wondered why he was so nervous, while Donnie seemed tobe fine with the whole situation—even making jokes and egging on hisantagonists.

The little guy took two steps toward Donnie. Donnie broughtup the toe of his brand new sneaker into the little fella's balls. He followedit up with a smashing right to the side of the head. Timmy cork screwed intothe pavement.

“Who's next?” Donnie hollered. “Come on!”

The two men on the passenger side looked at each other, andthen at Allen. Allen brought up his fists and took a fighting stance. The guyclosest to him, near the back of the truck, went for Allen. He swung his rightfist. Allen tried to block it but missed. The fist barely caught the tip ofAllen's chin. His head snapped around, and he took a few steps backward. Herubbed the tip his chin with the back of his left fist. He checked for blood;there was some. Son of a bitch. He glanced over at Donnie, and down atTim. Tim hadn't moved. The driver was kneeling next to Tim.

Allen's opponent came at him again. This time Allen swung aright. The guy blocked it. Allen threw a left. Blocked again. The guy swung aleft. Allen ducked and came up with a right into the guy's sternum, taking awayhis breath as well as his bravado. He stepped back onto the sidewalk to givehimself some breathing room. He stumbled backwards, falling flat on his back,and Allen was on top of him.

Allen straddled the man, serving him a right to the head,then a left and another right. The guy was trying to parry the blows, but wasgrowing weaker with each punch. Allen got in about five good punches beforereceiving a kick to the side of the head from the other guy.

Everything flashed white. In that fraction of a second Allenwas amazed that yes, you really do see stars. He rolled off the guy and down twoof the three-foot concrete steps of the seawall. His head smacked against thethird step and he let out a moan. He was on his back staring up at the darksky. A seagull flew over him, and he thought, please don't shit on me, bird.

Allen rolled to his stomach and slowly got to his knees. Hefelt the back of his head—more blood. Son of a bitch! He used the step abovehim to steady himself and climb to his feet. He could hear Donnie and the othermen hollering. And there it was, a four foot piece of driftwood, about threeinches in diameter. Allen picked up the limb and tightened his fingers aroundit. He climbed the two steps to the sidewalk. The man Allen had been fightingwas sitting on the curb with his back to the ocean. The driver stood behindDonnie, pinning his arms behind his back. The man who had kicked Allen in thehead was socking Donnie over and over again in the gut and ribs. Cars werebacked up in both directions, but no one had left their vehicle to help.

Allen walked past the man on the curb. He came up behind theguy who'd kicked him, and swung. The dead branch shattered against the side ofthe guy's head, and he went down just like his buddy Tim.

The driver let go of Donnie