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We were 17 and a bit cocky, the six of us, and just hanging around a closed gas station on a Sunday morning south of Tallahassee. There were several roughtly 35-year-old men working on a car over by the highway and, for some forgotten reason, we walked over there.
Jay, our smallest companion, immediately managed to get into a spat with one of the men and then proceeded to pointedly start counting them, then counting us. Nothing to worry about, we thought -- just an amusing scene. As we stood there watching Jay annoy the men, another man we hadn't noticed emerged from under the hood of the car with a long wrench in his hand. He was about 6' 6" and must have weighed 300 pounds.
The man began to speak. Unlike the others, he was clearly unimpressed -- and a bit too articulate. "Son, I couldn't help noticing you counting your friends and counting us. But, by myself, I'll take you and any three of your little friends."
Based on my observations of bike gangs in Indiana, large, articulate men who liked to fight were not to be trifled with.
Walter, the biggest and toughest of us, was by then about 6' 2" and 220 pounds. A smart guy, he quickly moved to defuse the situation. "Don't pay any attention to Jay. He's an idiot and is always mouthing off. We'll take him off and kick his ass for you. Sorry."
At that point we all turned and walked away, back over to the shade of the tire-changing area near the store.
Walter wasn't convinced that the incident was over though -- so he told us to all position ourselves near something that could be used as a weapon.
So, as we slouched around, hands discreetly near or touching a tire iron, Coke bottle or somesuch, the men gathered up and started to walk over toward us. The large man was leading them and was still carrying the wrench.
"Take the big guy out first", said Walter. "He might pick up the Coke machine and start swinging it!".
With hearts pounding, we pretended not to notice the men approaching as we nonchalantly tightened our grips on our tools and bottles.
Just as they were reaching us, a Leon County deputy swerved into the parking lot and screeched to a stop. A short, muscular cop jumped out and walked up to us.
The deputy wasn't particularly interested in how the situation came about. He was only interested in a resolution. "Tell you what", he said to the big guy, "I'll take off my badge and gun and we can work this out man-to-man. Just you and me."
He was the deputy they sent to break up bar fights, as I would later learn.
The large man calmly stood there for a moment, as if considering the offer. "No, thanks", he said at last.
"Ok, but then you need to leave", the deputy told him.
That was one of the few times we were actually glad to have the cops called on us. |
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