HE WAS UNSHAVED, his clothes wrinkled, his eyes red and swollen. I had the feeling he’d been drinking. Then I opened the door and smelled liquor all over him as if he’d taken a bath in the stuff.
“Figured you’d be up,” he slurred out a few words. “Knew you would be.”
Yeah, he’d been drinking — a lot. I hadn’t seen John like this in a long time, maybe ever. He didn’t look real happy either.
“C’mon inside,” I said. “C’mon, John.”
“Don’t need to go anywhere,” he said loudly. “Don’t need any more help from you. You helped enough, man.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, and tried again to guide him inside the house.
He shook loose, his long, powerful arms flailing. “What did I say? I don’t need your help!” he yelled at me. “You already fucked up enough. The great Dr. Cross! Yeah, right. Not this time. Not for Ellis Cooper.”
I took a step back away from him. “Keep your voice down. Everybody’s sleeping inside. You hear me?”
“Don’t tell me what the hell to do. Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled. “You fucked up. We fucked up, but you’re supposed to be so smart.”
I finally told Sampson, “Go home and sleep it off.” I shut the door on him. But he pulled it open again, almost took the damn thing off its hinges.
“Don’t walk away from me either!” he yelled.
Then he shoved me hard. I let it go, but Sampson pushed again. That was when I lunged at him. I’d had enough of his drunken shit. The two of us tumbled down the wooden steps and onto the lawn. We wrestled on the ground and then he tried to throw a punch. I blocked it. Thank God he was too messed up to throw a straight punch.
“You fucked up, Alex. You let Cooper die!” he yelled in my face as we both struggled to our feet.
I refused to hit him, but he struck out at me again. The punch connected with my cheek. I went down as if I didn’t have any legs. I sat there, stunned, my eyes glazing over.
Sampson pulled me up, and by this time, he was gasping and wheezing. He tried for a headlock. Christ, he was strong. He connected with a short, hard punch to the side of my face. I went down again but struggled back up. We were both groaning. I hurt where he’d hit me on the point of my cheekbone.
He threw a roundhouse punch that missed by an inch. Then a hard blow caught my shoulder and made it ache. I warned myself to stay away from him. He had me by four inches and forty pounds. He was drunk, angry, insane as I’d ever seen him.
He wouldn’t stop coming at me. Sampson was filled with rage. I had to take him down if I could. Somehow. But how?
I finally hit him with an uppercut to the stomach. I jabbed his cheek. Drew blood. Then I fired a short right hand into his jaw. That one had to hurt.
“Stop it! Stop it right now! Both of you, stop!”
I heard the voice ringing in my ear. “Alex! John! Stop this disgraceful behavior. Stop it, you two. Just stop it!”
Nana was pulling the two of us apart. She was wedged in between us like a small but determined referee. She’d done it before, but not since we were twelve years old.
Sampson straightened up and looked down at Nana. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, Nana.” He looked ashamed.
Then he stumbled away without saying a word to me.