“Noah,”she bit out in irritation.
“To be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d be able to help in that department.”
“How the hell can I help you contact a Belgian man I’ve never heard of until an hour ago?” Tess hiss-pered.
“He’s not Belgian. Krist Darwood is from Cleveland,” I replied.
“How the hell does Krist Darwood from Cleveland come to be called the Man from Brussels?”
“That’s actually a funny story. It all goes back to—”
It was then that I noticed the three kids who’d been playing basketball had concluded their game and were walking down the sidewalk towards us. There was nothing inherently menacing about them. Their clothes, their movement, all normal, and yet a caution light flashed inside my brain.
“Look sharp,” I said to Tess, whose back was turned to the incoming trio. “Some kids are coming our way.”
The tallest of the three wore a black hoodie andlooked to be in his early twenties. The other two couldn’t have been older than eighteen. The second tallest was wearing jeans and what looked like an authentic vintage RatHound T-shirt. The smallest of the trio was at least a foot shorter than black hoodie guy and was carrying a well-used basketball.
Tess and I moved aside, leaving plenty of room for the three to pass, but that didn’t stop black hoodie guy from muttering “Ubiraysya s dorogi, suka!” (Out of my way, bitch), before checking my shoulder as he walked by.
I failed to flinch in the slightest, causing him to slam into my shoulder a little harder than he’d planned, making him to lose his footing and step into the gutter.
“Ty namochil moi tufli, ublyudok! (You got my shoes wet, you piece of shit!) the kid yelled.
“Vam sleduyet byt' vnimatel'neye i smotret', kuda vy idote..”(You should pay closer attention to where you’re walking.)
Black hoodie guy steadied himself before puffing out his chest. “What the fuck did you say to me, Pindo?” Clearly sussing out that I was an American.
Not wanting to draw attention, I did my best to deescalate the situation.
“No problem. Just making sure you’re okay,” I said with a friendly wave. “Have a nice night.”
“Maybe I’ll have a nice night with your girlfriend, huh? Maybe we all will,” he said, motioning to his friends to the right and left of him.
I fought back the urge to put my fist through his skull right then and there, opting instead at one lastcrack at diplomacy.
“How about we all move on,” I said.
Black hoodie guy pulled a switchblade from his pocket, pushing the button to release the spring-loaded blade. “How about you give me your wallet, mother fucker.”
With the kid’s thick Russian accent, it came out more like “mahder fahkar,” causing me to chuckle.
“Keep laughing, Pindo, and I’ll kill both of you,” he threatened, waving his knife back and forth.
“So, what’s the move here, huh?” I challenged, casually unbuckling my belt. “What are you going to do with that thing? Stick me? Slice me? Do you even know how to use that knife?”
“You’re gonna find out. Plus, there are three of us, and only one of you,” he said.
“I know, I don’t like your odds either,” I replied, dropping my smile. “Now put that blade away before you cut yourself and move on.”
“Typical fucking American cowboy man, huh?” he said, stepping forward. “So tough, even without your six shooter. Isn’t this where you tell me how stupid I was to bring a knife to a gunfight?”
I shook my head, removing my belt. “No, this is where I tell you how stupid you were to bring a knife to a belt fight.”
* * *
Tess
“Give me your wallet or I swear I’ll—”
