THE MAN WITH THE GOATEE

The man with the goatee stopped talking.?She seamlessly answered, “The line between life and death is as vast as,” and he heard her pause before continuing, “as vast as the veins in the leaf. And that is the space in which we live our lives. A contemporary stone age.” As she spoke she looked at him and also admired the trees that adorned the park they were in.

The man listening intently and after hearing her words scratched his cheek and ran his right hand across his goatee with his dark eyes flashing confusion and not knowing.

She saw his reaction while at the same time watched from the corner of her eye, an unrecognizable glimpse, the assembly of men approaching and she knew why.?She counted five.?The man with the goatee was unaware of his near future and demise.?

The men approached like a posse or, if no one knew any differently, as majestic as a pride of lions with contempt and craze in their eyes. However, their dress was of gentlemen so as not to stimulate any special observation. Their swag hung with the utmost care to avoid even the small appearance of desiring to attract attention of ill-intent and to avoid any evidence of vulgarity. Even their hats were not cocked to one side or tipped back but sat straight and square on their heads. ?As the pride approached they all appeared studiously neat, leaving no other impression than that of well-dressed gentlemen on a mission of gratitude and kindness.?The only anomaly to the posse was that all but one of them exuded an obvious air of distress like a marching band on the heat of a Jamaican beach, to her, anyway, as few had her intuition and insight. She saw even on their approach they were simple thugs with an IQ of the man in the moon.?One of the four, a step ahead, was, contrarily, cool and unabashed.

Upon arriving he spoke almost tenderly tempered with affirmation, in control, to the man with the goatee as he deliberately ignored her, like not even there.?He turned with inquisition and stared at him.

She maintained her gaze at the man with the goatee as if the pride of lions were not there.

“Where is it?”. He whispered.

The man with the goatee shook his head slightly with a squint in his eye that said in silence, ‘what do you mean?’

“Where is it?”

He turned away from being buttonholed with a grunt and a smirk to disregard the ‘gentleman’.

“Where is it?” with a persistent growl and mumble, he lapsed, and stopped himself from grabbing his arm. But instead with a sideways glance to another behind him who then jumped forward and grabbed his arm.

She said with sarcasm, “Forgot who you are?”

Ignoring her consciously, he whispered pointing with dagger eyes and whispered again, “Where is it?”

“You’re a man with few words, asshole,” and jerked his arm free of the grip.

“Gentlemen,” he whispered and the rest of the pride came shoulder to shoulder with the boss.

With more power at his elbows, he said tenaciously, “WHERE … IS … IT!?!?”

“Fuck-off!?I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“Boys,” he ordered and they all seized the man, his arms behind his back, the first thug punched him in the gut.

He buckled over with a grunt then she economically spoke, “Stop it!”

“Stay out of this little woman. This is none of your business.” ?He stopped whispering.

“Drawing attention to yourselves is to be avoided, I see. There is a faster way to get what you want with less uproar,” she said.

“What? He scowled with lines wrinkling his forehead. As far as I’m concerned, lady, this is a proven sure way to get answers.” Changing his tone, he, again, whispered. “Where is it?”

The gang was about to punch him again this time to his jaw while still bound by the others.?Seamlessly she snagged his arm extinguishing the hit.

She looked at the leader and said with calm composure, “The best fighter is never angry. A good soldier is not violent.”

“Shut up,” he said directly. ?Still he wondered momentarily and then responded, “You mean catching flies with honey, that kind of shit?”

“You speak wisely, master,” she returned.

“Nothing speaks louder than this,” and pulling back his jacket opened a buried gun.

Without any inkling of shock, she said, “Well, yes, you are right again, master.?It does make a loud noise.?Loud enough to attract attention.?As you have said, ‘honey makes no noise -- completely silent.”

The whispering man scowled.

And she went on, “A good fighter is not angry. A good winner is not vengeful. A good employer is humble. ?And if not, for your employer you are number one of subordinates.”

No whisper this time. Nobody tells me what to do.?I take orders from nobody.?Nobody that matters, anyway.” There was a thin veil tinting his words divulging his upbringing as a simple thug like the others.

“So, the one above you would defer to your notion?”

“Humph… Where is it?” pointing at the man with the goatee.

“You’re a broken record, asshole.?And I am too. I told you I don’t know. I don’t know what you are talking about! He grimaced.”

“Carry on boys,” he ordered the impatient posse. They began beating the man with the goatee.

She knew the sun was behind her and if not silhouetted she was unnoticeably dark to the posse. Without start she hooked his arm, threw him on his back and stopped the man beating him.?As the other two holding the man with the goatee were amazed and confused to her forceful action and both jumped at her.?She ducked under the one man’s swing and with a sweep kick toppled him into the other each falling to the ground.

The ‘Where is it’ man drew his gun from his shoulder holster. Without hesitation she did an upper roundhouse kick to free the gun from his grip and it went skidding across the park grass.?He lunged at her and with his attacking motion and his weight she threw him head over heels.

The man with the goatee stood watching and stunned like a statue less from the beating and more from what he just witnessed. It seemed it happened in slow motion yet he knew it was over in few seconds. With the posse looking dapper none-the-less all scattered and strewn on the ground like their fedoras helter-skelter, candy sprinkled on a cake, she said seemingly without interruption, “As I was saying, the line between life and death is as vast as the veins in a leaf.”?Rather than continue, she gazed around the park for hangers-on and saw no one else.?“Go, Goatee man and return it to the rightful owner. ?The bus you want is on the other side of the park,” as she pointed in the direction of the sun, “and”,” with a half-smile said, “…Go and sin no more.”

The Goatee man stopped, looked at her with intent almost questioningly, squinted his eyes in as if she knew him and what he was being chased for, yet, have never met until a short time ago when he asked her for directions to the nearest bus – innocuous transportation and escape route. ?‘But how did she’ … and his wondering vanished with pursed lips into almost a smile, he nodded back to her in agreement. He left, walked quickly, as if to vanish from the scene of the crime.

She strolled to the gun, picked it up, moseyed to the sidewalk and dropped it into the mail box. Well, won’t the postils be surprised, she thought and nonchalantly gazing back at the pride of lions who lay sunning themselves on the grass, if no one knew any better of what just happened. ?She then walked with purpose down the street toward her destination.