The phone at the bike shop rang forty minutes later. JC knew he was close to being late if he didn't hustle. He was headed out the door.
"Get that, Tommy. I'm on my way over to Gorman's." He wondered if he needed to change the name of the machine shop.
"Boss, it's for you. It's Mercier."
"Tell him I'm on my way."
"Said he needs to talk to you."
"What the hell?" Bannister grumbled. The bell jingled as he let the door close. Took the phone. "I'm on my..."
Mercier cut him off. "We've got a local problem over here. Looks like some community outreach is in order, boss."
JC stood there, trying to understand what his friend was talking about.
"Boss, you there?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Vince?"
Mercier's voice lowered. "We've got some trouble here, man. I really need your help."
"On my way." JC ran out the door.
*****
Gorman's Auto and Marine Machine Shop was located about ten minutes away in Watertown. JC pulled up in the rental van. Everything looked fine from the outside. Mercier's Honda was there. Looked okay. Front door of the shop was open which seemed odd, but it didn't look busted. JC got out, walked up to the door slowly, listening for any hint of what was going on inside. He heard nothing.
He entered the front door. Nobody was in the waiting room or office. He walked further in, through the door that led into the machine shop proper.
Coletti and Sparks were standing not fifteen feet from him. Motionless. Unharmed. A group of young thugs were gathered there as well. Some sitting, some standing. Others walking around. JC counted nine. Baseball bats, screwdrivers, pipes. One kid had an old Buck 110 he was pretending to clean his fingernails with. Everyone turned when he walked in. JC stood there, feet apart, hands in his pockets.
"Mercier. Everything okay?"
"Sure, boss. You know, just a little community outreach."
"That's right. We're reaching out to take whatever you got." One of the thugs stepped forward, trying to assert his dominance. JC ignored him.
"Sparks, how do you like the job interview?"
"Its, well, sobering."
"I'll say. We'll have to talk about that in a minute."
"Hey. Shut the fuck up." The lead thug put his hand in his back pocket and drew a Charter Arms Bulldog revolver, chambered for the .44 Special. Small, light and exceedingly powerful. He pointed it at the floor. JC turned his head. Focused on him. Thin, wiry, baggy clothes. Probably about twenty years old. Shorter than JC but not by much. White. Almost half of the group were. Two blacks, two Hispanics and one Asian. All late teens to early twenties. A real ragged crew, JC thought. And at thirty-eight, he suddenly felt rather old.
"I'm the owner of this shop," JC said. "How can I help you?"
"You can give me everything you've got on you. Then anything of value in this shop."
"Sorry, kid, but that's not going to happen."
The young man, already angry at the world and the hand he thought he was dealt, raised the gun and pointed it at JC. "The hell it ain't."
"You know what, why don't you put that down before somebody gets hurt." JC slowly took his hands from his pockets as he spoke.
The kid stepped forward and cocked the hammer on the revolver. "Yeah, you sayin' that cause you ain't the one with the gun, bitch."
Man , JC thought as he shook his head, this day started bad two days ago. It just keeps getting worse. JC looked at the other thugs gathered around the shop. One of the Hispanic boys seemed different. He was watching everything and everyone, analyzing, evaluating, but not acting. How am I gonna get out of this without killing all these kids? JC thought. You're supposed to be a fixer. Fix this. Then something Mercier had said finally clicked. Community outreach.
JC looked past the young man pointing the gun at him. He needed him closer. He addressed the group. "Which one of you guys is the smartest?"
The thug with the gun walked forward, holding the revolver out at arm's length. He stopped when the muzzle was about two feet from JC's face.
"I am, motherfu-" JC pivoted at the hips, moving his head and body mass out of the gun's sight line, his right fist smashing into the man's forearm while his left grabbed the gun. The blow loosened the younger man's grip allowing JC to wrench the gun away from him. Bannister put the gun in his waistband with his left hand while his right took hold of the guy's now empty hand. JC raised his right foot and stomped it on the man's knee, dropping him to the ground and raising his arm high. He put his knee against the man's shoulder, pulled backwards while pushing forward and downward with his knee and dislocated the guy's shoulder. The younger man screamed in pain. JC pulled out the revolver, palmed it in his right hand, grabbed a handful of the guy's hair, pulled his head up and pistol-whipped him. Smashed the pistol into his face four times. JC stood up, pointing the gun at the ground while the thug bled, writhed and moaned at his feet.
"The smartest guy never says he's the smartest. Unless he's a fucking asshole." JC thought of Meier for a brief second. "Now, I'll ask again. Which one of you guys is the smartest?"
Seven fingers instantly pointed at the one Hispanic kid JC had noticed before. He looked at his friends then started shaking his head. JC approached him. "What's your name?"
"Bruno."
"Bruno?"
"Vargas."
"Alright, Bruno. This shit sack is done. Out. You want to be the new boss of this crew? Lead them in a new direction?"
"The fuck you think you're doing?" The guy on the floor was trying to get up.
"Bruno, what's this knuckle dick's name?"
"George Ziccardi. Calls himself Z-dog."
JC looked down at him. "George, you say another word I'm going to kick the living shit out of you."
"Fuck you."
George hadn't finished the first word before JC started stomping and goal kicking him. Ribs, stomach, dislocated shoulder, legs, ass: anything was game for about a minute. JC stopped, winded.
"You come into my shop, threaten my friends, point a gun in my face?" JC was bellowing at this point. "Think you can tell me 'fuck you'?" Kicked him again for good measure. "Now shut the fuck up before I lose my temper."
The shop was dead quiet. Except for the sound of Z-dog coughing and spitting blood onto the floor. JC took a few deep breaths to compose himself. Turned back to Bruno. "You want a job?"
Vargas looked at him for about ten seconds. "Depends."
"On?"
"The job."
"Smart man." JC pointed at Sparks who was standing wide-eyed and stock still. "He's the new manager of the shop. Right now he's a bit of a drunk. I need you to keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays on the wagon."
"That's it?"
"Two grand a month. Meals included. Clean up the shop, run errands. He tells you what to do day to day, but you work for me. If you want to learn the ins and outs of a machine shop, Sparks will teach you anything you want to know. He drinks too much but I hear you won't find a smarter machinist. If you like the work and prove yourself I'll pay for you to go to any college or university you can get into."
"Community college?"
"Anywhere you get in."
"UMass?"
"Harvard."
The guys behind him whistled and chuckled.
"And if I don't like the work? I don't prove myself?"
"Then I'll fire your ass. And you'll have lost the greatest opportunity you'll likely ever see."
JC let the possibility sink in before he said, "There's a third option."
"Yeah?"
JC opened the cylinder of the revolver. Five bullets. Fully loaded. Closed it. Put it in his left hand. Handed it to Vargas, grip first. "Take it."
Bruno did. JC smashed him in the face with his right elbow, knocking him to the floor of the machine shop. Bruno scrambled back up, gun in hand, ready to fight. Blood trickling from his nose.
"Shoot him! Get that sonofabitch!" George yelled from the floor.
JC watched Bruno's face evaluate the situation. He knew the kid could try to shoot him in the head, get revenge for his gang leader's beat down. Maybe just rob the place, steal the cars. But he was betting Vargas had different plans for his life and his future.
Bruno looked hard at JC. Then handed him the gun, butt first. JC nodded. Smiled, clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome aboard."
"You fuckin' pussy. Just like your older brother, ain't got no balls. Next time I see you, I'm gonna stomp the hell outta you. And your brother, too." George was losing it.
Bruno moved to kick George but JC stopped him. JC took out his wallet, took the money from it and dropped it in front of George. About a thousand bucks.
"Mercier, give me your keys."
"What?" Mercier looked surprised.
"Give me your keys." It wasn't a request.
Mercier walked over, digging his car keys out of his pocket. Put them in JC's hand. Walked back to stand next to Sparks. JC tossed Mercier's car keys on top of the thousand dollars cash he had dropped on the floor. "That's yours. Mercier will report the car stolen tomorrow at 10 am so get it to whatever chop shop you can find before then. Go to a hospital." He squatted down in front of George. "Here's the deal. Never come back here. Never bother anyone standing here or their families ever again. I hear of it, I'll find you. And I'll kill you." JC stood. "Now get the fuck out of my shop."
George struggled to stand. His knee was hurting, his face was bloody and smashed, nose broken and his shoulder was dislocated. Worst of all his pride was demolished. He picked up the keys, pocketed the money and limped away.
Mercier shuffled his feet. "Boss, you just gave him my car?"
"Don't worry. I'll buy you a new one. Coletti, too."
"Why?"
"You're going to need it. Something that can haul a few guys and some bikes.
Mercier continued to look at him, searching for understanding.
"Community outreach, Mercier."
The remainder of the gang watched all of this silently. Finally one of the black kids said, "What about us?"
JC smiled at him. "You know how to ride a bike?"
"'Course I do."
JC looked at the rest of the guys there. "Anybody here can't ride a bike?"
Seven heads shook in the negative.
"Good. Tomorrow afternoon be at Strong Arm Cyclery in Newton Highlands at 4:30." He pointed at Mercier. "You'll see this guy and a guy that looks just like him. This is Mercier. Other guy is Coletti. They are your new coaches. And you are the new Strong Arm Cyclery racing team."
The guys looked at each other in disbelief. The one who had spoken up before said, "You want us to ride bikes?"
JC smiled. "Nope. I want you to race bikes. You're my new racing team. Coletti and Mercier will train you. Bruno will ride with you as well. He's the team captain. You'll get new bikes, a place to stay, food, team clothes and a thousand bucks a month."
"Just to ride bikes?"
"What's your name, guy?"
"Louis."
"Good. Bruno is the Captain. Louis, you're my Co-Captain."
JC addressed the group. "Like I said, you're not just going to ride bikes. You guys are going to learn how to race bikes. And you're going to win."
"Why so generous? To all of us?" Bruno said.
Several others nodded in agreement.
JC's smile faded. "Simple. Two days ago a good friend of mine died in my arms. Shot in the back because of my mistake. Today, instead of killing a bunch of dumbass kids who think they're gangsters and are trying to rob me, I'd rather help a bunch of dumbass kids who could use a little direction."
*****
Thirty minutes later the guys had all left. Most of their questions had been answered. Sparks left as well, promising to come back tomorrow at 7 am, sober. Bruno promised he would be there to make sure. Mercier and Bannister were left alone, sitting in the front office.
"So, boss, what are we going to do with all the guns in that van?"
"Keep them here, same as before. The storage spot in the back is hidden just as well as it always was. Gorman and I dug it out, built it ourselves. It's not on any blueprints and it's completely invisible. We are the only ones who will ever know about it."
"Sparks?"
"He can't know. We'll see in a few years."
"That was a nice thing you did for those guys."
JC nodded.
"I gotta ask, though, JC. Why'd you hit Bruno like that? I mean, it seemed kinda cold."
"It was a job interview."
Mercier laughed. "You've changed man. I remember my interview with you. All you said was 'You like bicycles?' I shrugged my shoulders, said 'Yeah, I guess' and that was it."
JC remembered as well. Mercier and Coletti didn't know about the extensive background check he did before he called them. The anonymous interviews with friends, employers, former co-workers.
"Yeah, well, I kinda knew you guys already. Dragging a guy out of a burning ammo depot in Kandahar then visiting him in the hospital while he's recovering can do that."
Mercier shrugged. "Okay, but why'd you hit Bruno?"
JC smiled. His friend had noticed the dodge. "I wanted to see what he did in a stressful situation. Would he give in to his immediate emotions and throw everything away or would he think first and try to find the best long-term solution to the problem?"
Mercier nodded. "Gorman would have approved."
JC smiled at the thought of Gorman. He missed his friend.
"Let's get these guns brought in and then get out of here, Vince. I've got a meeting down in DC tomorrow.
"DC?" Mercier's distaste was clearly audible.
"Yeah, I know."