Strangely Normal - By Tess Oliver Page 0,88
Only in this game there was no ref and no rules. Jude groaned as the guy slammed him hard against the building.
My feet took off before my brain had even told me to move. The sidewalk seemed to have magically stretched and it felt as if it took me forever to reach them, and in that time, I wondered just what the hell I would do once I got there. My adrenaline rocketed me into the air and I jumped on the guy’s back and clawed his face. He threw me off with hardly any effort, and I fell back hard on the sidewalk.
Annoying little pest gone, the guy concentrated on his real prey. Jude had held his own for a few minutes but the three against one scenario had definitely turned the odds against him. Blood dripped from Jude’s mouth and nose as he staggered forward to hit the guy in front of him. I was still at ground level and with his drunken state to help me, I kicked my leg and toppled one of the beasts. He fell to his knees with a thud, and I could have sworn the sidewalk shook from the impact. The guy pushed to his feet and swung around with a look that told me to get the hell up and run.
It was time to do what I should have done in the first place. I raced to the diner to call the police, but before I reached the door, headlights lit up the sidewalk. I twisted back around. The scene on the sidewalk looked as if it was under the spotlight on a stage. Two of the guys had taken hold of Jude and the third one was pummeling him, seemingly ignorant of the car that had pulled up in front of the bar. I squinted into the harsh headlights, hoping it was a police car. But, oddly enough, it was a limousine.
The car door opened and a familiar figure stepped out. The guy administering the beating finally stopped and looked around at the person standing next to the limo. Then another figure stepped out of the car, and this one made the three attackers look petite. I’d seen Nicky King’s bodyguard once but the sight of him slapped the breath from me. He had to be close to seven feet tall, and I half expected the sleeves and legs of his shirt and pants to be tattered, his Hulk transformation complete.
I wandered over to the scene, wondering if I’d been knocked senseless by the fall to the sidewalk or if I was actually witnessing the sight in front of me. The two guys holding a rather bloody and limp looking Jude kept their hold on their victim, but their mouths dropped open in a perfectly suited apelike fashion.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” one of the guys muttered, “it’s Nicky King.”
“You better fucking believe it,” Nicky answered in that awesome British accent, “and that’s my kid you’re beating the shit out of.” Nicky’s bodyguard took several steps toward them, and they released Jude and stumbled back with eyes as wide as marbles. Jude sank to the ground. “Jude!” I ran to him and dropped to my knees.
“Hey,” he said weakly.
I winced at the pain in his tone. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, but everything from chin up hurts like hell and the ribs ain’t feeling great either.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help.”
He shifted his green eyes toward me with minimal movement of his face and head. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
Conveniently having missed all of the fight action, some of the bar patrons finally emerged from the dark saloon to see what was going on. Immediately phones came out of pockets and an excited murmur rolled down the line of onlookers. Never mind that a guy was slumped on the sidewalk with a swollen face and blood loss, there was a rock star standing in front of their bar.
As fast as the phones were lifted for pictures, the humongous body guard stepped in front of Nicky, shielding him like a brick wall. His voice was as impressive and frightening as his size. “Unless you want to lose those phones, you’ll put them back in your pockets now.” The group of curious spectators moved fast to follow his command.
Seconds later, and fashionably late, a police car pulled up. The officers stepped out and looked just as star struck as everyone else on the sidewalk. I half expected