Thunder and Lightening
Chapter 24
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2004

Having delivered their message to the two boys, Mr. Atkins turned 
and started to walk away. Robert Benson came out of the house 
and stared at the back of the old man. He shouted, "This is my 
fucking neighborhood and I'll kill you if you fuck with me."

Jerry turned to stare at the greasy little man as his muscles tensed 
making him look even larger. There was raw unadulterated hate in 
his eyes as he stared at the slimy bastard. Robert looked at him and 
snarled, "Your lease is terminated."

Kenny looked at Jerry and said, "You're a fucking dead man. Don't 
think I've forgotten about you."

Jerry was about to reply when Mr. Atkins shouted over his 
shoulder, "Ya been warned."

Mr. Atkins continued to walk away. Otis and Henry slowly turned 
to follow. Jerry paused to look at all three of the drug dealers in the 
eye to let them know that they were serious. He turned to join the 
other men only a step and a half ahead of him. 

Kenny stared at the back of the large man, angered that he would 
be discounted so easily. As he pulled a gun, he screamed, "Fuck 
you!"

Jerry hadn't taken more than one step when there was a loud pop 
behind him followed by the feeling that someone had kicked him 
on the left shoulder blade. Incredulous that anyone would dare hit 
him, he turned to see which of the three had that kind of nerve.

Kenny held a gun in his hand staring at Jerry unable to believe that 
the guy hadn't fallen to the ground. Upon seeing the gun, the rage 
within cackled as strength flowed into Jerry's body. His left arm 
didn't work correctly, but he reached out with his right hand and 
grabbed the hand holding the gun. Giving a shout, he threw Kenny 
all of the way to the street feeling the kid's arm come loose from 
the socket and bones cracking from the strength of his grip. 

Kenny bounced before coming to a stop and lay there in the middle 
of the street. Otis waddled over and stood on the kid's stomach as 
he looked down on him. He didn't care if the kid could breathe or 
not. With a growl, he said, "You done fucked up boy."

When Kenny had flown through the air past Mr. Atkins, the old 
man had turned to find out what had happened behind him. He 
looked at the red spot on the back of Jerry and realized that the big 
man had been shot. In a voice that carried down the block, Mr. 
Atkins shouted, "911."

At the other end of the porch, Henry was throwing Joe against the 
wall as a gun fell to his feet. Terrified at the look on Henry's face, 
Joe was screaming at the top of his lungs hoping that someone 
would come to his rescue. 

Jerry turned to face the landlord now that the rage within had 
awakened fully. This time, the pain had left it totally unfettered. 
Free from control and restraint, the rage screamed, "Destroy!"

Robert with a snarl fixed on his face stared Jerry right in the eye, 
as he fired his pistol at nearly point blank range. The bullet entered 
Jerry's abdomen, hitting the place within which his rage lived. 
Shocked, Jerry felt the rage sream as his lifeblood drained away 
and his strength started to ebb. The rage, with its last gasp, took 
over.

His head ached in time to a steady beeping noise that wouldn't 
stop. He tried to open his eyes, but they didn't obey his commands. 
He wished the beeping sound would stop or, at least, get quieter. 
He heard other noises, the soft squeak of tennis shoes on linoleum, 
the whisper of hose encased thighs rubbing together, and a nervous 
cough from a distance away. He wondered where he was. 

Knowing that he couldn't live the rest of his life with his eyes 
closed, he gave another attempt to open them and succeeded. A 
bright light forced him to close them immediately. After a second, 
he tried again finding that the light wasn't so bright. His eyelids 
fluttered before he became accustomed to the light. Everything was 
fuzzy and he still couldn't tell where he was. 

Exhausted from the effort, he closed his eyes and fell into an 
uneasy sleep. It was the kind of sleep where one isn't exactly 
conscious of what was going on around them, but not deep enough 
to be totally unaware. Time passed, but he had no way of knowing 
how much time passed. He slept experiencing bizarre dreams 
where Jenny talked to him about Bill. 

He opened his eyes again, fighting the brightness of the light in the 
room. A low growl assaulted his ears, making him wonder if there 
was a wild animal in the room until he realized that he was making 
the noise. The damn beeping noises continued unabated. He tried 
to lift his head, but the effort was too much for him. He emitted 
another low groan.

Bill came over to the bed and looked down at his father with a 
worried look on his face. As concern battled with excitement at the 
change in condition of his father, he said, "You're awake."

His mouth and throat wouldn't work enough to give an answer. He 
felt weak as a baby. This was such a weird sensation that he didn't 
know what to do. Bill watched his father struggle to answer and 
said, "I've called the nurse."

A large woman came into the room and checked his vital signs 
talking to him the entire time. It was too much of an effort to 
follow what she was saying and he stopped trying. He turned his 
attention back to Bill seeing the worried look on his face. A straw 
appeared in front of his face as the nurse said, "Take a small sip."

Jerry tried, but most of the water ran out of his mouth. The little 
that made it down his throat only wet his thirst rather than relieving 
it. He made a second try with better results. When he went to make 
a third try, the nurse pulled the straw away from his mouth. He 
couldn't lift his head to follow it.

Bill said, "Jenny is here, but she stepped outside for a minute to 
talk to your doctor."

There was nothing more Jerry wanted than to learn how his son 
was doing, but his tongue felt swollen and any attempt at talking 
resulted in the generation of random noises. His back and stomach 
hurt as the memory of what had happened slowly returned. He 
couldn't remember anything past the moment when he was shot in 
the stomach. Only now did he realize that he had also been shot in 
the back.

A woman wearing a white coat came over the bed and examined a 
chart while looking at him. Bill said, "He hasn't said anything. Is 
he okay?"

The woman ignored Bill as she played a flashlight in front of 
Jerry's eyes. The bright light hurt. She smiled over at Bill as she 
said, "The infection is lessening and he is awake. That is a good 
sign."

When the woman moved, Jerry could see that Jenny had been 
standing behind her. He tried to say something, but all that came 
out was more noise. Frustrated, he frowned and gave up. Searching 
inside, he sought to find the rage hoping that he could tap into its 
strength, but there was nothing in the pit of his stomach except 
pain.

He closed his eyes wanting to gather his strength, but he fell asleep 
again. This time his sleep was more restful and his awakening less 
jarring. When his eyes opened he looked around the room. This 
time it was dark and he was alone in the room. A cough welled up 
in his chest and when it burst loose, he thought his entire body was 
getting ripped apart. He shouted in response to the pain, an act that 
hurt almost as much as the cough.

The loud noises emerging from the room brought a nurse. She 
looked at him and could see the sweat on his face and stepped over 
to feel his forehead. His fever had returned. She left the room to 
get the doctor. A middle aged black man wearing a white coat 
entered the room and examined Jerry with the typical distant 
manner common to doctors. He asked, "Have you got your voice 
back yet?"

The question gave Jerry pause, as he hadn't tried to say anything. 
Opening his mouth, he croaked, "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," replied the doctor. Turning to the nurse, 
he requested additional antibiotics. 

The answer prodded his brain into working harder. It only made 
sense that he would be in a hospital after getting shot. He asked, 
"How long have I been here?"

"Eight days," replied the doctor as he looked over the chart. 
Glancing up, he said, "You're lucky to be alive. Not many people 
can get shot four times and survive."

The news was too much for Jerry to take. How could he lay in a 
hospital bed for eight days? He had been shot four times? He only 
remembered the one shot to the stomach by that scum landlord. His 
eyes closed as he tried to reconstruct what had happed to him, but 
there were major blanks in his memory. Once again he fell asleep.

It was daylight when he woke and raised his head to see his 
situation. His left arm was bound up in a cast while his right arm 
was filled with needles, tubes, and wires. A tube under his nose 
itched. A noise attracted his attention and he looked in the 
direction from which it had originated. Mr. Atkins, dressed in a 
suit and tie, sat in the chair watching Jerry. 

In a very rough and broken voice, Jerry asked, "How are you 
doing, Mr. Atkins?"

"I's doin' good," replied the elderly black man. Shaking his head as 
he looked over Jerry, he said, "Looks like you'se doin' betta."

"What happened?"

Mr. Atkins said, "Day shot you sumtin' bad. Ya tore dem up good."

"I'd say they tore me up good." Jerry coughed a couple of times. 
Each cough was accompanied by pain that shot through his back, 
chest, and abdomen. He had a sour taste in his mouth that 
threatened to make him sick to his stomach. 

Mr. Atkins chuckled at the comment and shook his head. He 
replied, "If'n ya tinks ya looks bad, ya shoulda seen dem. Dem 
doctors couldn't put dat cracka back ta'gather."

Despite knowing that Mr. Atkins was well respected in the 
community, Jerry really wished that he spoke better. His heavy 
accent and strange pronunciation made it almost impossible to 
understand what the old man was saying. Less a question than a 
statement, Jerry asked, "I killed him?"

"Yessa, ya killed em. Da cracka and da dealer."

Jerry's stomach clenched at the idea of having killed two men. The 
action caused a wave of pain to shoot through his body. He must 
have killed Kenny when he threw him to the street. Jerry said, "I 
didn't want to hurt anyone."

"Sheet, ya saved ma life," the old man said while shaking his head 
at the memory of that afternoon. Jerry had stepped between him 
and the gun stopping a bullet in the process. He'd never thought 
that a white man would do something like that for him. "Ya took 
da bullet fer me."

Trying to follow what Mr. Atkins was saying nearly drove Jerry 
crazy. All the talk about taking a bullet for the old man didn't make 
sense. He didn't remember anything like that happening. Even 
though it hurt to talk, he said, "I don't remember anything."

Mr. Atkins stood and walked over to the bed. Standing there, he 
looked down at Jerry and said, "Thank ya."

Not knowing what he was getting thanked for, Jerry replied, 
"You're welcome."

Turning away from the bed, the old black man shuffled out of the 
room without saying another word. Jerry was left wondering if he 
was under arrest for killing two men. He really hadn't meant to kill 
Kenny. All he had wanted to do was disarm him. 

A nurse came in after she had figured out that Mr. Atkins was 
telling her that Jerry was awake. She held up a cup with a straw for 
him to drink. The cool water soothed his throat. After several sips, 
he asked, "What time is it?"

"It's a little after four. Your other visitors should be here soon," 
answered the nurse with a smile as she adjusted things around the 
bed. She said, "We'll be moving you out of intensive care 
tomorrow."

"Where will I be going?" asked Jerry wondering what was going to 
happen to him. He watched what she was doing, but didn't 
understand half of the actions she performed. 

"I imagine a private or semi-private room," answered the nurse. 
She finished what she was doing and asked, "Would you like to 
watch television?"

"Sure," replied Jerry thinking it would help pass the time.

The nurse left the room after turning on the television to a cable 
news station. It was time for the economic news and he watched it 
feeling that it was incredibly boring. As the news crew droned on 
endlessly about the health of various companies, he considered his 
situation. Not remembering what had happened convinced him that 
it was pretty dire.

Bill came into the room and shouted, "Hey, Dad. You're awake."

"Hi Bill. How are you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine. What about you?" asked Bill surprised that his dad 
was worried about him. He had worried about his father from the 
moment that he had heard the gunfire. Martin had kept him from 
running down the street to his father. 

"I don't know. Nobody has told me anything," answered Jerry. He 
added, "I've been worried about you. Where have you been 
staying?"

Bill smiled, it was reassuring to know that his father continued to 
think about him even in his current condition. He answered, "I've 
been staying at home with Henry. Abe's mom takes me to school 
and Jenny has been picking me up."

"That's nice of them. I hope that you haven't been giving them any 
trouble."

"Only a little, but nothing they can't handle," Bill joked with a 
wink. Henry was so much like his father that it was scary. He had 
the same sense of responsibility. 

Jerry chuckled, but it hurt enough to choke it off. He asked, "How's 
school going?"

"It's fine. Made an A on my test yesterday. Sitting here watching 
you sleep gave me a lot of time to study. Woody, Sandy, and Larry 
have really been great," answered Bill. While his father had been 
in the hospital, they had worked hard to cheer him up. He had 
spent one night with Woody over the weekend and they had played 
video games most of the time. It had been a nice break from sitting 
in his house worrying about his father. Sighing, he added, 
"Everyone's been great, but I've missed you."

"I'm sorry to have worried you," said Jerry. A noise by the door 
attracted Jerry's attention and he looked over in that direction 
seeking the source. Jenny, watching with moist eyes, was waiting 
at the door allowing the father and son to talk. He called over to 
her, "Come in."

"Maybe I'll go out in the hall so she can say hello properly," said 
Bill with a lopsided grin as he made kissing noises.

Jenny came in and hugged Bill with a naturalness that said it 
wasn't the first time she had hugged him. In a teasing voice, said, 
"The last time I tried that, he fell asleep on me."

"That's right. You must be old news by now," replied Bill teasing 
Jenny. During the time when his father had been in the hospital, 
the two of them had come to know each other very well. 

Giggling, Jenny said, "You rascal. I'll get you back for that."

"I'm sorry about falling asleep on you. I don't know what was the 
matter with me," replied Jerry. He had a hazy memory of that 
event. He coughed again wondering what was the matter with him 
that he was coughing so much.

"I'll forgive you, but you'll have to beg a bit," said Jenny with a 
smile. The smile faded as she said, "You were in pretty bad shape. 
At first, it was the wounds, but then septicemia settled in your 
abdomen. Once you got through that, you came down with 
pneumonia. It was pretty touch and go there for a while." 

"I hope that I didn't worry you."

"Worry me? You get shot four times and I'm not supposed to 
worry?" Jenny's voice rose giving testimony to her emotions as 
days of worry swept over her. She took a deep breath to get control 
over her emotions and said, "I'm sorry. I was so worried about 
you."

Jerry didn't know what to say to Jenny. He felt bad that she had 
worried about him, but the idea that she cared so much about him 
felt so comforting. Eyes misting he said, "It's nice that you worried 
about me. Never experienced that before."

The comment tore at Jenny and Bill. She tightened her hug on Bill, 
comforting them both. Bill said, "A lot of people worried about 
you. Henry has been here every night and Mr. Atkins has been here 
during the day. All of the Spencers have come by every chance 
they get."

The three talked about what had been happening over the past few 
days. Jerry continued to be weak, his concentration wavering when 
he grew tired. Over the course of conversation, he didn't learn any 
more about what had happened that afternoon, but he did learn 
more about the arrangements that had been made for Bill. Several 
hours passed before Jenny left, saying that Martin and Henry 
would be coming by to pick up Bill. She kissed him goodbye.

Henry arrived at the hospital and entered the room. Looking over 
at Jerry, he asked, "Ain't it about time for you to get your scrawny 
ass out of that bed?"

Despite the pain, Jerry laughed and retorted, "Look at who is 
calling who scrawny."

Coming to stand by Bill, Henry put a hand on the kid's shoulder 
and asked, "Would you mind getting some coffee for us?"

Bill looked up at the big man, realizing that he wanted to talk with 
his father in private, and answered, "Sure."

After Bill left, Henry looked at Jerry and said, "Mr. Atkins told me 
you didn't remember what happened. He thought you would like to 
hear the story from me."

"Thank God. I've been wondering what happened."

Henry told the story from the very beginning, covering the parts 
that Jerry remembered and adding details that he hadn't realized at 
the time. After Kenny had shot him in the back, he had thrown 
Kenny into the street. Kenny had suffered a broken arm and a 
dislocated shoulder. When Otis had stood on Kenny, he had broken 
a couple of the kid's ribs.

Henry said that Joe had pulled a gun on him and he had thrown the 
kid against the wall a couple of times. Joe ended up with a 
concussion as a result of the treatment. Henry had just turned when 
he saw Robert pull a pistol and shoot Jerry. He had watched in 
shock as Jerry picked up Robert with a single hand and threw him 
head first into the dirt. 

It seemed for the moment as though everything was quiet. Mr. 
Atkins had come up to see what damage had been done when two 
other men had come out of the house with guns. Jerry had reacted 
by stepping between them and Mr. Atkins, taking a third bullet in 
the process. This had been to the gut as well. Even after getting 
shot, he had thrown one of the men to Henry. Jerry had hit the last 
man with a backhanded blow to the head that had snapped the neck 
just before he collapsed from a final bullet to the leg. 

The cops had arrived about the time that Jerry had dispatched the 
final gunman. Panic had reigned after that as neighbors came 
running out of their houses protesting the arrests of everyone 
including Henry, Otis, and Mr. Atkins. Things had been heating up 
until Mr. Atkins had silenced the crowd with a single shout, giving 
control back to the police. 

The investigation had lasted most of the day with the police 
finding significant quantities of drugs in the house. Mr. Atkins 
made the case that the men had gone to ask them to close the crack 
house when the boys had opened fire upon them. The police had 
been satisfied with the evidence and released them without taking 
them away. 

The paramedics had treated Jerry as soon as the ambulance arrived. 
Things had been touch and go for a long time. The gunshot 
wounds had torn up his abdomen. His intestines had been hit and 
that had led to a major infection. His stomach had been shot and 
the bullet responsible had just barely missed his spine. 

Jerry listened to the story amazed at what had happened. He knew 
that there had been another casualty of which Henry wasn't aware. 
The rage within had died during the fight. He didn't know if that 
was a good or a bad thing. It had been with him his entire life.

Henry said that Bill had tried to come to his rescue when the first 
gunshot had been fired, but Martin had held him back receiving a 
black eye in the process. Martin had understood and wasn't angry, 
sure he would have fought just as hard to come to the rescue of his 
mother. 

The update had reassured Jerry significantly. At least he had acted 
out of self-defense, only losing control over the rage after getting 
shot and having a second gun pulled on him. He said, "Thanks, 
Henry. You're a good friend taking care of me and Bill like this."

"Hey, no problem. You kept a lot of us from getting killed," 
replied Henry. He was silent for a moment and then said, "They 
had planned to kill Mr. Atkins, but Kenny decided to shoot you 
first."

Bill returned with two cups of coffee, handing one to Henry before 
sipping from one himself. He sat down and asked, "Did you tell 
him about Martin?"

"Yes, I did."

"I was sorry afterwards, but he wouldn't let me come to help you. 
He says that he understands, but I feel real bad about it."

"You tried to protect me and he tried to protect you. That's what 
friends do. They protect each other," replied Jerry, receiving a nod 
of approval from Henry. The look on Bill's face suggested that was 
exactly what he needed to hear. 

It was an hour later that Henry left with Bill saying that they had to 
eat dinner and get back to the house. Martin stopped by the 
hospital. It wasn't until he had seen Martin, that Jerry even gave a 
thought to work. Martin told him that they had hired Carlos just in 
time, but that Mr. Sinclair had come down to help manage the store 
while he was in the hospital. In response to the news, Jerry asked, 
"What does Mr. Sinclair say about this mess?"

"He hasn't said anything to me. He was impressed with the shape 
that the store was in when he came in. Mentioned something about 
it being one of the best run stores in the chain," answered Martin. 
Mr. Sinclair had arrived with the expectation that the store would 
be a shambles. Instead, he had found Martin taking orders, Mike 
pulling them, and Karen going over the inventory. The paperwork 
in the office was up to date. 

"Well, I hope he doesn't fire me."

A voice from the door interrupted them, as Mr. Sinclair entered the 
room and said, "Read the newspaper article about the event. Either 
you have a good publicist or people in your neighborhood really 
like you."

"Must be the former," Jerry joked and tried to laugh, but the pain 
in his stomach stopped him. 

"I doubt that." Mr. Sinclair moved over to one of the chairs and sat 
down to watch Jerry. The big man had surprised him. A year ago 
an ex-employee was ready to sue him for creating a hostile 
workplace. Now the people who worked for him backed him to the 
hilt. Before it had looked like a normal store, but now it sparkled. 
The employees were talented and confident of their abilities. They 
didn't hide their mistakes or blame others for problems. 

Jerry asked, "How is the store doing?"

"Busy. Carlos was able to pick up another repair shop as a 
customer. Karen has the inventory system ready to go for daily 
use. She's populated the database and is training Abe and Sammy 
how to check in stock when it arrives. I was really impressed with 
her setup," answered Mr. Sinclair. He had been pleased when he 
learned how Jerry had handled the whole situation. He had not 
only given Karen the responsibility for installing the system, but 
had given her the authority as well. 

"She's a smart woman," replied Jerry. He smiled as he said, "We'll 
see if she can train this old dog on how to use the system."

"Seems to me that you'll have lots of time to read the instruction 
manual now," said the boss with a chuckle. Jerry wasn't use to 
hearing Mr. Sinclair joke. Getting serious, he said, "Your staff is 
pretty sharp. I particularly enjoy Abe, he's a good hard worker."

Martin smiled at the assessment of his brother. His brother had 
been growing up a lot over the past year. His grades had improved 
and he was taking his responsibilities much more seriously. As a 
result, he had developed a sense of self that allowed him to resist 
peer pressure. His choice of a motorcycle had demonstrated that 
independence of thought. He commented, "Jerry has been a good 
influence on him. He's rebuilding an antique Indian Motorcycle." 

Jerry had forgotten about that and asked, "He got it?"

"Yeah, it's a real wreck."

Mr. Sinclair sat back and asked, "What is the deal with restoring 
all these old vehicles?"

After glancing at Jerry, Martin answered, "I don't know about 
Jerry, but it is an important lesson for Abe and me. We live in a 
neighborhood filled with old junk and felt hopeless that we didn't 
have anything new. Jerry helped me rebuild that Caddy and all of a 
sudden I had taken something worthless and turned it into 
something that was very valuable. In the process, I learned a 
valuable skill and a lot about myself."

Mr. Sinclair thought about it and realized that Jerry had used the 
cars as a way of teaching self-respect. He replied, "I never thought 
about it that way."

The three talked some more but Jerry was having trouble following 
the conversation. His eyelids kept fluttering as he fought off the 
desire to fall asleep. After a while, he lost the battle and nodded 
off. 

Martin looked over at Jerry and said, "He's fallen asleep."

"Yeah," replied Mr. Sinclair. He looked at Jerry in the bed. The big 
man looked a lot smaller and much more vulnerable now. He 
asked, "Tell me something. How do you really feel working for 
him?"

"I'm probably the wrong guy to ask about that," replied Martin.

"Why?"

"I can't separate how I feel about him outside of work and at 
work," replied the young black man. Less than a year ago, he had 
been unemployed. Now he had a job, a new car, his mother had a 
new car, and he had savings. The two cars were a result of work 
performed outside of the job. 

"I guess you like him."

"Oh yes. In a way, he's the father that I never had. He always has a 
positive word of support when things aren't going well. He uses a 
low-pressure sales approach, giving advice only when asked and 
not expecting me to follow it. He's strong, but is scared to death of 
misusing that strength. I think that is a good thing," replied Martin 
in a thoughtful manner. He wondered where this conversation was 
heading. 

"Would you say he's a good leader?"

"I'm not sure what that means," answered Martin as he thought 
about it. Leadership was a rather different kind of concept in his 
neighborhood. Most of the leaders were people that were strong 
enough to force their point of view, physically if necessary. A few 
other people, like Mr. Atkins, led by reputation based on a past 
willingness to use force. 

The answer surprised Mr. Sinclair and he didn't know what to 
think of it. Clearly it was an honest answer. Nodding, he said, 
"Interesting."

Jerry stirred as a nightmare of the experience flitted through his 
mind. He shook as though trying to ward off some danger. He 
uttered a groan and then settled down returning to a peaceful sleep. 

Martin shook his head and said, "So strong and yet brought down 
by a couple ounces of lead. It makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I would say so. What are your plans for the future?"

Shrugging, Martin answered, "I've been thinking about going to 
school. Jerry is always talking about the lack of opportunities that 
he had because he hadn't continued his education. He really pushes 
education and uses himself as an example of what happens if you 
don't take it seriously."

"So what would you study?"

Martin said, "I'm thinking that I'll take business courses."

"Why?"

"I like this business, but I'd like to go a little further in it than Jerry. 
I don't mean to talk bad about what he's done, but it would be good 
to be more than a manager of a local outlet when I hit forty." 
Martin and Jerry had talked about that many times while restoring 
the cars. 

"What makes you think you can go further than Jerry?" asked Mr. 
Sinclair curious to learn who had motivated him in that direction.

"Jerry said so," replied Martin.