Through the Grinder by Cleo Coyle Page B

dragged across the wood planks as the attacker used it to quickly pull himself back up.
    By then, I was coming at him with a raised baseball bat—the one I’d kept behind the counter ever since my own frightening encounter with a bad guy a few months back. The attacker didn’t tarry—he raced to the door and out into the black, cold night.
    I dropped the bat and rushed to Tucker.
    “Ah, shit, shit, shit!” he cried, blood pouring from his face, “I have an audition in three days! Do you think it’s broken, Clare?”
    “Take it easy, Tuck. Sit down.”
    I led him to a chair and had Joy bring out an ice pack. We had a first aid kit in back, of course, and I always kept ice packs in our freezer for staff burns or injuries.
    “Honey, hold this against your nose,” I told him.
    After a minute, I had him remove the pack and took a look. “It’s not twisted or misshapen. Do you feel a tingling or numbness?”
    “No, but it hurts like hell.”
    “That’s good, Tuck. It’s probably not broken—just badly bruised.”
    “Well, thank God! And thank God Percy wasn’t dating Mike freakin’ Tyson or my career would be completely over!”
    Within minutes a siren was screaming down Hudson. The red lights painted our front windows as the police car pulled up to the curb.
    Officer Langley, a lanky young Irish cop, rushed toward our front door, nightstick in hand. His partner, a shorter, more muscular Greek cop named Demetrios was right behind him, one hand on the butt of his holstered gun.
    I met them as they entered, and told them the attacker had fled. Then Langley put away his nightstick and pulled out his notebook, and Demetrios called in my description of the attacker over his radio.
    “The cars in the area will look out for him, Ms. Cosi,” said Demetrios. He and Langley had been regular Blend customers for a few months now—ever since they’d both helped Madame and me out of a few jams.
    “Do you want an ambulance?” Langley asked Tucker.
    “God, no. I’m a drama queen, but only on the stage.”
    I put a hand on Tuck’s shoulder. “You need to see a doctor. I insist you at least get checked out at St. Vincent’s ER.”
    “Fine,” he said. “But I’m not going in a paramedic mobile, thank you very much. Flag a cab or something.”
    “We’ll give him a ride,” Demetrios offered.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    Joy tugged my sleeve. “Mom, you go with Tucker if you want. I can lock up and take care of things here.”
    Was there any more rewarding feeling for a mother than a daughter rising to the occasion? “Are you sure, honey?” I asked.
    “Yeah. No problem,” she said. “Go. Take as long as you want. I can sleep over, if it’s okay with you.”
    “Of course, Joy, you can sleep over anytime. You know that.”
    Joy fetched our coats, then shooed the rest of the customers away. I took Tucker’s arm and led him forward, making sure he stayed steady on his way out the door and toward the back of the police car.
    “God, it’s freezing out here,” he complained in a nasally voice. “And this damned ice pack isn’t helping.”
    “Keep it on there,” I insisted. “You’ll thank me in a few days when your nose isn’t swelled up like a balloon.”
    Demetrios held the back door of the car open. I climbed in and slid across the cold, black vinyl seat. Then Demetrios helped Tucker settle in next to me.
    After the car door slammed shut, Tucker sighed. “You know, Clare, I was going to thank you for sending Percy my way. But now I have to tell you, I’ve got mixed feelings.”
    “I’m so sorry Tucker.”
    “Not as sorry as I am…you know, this really smarts.”
    Between the back seat and front was a metal grill. Through its wiry squares I watched Demetrios climb into the driver’s seat and Langley settle in next to him.
    The air was so cold in the dark car, our breath was condensing into little clouds. In the front seat, the radio was flickering with lights and a voice was chattering through static