“He was running around putting his hands on all the girls. Smacking them on the butt and stuff. He even tried to shove this new girl’s face in the sand. He wouldn’t let her up so I took care of it.”
I see a smile stretch across my dad’s face.
“Good. He deserved it, right?” he says, grinning.
“Yeah, he did.”
“And you did what you felt you had to do, right? You handled it?”
“I did.”
“Good boy. It’s unfortunate, but that’s what you have to do sometimes. I know you’re only eleven, but sometimes kids your age are assholes and need to be dealt with. I’m proud of you. I bet your mother was pissed, wasn’t she?”
I chuckle to myself, remembering how mad my mother, Gloria, got when the principal called her and told her to come get me. She doesn’t like having to leave work to come deal with the school, and she was extra mad because this isn’t the first time she’s had to do it.
“Yeah, she was really mad,” I reply.
“I bet she blamed it on me, didn’t she?”
“Kind of. She said some stuff about how I’m growing up to be like you, and it makes her sad. I told her I loved both of you, and that I was sorry about getting suspended. She calmed down after that.”
Dad laughs a little, but stays focused on the parking lot.
“Hey, you did the right thing, Dominic. Okay? No matter what your mother says about it, you did the right thing. A man isn’t supposed to hurt a woman. That’s the rules. If a man hurts a woman, that’s breaking the rules, and breaking the rules is cause for punishment. So, I’m proud of you, son.”
I feel the tingling sensation of pride spread through my body. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Fuhgeddaboutit,” he says, smiling at me.
I know the words are forget about it, but the way Dad says them makes me laugh. That’s his Italian roots making their presence known. I don’t know why, but I love it when he says it.
My dad’s eyes snap forward when there’s movement in the parking lot. He leans forward and squints, trying to see who the man is getting out of the black Mercedes that just parked. When he recognizes him, he looks at me, his jaw tight.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond. He gets out and walks across the street like he’s on a mission, his black leather jacket flapping at his sides, and smoke billowing out of his mouth from the cold. The man he approaches is also wearing a black leather jacket, but he has a thick beard that matches it. That’s all I can make out from here.
All I can see now is the two of them talking. My dad is gesturing as he talks, and I know that’s a sign he’s not happy about something. The other guy looks afraid, but he’s standing his ground. He hands my dad an envelope, which my father calmly takes.
Then, everything changes.
Suddenly, my dad punches the guy in the face. He stumbles backwards, clutching his mouth while Dad pulls a gun out of the back of his pants. My heart quickens as I watch my dad point the gun at the man’s face. The guy puts his hands up like he’s being arrested, then Dad hits him the face with the gun and he falls to the ground. Dad leans over the man’s crumbled body and aims the gun at him again as he yells at the guy. Then, he reaches back and slams the gun into the man’s face two more times, before finally walking away. My dad walks quickly towards the car as the guy behind him lies lifelessly on the ground, and he stuffs the thick envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket.
I’m not sure what I feel as my dad approaches. Part of me is scared. Part of me is proud of him. My nerves are on high alert and I feel excited with fear. I’m not surprised by what just happened because it’s not the first time I’ve seen my dad involved in something like this. Like I said before, my dad doesn’t take crap from anybody, and I like that.
When he gets in, he’s breathing heavily as he reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a white towel and a plastic bag. He hands the towel and the gun to me before he starts the car.