Charges by Stephen Knight Page A

figured the noise of all the people, combined with the oppressive heat and humidity, had finally roused them from their slumber.
    “They’re hungry,” Carla said. There was a good deal of lethargy to her movements as she left her husband’s side to go toward the stroller. “I need to feed them.”
    “Carla, you okay?” Vincenzo asked.
    She looked up at him from beneath her wide-brim hat then smiled. “Just hot, tired, and having to deal with not one, not two, but three cranky babies.”
    Bobby stopped the stroller, and Carla raised the flap and looked inside. As she cooed to the babies, Bobby looked around and frowned.
    Mark had bent over to check on the girls as well, but he stood up and saw his brother-in-law’s expression. “What?”
    “I don’t like this,” Bobby said.
    Ken set his jaw. “Gotta say, I don’t like it either.”
    A building furor pulsed through the groups of people. The cops and emergency services workers must have sensed the hostility as well, because the officers began closing ranks, hands going to their weapons. Yeah, this isn’t the place to be .
    Ken gave voice to his thought. “We really need to get going, guys.”
    “Dad, the girls need to eat!” Carla snapped.
    “Your dad’s right,” Vincenzo said. “This could go sideways real quick.”
    “I. Have. To. Feed them !” Carla shouted.
    A hulking black man pushed past Bobby, making the young man stumble. Bobby whirled to face the offender, but the man wasn’t alone. The large guy smiled sweetly at Bobby and adjusted his sunglasses while the rest of crew glared at Everett and his family with cold, predatory glances.
    “Mothafuckah, you better watch where you standin’,” the big man said.
    “White boy a pussy. Don’t be messin’ wif him,” another of the newcomers said. “I be all out a baby rattles.”
    “Sorry about that,” Mark said, cutting off Bobby before he could say anything.
    Vincenzo noticed Everett sliding one foot back behind the other and turning his left shoulder toward the group of black men. A fighting stance, Vincenzo realized, as the older man’s right hand stole toward the pistol in the holster at his back. Vincenzo moved into the same position, ready to yank up his shirt and pull the Berretta.
    “I ’spect you ’member that I let you off easy,” the big man said, still wearing his humorless grin. Sunlight glittered across the gold grillwork around his teeth.
    “We’re just feeding our babies. Is that all right?” Carla shot back.
    Oh, you stupid bitch . Vincenzo frantically looked over at the policemen standing two lanes away. A couple had their eyes on the brewing altercation, but the cops had problems of their own. A fairly large group of helpless New Yorkers had descended upon them, shouting at them for not providing water and demanding to know where the next aid station was. Things were getting a little heated over there, and Vincenzo saw flashes of handcuffs and drawn weapons.
    The big man’s smile got even bigger as he spun to face Carla. “Whoo, you gonna whip out your white sugar titties, baby? You got some fa all’a us?”
    Ken pulled his pistol, a Glock so huge that Vincenzo was surprised the older man had been able to conceal it despite his long shirt. “Get the fuck away from us!” Ken’s booming voice was eaten up by the rising furor surrounding the cops.
    Two of the black men reached for weapons of their own.
    Vincenzo drew the Berretta from its holster, clicked off the safety, and sighted on one of the armed men. He held the weapon steady, despite the sudden swelling in his bowels. He either had to release a gigantic fart, or he was about to shit himself. He didn’t know which. “Back off!” His voice came out high and girlish, not at all filled with the booming menace of Ken’s.
    “Fuck you!” the man in his sights shouted. He was short and wiry with a do-rag on his head and scallop-shaped scars along the right side of his chin and cheekbone. Despite the scars, he