Page 48 of Midnight Creed

He sped up, reaching the intersection to the access road. Oncoming traffic made him wait to take the left turn. He maneuvered the Jeep around both parking lots that were lined with parked vehicles. No one else was outside except clear in the back corner by the Dumpster. Light didn’t reach that part of the lot. It was dark, but he remembered from yesterday how the woods came all the way to the concrete.

Creed stopped the Jeep in the middle of the empty space. He captured the activity in the headlights just as one of the men shoved Sully to the ground. Gunner snapped and barked, but Sully had the dog by the collar.

He had expected teenagers, but in the stark light, the men looked older. Old enough to be legally drunk in a public parking lot.

The biggest one had a dark beard and a shaggy head of hair. When his small, narrow eyes flashed in the headlights, they made him looked like a wild animal.

Creed pegged the ringleader as the tall, scrawny guy with a mop of blond hair. He was dressed in shorts with a long-sleeved polo shirt. He wore flip-flops. Nobody started a serious fight wearing beach thongs unless they knew they weren’t throwing the punches.

The third man was the shortest of the three but broad chested, his T-shirt tight to show off his muscles.

They stopped, almost freeze-framed, when they realized the Jeep wasn’t just looking for a parking spot. But they didn’t seem worried enough to think he might be a cop.

Creed left the headlights on as he opened the door.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, giving them an opportunity to make things right.

“We caught this old guy and his little dog stealing.”

He glanced over to Sully to make sure he was okay. The old man’s eyes flickered with recognition then slipped away, back to the ground. His focus was on protecting his dog.

“What did he steal?”

“What’s it to you?”

He was right about the tall, scrawny one being the leader. He was also right about them being drunk. Which could make this easier...or more dangerous.

“So you decided to rough him up?” Creed asked. “It took three of you to push an old man down?”

“Pushed him down? Nah, we didn’t push him down. He slipped.”

They all laughed.

“So who the hell are you supposed to be?” The bearded man pointed at Creed. “Take a look at this guy. Are you like some tuxedo model or something? Or did you lose your bride?”

They laughed again

At least their attention was no longer on Sully and Gunner. That’s when Creed noticed Sully wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The knuckles came away with blood.

“Why don’t you all apologize to this man and then get on your way?”

“Apologize?” The muscle man moved closer and only then did Creed see what looked like a footlong pipe hanging down from his hand. Of course, he brought a weapon, which told Creed the muscles were for show.

They came at him, spreading out, intending to surround him. Creed moved slowly, knowing they’d follow. He led them into the shadows and away from his Jeep.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Hannah warning about his bruised back and the wound in his side that was still healing. He could still feel the hitch there, a tenderness below his beltline. But that wasn’t why he moved the oncoming fight to the shadows. He didn’t want them to dent his Jeep or crack the windshield.

“You guys don’t have anything better to do on a Saturday night?” he asked, pulling them farther away from Sully and Gunner. “What are you, the Dumpster patrol?”

“Very funny. He’s a tuxedo model and and a comedian.” The ringleader walked on the balls of his feet, trying for a tough-guy’s bounce, but the flipflops only made him look ridiculous.

The muscle guy was the first to lunge at Creed. He swung the pipe clear over his own head, preparing to deliver a full-force wallop. Creed caught the guy’s wrist as it came down. But instead of stopping him, Creed pulled while he stepped aside. The guy’s forward momentum threw him off balance and he faceplanted onto the pavement.

Creed spun around just as the bearded man’s right fist caught his jaw. He ducked as the man’s left fist came in right behind his right. Creed’s head was down, but he slammed his elbow into the guy’s kidney. The man reeled back, fists flying. Creed pulled away, still getting clipped on the chin. Encouraged, the man started dancing around him like a boxer gearing up to place his final blows.

Behind them, his scrawny friend yelled his support, “Do it! Knock him on his ass.”

Creed had to admit, he never liked boxing. Hitting and getting hit in the head was the worst. But as the guy closed in again, bouncing and curling up his fists, Creed concentrated on his own balance and his own feet.