No More Mr. Nice Guy Read Online Free Page A

damn pig. I guess you could say the same thing about Wyandanch.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked as we turned up my block and the cab came to a complete stop. The driver began babbling in Hindi, pointing at the police cars and an ambulance blocking the street. I Wish I could say it caught me off guard, but in my hood, the police were always showing up to carry someone off to jail, the morgue, or if they were lucky, just to the hospital.
    â€œJust pull over. I’ll walk the rest,” I instructed the driver.
    â€œYou sure?” he asked, though he looked relieved as he stared at me through his rearview mirror. This was supposed to be a hardened NYC cabbie, but it was obvious he was scared shitless.
    â€œYeah, my house is just up the block.” I glanced at the meter then reached into my pocket to pay the fare. I was going to let him keep the change, but then snatched it back when the son of a bitch popped open the trunk and gestured for me to get my own bags. I don’t even think the trunk was all the way down before he pulled a U-turn and gunned it down the street toward the Southern State Parkway.
    With my knapsack over my shoulder and two duffle bags in my hands, I made my way up the block toward home. I hadn’t imagined I would ever wind up back here for an extended period of time. Hell, I’d only been back to visit about five times in the past ten years, but here I was, me and all my worldly possessions, along with no job and no prospect for a job. I could have done another tour and stayed in the Army, but I decided it was time to come home, or at least close to home. Truth is, I had really been counting on that consulting job so I could get a place in the city and still be close to my mom.
    Speaking of Mom . . .
    â€œYou fucking devils!” An eerie voice shrieked loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. “I’m going to kill all of you!”
    â€œShit,” I cursed.
    I’d been through hell and back as a soldier for my country, but that scream put more fear in my heart than any of the shit I’d seen in the military. You see, that scream wasn’t just random. I’d heard it many a night while growing up, and it told me one thing: The commotion was coming from my house. I broke out into a full jog.
    â€œYou fucking devils! Stay the fuck away from me!” The voice continued to get louder the closer I got to my house.
    By the time I got to the edge of my mother’s property, there was a gang of nosy neighbors standing outside the house. I made my way through the crowd to the stoop, where I was stopped by a cop.
    â€œSir, you’re gonna have to stop right there,” the cop stated, blocking my entry.
    â€œThis is my house. Those are my people inside.” I dropped my bags, staring him down, but he stood his ground. Based on my military training, I knew there were at least two dozen ways I could take him down and get past him, but I didn’t want to do that if I didn’t have to.
    â€œDon’t touch me!” The voice came from the house again. “I’ll kill you all!”
    The cop looked back at the house like he might be needed in there. What he didn’t understand was that he had just as big a problem standing in front of him.
    â€œSir, we have a mentally ill person in there with a knife. I need you to stay back for your own safety.”
    â€œLook, officer, I’m the only one who is going to be able to defuse this situation. Now, let me pass, please, so I can help you. Those are my family members in there.” I looked past him to his sergeant, who was standing in the doorway with his gun drawn
    â€œThe devil! You’re all devils!” She kept repeating. “I’ll kill you all!”
    â€œLet him go, Stanford,” the sergeant announced, and the cop finally let me pass.
    As I walked by the sergeant at the front door, he told me, “You better do something quick or we’re going to