The Drunkard's Walk wound mostly through residential areas, tracing a zigzagging path between the campus and a cluster of bars east and a bit north. It wasn't really a single path, offering multiple step-shaped routes through a grid of city streets, but people tended to follow Tulliver Avenue for most of the east/west portion of the route, so that is where I invested most of my time.
It was on my third time heading east on Tulliver that I saw them. They were walking west on the opposite side of the street, two guys and a young woman, all seeming a bit intoxicated, but the woman especially so. She clung to one of her companions like a drowning person clutching a life preserver. I couldn't be certain there was anything really bad about the situation, but then again I couldn't be sure there wasn't either, so I decided to keep an eye on them for a little while. I waited until they had gone a ways past me, then casually crossed the street and circled around to follow them from a discrete distance.
They continued west for a couple more blocks before turning south onto a cross street. I reached the corner and turned south also just as they were turning west again. They walked a couple more blocks then turned north again.
Were they lost?
I decided to turn north a block early so it wouldn't be obvious I was following them. I got back to Tulliver and looked west, expecting to see them appear at the next intersection.
Nothing.
I waited a minute. Still nothing. I started walking west, picking up the pace as I worried I might lose them. Had they gone into a house? Cut down an alley maybe? I was almost to the end of the block when I got my answer. They stepped out from behind a van and blocked my path.
“Hey, why the hell you following us?” one of the guys demanded.
Had I really been that obvious? “I wasn't... I swear,” I stammered.
“Bullshit,” the other guy insisted, “You looking for trouble or something? 'cuz you definitely found it.”
“No really, I'm just on my way home.” I started to feel a bit strange. Lightheaded. My skin tingled. I felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the air I was breathing. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Why did I suddenly feel so detached?
“Guys, this is really boring,” the woman declared, “Just leave the geek alone. I want to get home.” She teetered, then grabbed the side mirror of the van to keep from falling over.
I looked at the three of them. They were about my age or perhaps a bit older. The woman had dark hair. Her skin and bone structure hinted at a middle eastern ethnicity, but her voice had a slightly Hispanic accent. One of the guys had curly dark hair and the other flat brown, but otherwise they looked like your basic frat-boy jocks. Well, except for their eyes. There was something more intense about their eyes.
They wore matching jackets. Yeah, definitely a fraternity. It was odd though... the jackets had English letters on them instead of Greek. Flaming letters. HdF.
Hermanos del Fuego.
Oh crap.
Oh crap oh crap oh crap. I had managed to follow and piss off gang members. Honest to god drug dealing gang members. I am such an idiot.
But they don't look Hispanic. I almost started giggling hysterically at the absurdity of that observation. So they were an equal opportunity gang... a regular melting pot for the criminal element. Shame on me for letting their Spanish name and my own ethnic bias color my expectations. I should apologize for that. How did Dee describe them? More interested in making a profit that busting heads, or something like that.
I don't think these guys got that memo.
I had to say something. Make them understand. “Hey I'm really sorry. This is all just a big misunderstanding, really.”
They weren't buying it. Curly Hair stepped up and gave me a shove. I caught my foot on part of the pavement and went down. My cell phone flew from my coat pocket and slid a few feet down the sidewalk. I looked up to see Curly shaking his head and grinning, as if he couldn't believe how pathetic I was. I looked back at my phone and saw my geo-tracker app on the screen. I saw the panic button.
Panic.
Yes, that about summed up the state of things. I reached out to press the button, but Curly jumped forward and brought his foot down on my phone. I winced as I heard the display crack. He stepped back and chuckled at the results.
“You really picked the wrong people to mess with, you know that?” He didn't sound angry. More like concerned. Maybe a bit amused. But there was still violence in his words. An inevitability about the what was to come, like it was a duty he had to perform. I began to realize there was no talking my way out of this.
As I picked up my phone and climbed to my feet, I realized what I had to do. The only thing I could do.