Badge of Honor - 10 - The Vigilantes by W.E.B. Griffin

Author:W.E.B. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9780399156632
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-06-25T05:00:00+00:00

A crowd at least twenty strong closed in on Smith, who now ran down the middle of Fifty-fifth Street. Barely dodging a Chevy sedan, its horn blaring and tires squealing, he then bolted across Beaumont Avenue, looking as if he were going to take a shortcut through the asphalt parking lot of Shaw Middle School.

There was a small group by the door to the school, looking at and adding to the makeshift memorial for Principal Joelle Bazelon. They turned and watched Smith approaching, then saw the angry mob that was chasing him—and fled the school grounds.

Xavier Smith turned to look over his shoulder, and as he glanced back he tripped on the uneven surface of the parking lot. He went down fast and hard, hitting the asphalt face-first. It dazed him.

The crowd, still led by Yvette Iglesia, caught up in no time.

They circled Xavier Smith. He remained motionless.

“Not much of a bad ass now, are you?” Yvette yelled between gasps for breath.

“We’re sick of your shit, pendejo!” Paco Ramirez said—and suddenly, angrily, began kicking him.

Others immediately joined in, shoes and boots striking him on his back and legs. Some of the girls were throwing their weight into their kicks, their arms swinging with the exertion.

Smith recoiled. He pulled into the fetal position, protecting his face with his arms.

Oh, shit! Street justice! Javier thought.

The punk’s getting what he deserves. But . . .

The rest of the crowd joined in, and Javier could see that the frenzy was building on itself.

They’re going to kill him!

And then their lives are really ruined. . . .

Smith managed to roll over and reach underneath his sweatshirt. He pulled out a chrome-plated, snub-nosed .32-caliber revolver.

He waved it up at the crowd. “Back off! Now!”

The circle of angry teens instinctively took a couple steps backward.

Two of the older males pulled out knives. And another—Javier recognized him as the driver of the pickup, which he now saw was parked close by—came up to the circle carrying a baseball bat.

Xavier Smith jumped to his feet, but stayed in a crouch as he cradled his torso with his left hand.

They must have fractured or broke some ribs, Javier thought.

Smith waved the pistol at the crowd.

Then one teenage boy in the crowd laughed. He taunted him: “Woohoo! You crazy, Xpress!”

Smith aimed the pistol at him as the boy went on: “You got only five, maybe six bullets in that gun. There’s a whole lot more of us than that!”

“And you ain’t getting no chance to reload,” said another teenage boy.

Smith jerked the pistol to aim it at him.

Then a teenage girl added, “Yeah, you can’t shoot us all!”

He aimed the gun at her.

Then another laughed and said: “You must be snorting too much of your own shit!”

Suddenly, someone in the crowd behind Xavier Smith threw a broken red clay brick, one that had once been part of the old school building’s wall. It struck Smith square in the back of the skull, causing him to crumble to the cracked black asphalt. He dropped the pistol as he went down.

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