The Brave Read Online Free Page A

head. He disappeared.
    â€œYou’ll be okay, Sonny,” said Doll. “Just be cool, whatever happens.”
    The monster fluttered as the men surrounded the table, half a dozen of them in jeans and work shirts. He thought of the bigmouth bozos at the smoker.
    One of them said, “Where’d he go, Dolly?”
    â€œHe was late for church,” she said sweetly.
    â€œReal funny. Take her.”
    Doll stepped away from the table. One of the men reached out for her. Sonny slapped his arm away.
    â€œStay out of this, Tonto.” Another armreached out for Doll.
    Sonny chopped it down and shoved the man back with a forearm to his chest. Sonny blocked the way as Doll slipped into the crowd.
    â€œOkay, young gentleman, that’s enough, it’s over.” Hands on his shoulders. He glimpsed a dark face behind him.
    Sonny pivoted and nailed it with a left, a short crisp hook to the side of a bearded black chin.
    As the man crumpled, Sonny saw the badge hanging on a chain around his neck. A cop!
    Clubs slammed against his legs and shoulders, one crashed against the back of his head. He went down under a swarm of bodies. It was like football, yeah, just like football, Jake, nobody walks over me, sure, take it till your time comes.
    Time out.

4
    H E NEVER BLACKED out. He swam through tunnels of darkness and pools of light. He was jerked to his feet, half carried up stairs, dumped into a small room that stank of sweat and smoke. He gagged. A light flashed into his eyes. A paramedic said, “He’ll be okay.”
    â€œRedskins are tough.” Police officers filled the room.
    â€œLook what they did to Custer.”
    â€œLook what he did to Brooks.” The cops laughed and surrounded him. Half a dozen hands patted over his body, up his legs. Sonny reached for his wallet. His back pocket was torn and empty. The belt loop was torn too. Did the cops have the wallet? Doll?
    â€œWhat’s your name, Tonto?”
    He concentrated on slowing his breathing. His eyesight was blurred by sweat, but he could see that the room had no windows. It was bare except for a table and two chairs and a longmirror on the wall opposite the door. Too many bodies blocked the way out.
    Voices battered him.
    â€œResisting arrest.”
    â€œStriking a police officer.”
    â€œYou are in deep, Geronimo.”
    White and black faces hovered in front of him.
    â€œWant to go to jail?”
    â€œScalp you at both ends in jail.”
    Sonny’s hands curled into fists. Be cool, he told himself, ride it out. But the monster was in his chest.
    â€œSo what’s your name, where you from?”
    The cop’s face bobbed into range. A straight right, then the hook. He began to raise his fists. What’s the difference between jail and being sent back to the Res?
    The door banged open.
    A cold, hard voice blew in. “Young gentleman, don’t even think about lifting your hands.”
    Cops scrambled out of the way. A chunky black man swaggered in. He was holding a frosty can of soda to a bearded jaw.
    â€œPut your hands in your pockets, young gentleman, before you mess up your life for good.”
    Sonny opened his hands and dropped them.
    â€œLeave me alone with this fool.”
    â€œSergeant Brooks, this kid’s…”
    â€œPathetic. Leave.” He flipped the soda can to one of the cops and waited until they all filed out of the room. He kicked the door shut with his heel. “You are pathetic. Fifteen minutes off the bus and you bought the total New York experience. Saw the whole thing. You let yourself get picked up by two hustlers who ripped off your backpack and wallet. Then you fouled up a drug bust. Must be some kind of a record.”
    Sonny studied Brooks. He didn’t look deranged. He didn’t look much of anything. He wasn’t particularly tall or heavily muscled. The beginnings of a potbelly pushed out the front of his polo shirt. I could take him out, thought