Chicago Stories: West of Western (25 page)

Hell, Sister Ann again. She could hear the ex-nun shouting at three guys in Lobos hoodies, but was too far away to make out words. What the hell was the old loony up to now?

As she neared the fracas, Sister Ann's harsh squawk and young male voices raised in jeers and catcalls came clear. Supporting herself against the car, the old woman fought her attackers, swinging her crutches, spitting and yelling at the top of her lungs. Chico led two Lobos, taking turns attacking and retreating, pulling her hair and tearing her clothes, punching and poking at any exposed flesh. Finally Chico knocked first one and then the other crutch away, leaving the old woman teetering on her one good foot.

Seraphy dialed 911 as she ran, but was still a block away when Sister Ann staggered and fell into the gutter, curling up with her arms over her head. Chico moved in, kicking her in the head while the others stomped her arms and legs.

“Stop that!” Seraphy cried as she neared the corner. “You'll kill her, damn you! Get away from her. Now!”

Chico looked up and laughed.

“
Puta
!” He aimed his boot at Sister Ann's face, then brought it back for another kick. Seraphy reached him before his foot landed and grabbed his jacket, forcing his arm back and up between his shoulder blades until it snapped. Chico screamed and doubled over, she pushed him off-balance with her toe and he landed, still screaming, on the dislocated shoulder.

“I warned you to stop beating up on the old lady, asshole. Who's next?”

The others had halted their attack when Chico screamed. Now they turned on Seraphy. She saw a knife flash as she wrenched the closest attacker's hood off and buried her hands in his greasy hair.

“Bad boy,” she hissed when he swiped at her with the knife. “Bad, bad boy.” Holding him by the hair with her left hand, she twisted his knife arm by the wrist with her right, forcing it until the arm popped from its socket, then shoved him howling toward the stairs.

“Police,” someone yelled behind her. The last attacker was backing away as fast as he could, unaware of two officers running up behind him.

With the gangbangers disarmed and police on the scene, Seraphy stopped for a deep breath, exhaled on a count of five, shifted gears and turned to their victim. Sister Ann's face was white with shock, blood dripped from a cut on her temple. Her hands and arms were covered with darkening bruises. A clear print of Chico's boot heel showed puffy red and darkening on her forehead. As Seraphy bent over her, she grimaced and opened her eyes.

“You again,” she said. “Well, don't just stand there gawking. Get me up.” She rolled over and tried to push herself up, her good foot scrabbling for traction on the sidewalk.

“Wait a minute,” said Seraphy, “Just stay where you are. How's your head? I can see where Chico kicked you.”

“I said I want up.”

“On that ankle? I don't think so. You took a lot of hits. Maybe we should wait for the paramedics.”

An ambulance turned the corner onto Rockwell two blocks away. The cops had the three attackers spread-eagled against the patrol car across the street.

“Hell no, I'm all right.” Sister Ann grunted, trying to sit up again and failing. “Give me your fucking hand.”

“ Stay where you are. Here they come.”

“Hi, Seraphy. Hi, Sister Ann,” said George a moment later as he knelt beside the fallen woman. “Kinda cold for a nap, isn't it? Here, just lie back and let me check you out.”

“Oww.”

“Head hurts here, huh? How's the ankle?” He glanced at the two punks moaning by the squad car, and at the uniforms handcuffing the third, looked at Seraphy and tried to hide a smile. She was about to explain when George held up a hand for silence while he listened to Sister Ann's heart.

“Seems to be working,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “So what have you been up to, neighbor?”

“God help me, it's a fucking comedian,” Sister Ann spluttered. “George, get me up outta the gutter. No smart remarks. Then get outta here. I'm going home.”

“We need to take you to the ER just to make sure—”

“I'm not going to be the excuse for some exorbitant charges from some capitalist quack.”

“Nah, Sister Ann. Don't you know they give me all the money I bring in so me and Jerry can use it to go out and pick up girls? Relax and let us do our job.”

More than glad to leave Sister Ann to the paramedics, Seraphy retreated to lean against the corner of her building and watch.

“Humor me, Sister Ann,” George smiled. “Jerry, bring that gurney a bit closer.” He ignored his patient's demands to sit up until she agreed to go to the ER.“Good. Now Sister Ann, I'm going to lift you so you can sit on the gurney, all right?” George said, smoothly slipping one arm around her and lifting her two hundred pounds onto the lowered gurney before she could change her mind. “Good. Can you lie back? Okay, we're going to take you over to the ambulance and just check you out.” He covered her with a blanket and brought the gurney up to waist height.

Meanwhile two uniforms had the three punks up against the patrol car, legs spread. Two of the gang were white and wincing with pain, favoring their right arms, which appeared paralyzed from the shoulders down. The cops watched them for a moment without speaking, then turned to Seraphy.

“Hey lady, what did you do to these fine upstanding young men?” The black cop, whose name tag identified him as Washington, was trying not to grin. “Chico here says you attacked him and Berto for no reason.”

“Oh, right,” she said, still leaning against her building. As she had thought, this was the infamous Chico. “When I came down the street, these three scumbags were taunting Sister Ann. That one—Chico—snatched her crutches and kicked her in the head when she fell. You can see his boot print on her forehead, and she undoubtedly has other bruises as well. His buddies jumped in and it looked to me like they were trying to stomp her to death. I yelled, but they ignored me, so I had to pull them away.” She stood and strolled over to the officers, who were guarding the three captives.

“You pulled them away,” Washington said, his voice deadpan. He and his partner exchanged glances.

“Fucking
puta
. You're gonna die, bitch. You broke my arm,” Chico snarled, glaring at Seraphy with narrowed eyes. “I don't take that from no bitch.”

“Yeah, you gonna die, bitch,” yelled the second captive, echoing his leader.

“Shut up, asshole.” Officer Turner—his name was also on his uniform shirt—shoved Chico back against the patrol car. “Wash, did you get those threats down? Sounded like intimidation to me. Shut up, Berto. Turn around, hands on the car.”

“Chico says you broke his arm?” Turner asked, turning back to Seraphy.

“He should be so lucky. It's not broken, just dislocated a little. That one, too,” she said, pointing. “They can be popped in again at the ER, and will be okay in a few days. Hurts like hell, though, in the meantime, and the longer it's out, the longer it'll be sore after. Maybe I should pop them in right now?” Seraphy turned and took a step in Berto's direction.

“Get her away from me!” Berto screamed. He and Chico pressed close to the patrol car. Officer Washington grinned and waved her back.

“Arm a tad sensitive?” he asked Chico. “Maybe one of the paramedics should take a look while we take your statement, and Sister Ann's. Then we'll take you over to the ER. Might be a while.” His partner snorted.

“George, how's your patient?” Washington called across the street. “She ready to give us a statement now, or should we come to the ER later?”

“I'm all right,” Sister Ann yelled back. “Get the fuck over here and get your bloody statement.”

The officers split up, stashing Bobo, handcuffed, in the back of the squad car and putting Chico and Berto in the care of George and his partner while they waited for second patrol car.

“Stand still and cooperate or I'll let Seraphy work on you,” threatened George.

Seraphy had just finished her statement when Terreno and Markowicz arrived with two squad cars to hold back the growing crowd.

“Geez, these guys look a little past their use-by date,” Markowicz said, striding over to inspect the captives leaning against the patrol car. “What did you do to them this time, Pelligrini?” He turned to Chico and Berto.“You guys stupid or something, messing with her?” he asked. “You want what happened to Cholo to happen to you? Hey, Terreno, look at this: Bobo, Chico and Berto. The three stooges.”

“I don't know, Marko,” Terreno said as he came around the police car. “These two look a little damaged. Musta fell down.”

“That bitch attacked us. She busted my arm,” Chico started to turn toward the detectives, but flinched and turned back when George ran a hand over his shoulder.

“Yeah. She just ran up and grabbed me,” Berto said, nodding vigorously. “I wasn't doin’ nuthin’, just talkin’ to Sister Ann. I'm gonna sue the bitch's ass off.”

“Dislocated, both of them.” George turned back to the ambulance and Sister Ann.

“Hey, I got a lotta pain. You can't leave us like this. I need somethin’ for the pain,” said Chico.

“Shut up,” Markowicz said and turned to the patrol officers. “Take them to the station after you get them fixed up at the ER. Put them in the cage, we'll get to them. Eventually. Send Bobo in another car.”

Terreno had been talking to George. “Marko,” he called, “Sister Ann doesn't want to go to the ER. I told her we need the doctors to look at her and get some pictures. They'll need them for the trial.”

“Ain't going to be a trial,” said Sister Ann, encouraged by the growing audience of neighbors and cops. “I'm not signing anything. No charges. I'm not gonna be coerced into helping the oppressors of my people.”

“Christ on a crutch,” said Markowicz.

Seraphy joined the detectives at the ambulance. “Look, Sister Ann, I've about had enough of your crap,” she said to the ex-nun, her patience gone and her voice rough. “I almost got knifed saving you from these punks. Don't be so damned stupid. Chico and his gang are the oppressors of your people, not the cops.”

Sister Ann's mouth was working, her hands tense. She glared at the gang bangers, then at the detectives.

“For Christ's sake, get over yourself. Maria needs you here, so stop the stupid grandstanding.” Seraphy was beginning to regret interfering in the beating. “Maybe I should have let them have you.”

“I want to go home.”

“Home? Who are you kidding? If you don't prefer charges and get these bastards locked up, they'll come back, and what'll you do then? What if they break into your place? Don't think I'm going to cover for you if you get yourself killed. What about Maria? If they don't kill her, she'll end up in the hospital.”

Sister Ann looked around, trapped. “That's blackmail.”

“Grow up, dammit! Is your ridiculous politics so important you can't think of someone else for a change? This isn't the time for stupid posturing. Shut up and do what George tells you.”

Sister Ann glared at her, then at the detectives, the paramedics, then at Chico and Berto. The skin on her face fell in and wrinkled like a deflated balloon.“All right, I'll go to the ER. But I don't have time to waste going to any cop house.”

“No, Sister Ann,” said Terreno with a sigh, “We'll come along to the ER with you and get your statement, so you can come right home after the doctor sees you. We'll even drive you home.”

Seraphy's
cell phone rang just as she hit the top step. Richard had heard the police cars.

“It's Richard. So tell me, what's up over there?”

“Why didn't you come out with the rest of the gawkers?”

“Couldn't. I'm working on a risotto for Andre. He's always wasted after the Sunday matinee.”

Yuk. Seraphy could never understand why runny rice was supposed to be such a treat.

“Mmm. Some Lobos were harassing Sister Ann and the cops came.”

“Uh-huh, sure. This is Richard you're talking to, sweetie.” She could hear him banging around in the kitchen. “Something tells me that's the short version. Cough it up, Sweet Cheeks, or you'll never eat here again.”

“Let me think about that. Hmmm. Who's cooking?” Lounging in her Barcalounger and gossiping with a friend was about all she felt up to at the moment. She leaned back and kicked off her shoes.

Clunk. Was that his phone?

“Richard?”

Scrabbling noises.

“Richard, are you there?”

“Yeah, I dropped the phone. Shit. Now the fucking rice is stuck, I think it's burning. Hold on.” Clunk. Miscellaneous kitchen sounds, refrigerator door slamming. Maybe she'd grab a beer while Richard got his act together.

“Okay, I'm back,” he said before she could move. “It's all right now, I dumped the shit in another pan. You talk while I stir, okay?”

“I was coming down Rockwell,” she began. The story took longer to tell than it had taken to happen. “. . . and they took Sister Ann to St. Mary's and Chico and Berto to Norwegian. If Sister Ann lets them take pictures of the bruises, especially that boot print on her face, and they can get her to press charges, we'll get rid of those guys, at least for a while. Aggravated battery for sure, maybe even attempted murder, and anything else they can think up. They'll be gone, at least for a while. How's the risotto?”

“Pretty good, another quart of stock and I'm a free man.”

“You want to come over for a few minutes? I've got two pints of Starbuck's in the freezer.”

“Tempting. I'll think about it. Maybe later.”

“Oh. And I'll tell you about Jaime and the geese.” Shameless, but she didn't want to be alone. Lucky Andre.

“Can't. Got to make something to go with risotto. Umm, just what is Jaime doing with the geese?”

“Wouldn't you like to know. Umm, Richard, will you marry me? I need a wife. To make risotto for me.”

“Just call me Martha.”

“Martha, will you fucking marry me?”

“Not right now, I'm busy. Besides, I'm not sure I like you turning into some over-the-top Xena, Warrior Princess. You don't have the clothes. Or the boobs. First Cholo, now Chico and Berto. You do know Chico's the Lobos’ leader, don't you?”

“So what was I supposed to do? Go all girly and stand there screaming?”