Dangerous Rhythm (Echo #4)

1. Chapter 1

one

New York City—A bitter night in December

I gotta get the fuck out of here.

The heavy door slammed shut, muting the eardrum-shattering music playing on the club floor. Despite the concrete wall, the beats still echoed in the dimly lit hall. He swore the pounding was in his head, prompting him to seek refuge from the throbbing ache. He massaged his temples to ease the pain, but it clung on.

I should lay off the booze.

Though thinking about it, he hadn’t finished the drink he’d ordered a couple of hours ago. While the group he was there with had hit the floor, Curtis had stayed in the booth, nursing the one glass of neat scotch. He didn’t feel like grinding himself against a throng of sweaty drunk people. He wasn’t sure why he’d come. The club wasn’t even his vibe, but he had nothing better to do.

The air in the hallway was much cooler than the suffocating club. It penetrated his shirt and warm skin and did a better job of clearing his head. He threw his leather jacket on and looked along the hallway for a red EXIT sign. When he didn’t see one, he turned to his right—toward the east, if his memory of the club's general layout was correct. There had to be a door leading to the outside from there, he figured. No way would he jump back into that cesspool and fight his way out to the main door.

Ah, here we go .

Finally spotting the red glowing sign at the end of the hallway, Curtis pushed through the door and found himself in a stairwell. He was about to skip down the stairs when he heard a voice pleading, “Please, please. I wasn’t trying anything! It’s not me!”

Curtis froze by the door, listening.

“You better keep your fucking hands off her,” another voice threatened. The sound of bone breaking and an agony-filled scream echoed in the cavernous space.

Snatching his phone out, Curtis dialed 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?” An operator questioned.

“I’m at The Morrigan’s Club. There’s an—” The sound of a man beating the shit of another person interrupted Curtis and sent his already pissy mood into a full-on rage. He flew down to the level below, not finishing his report to the operator.

“Hey, get off him!” Curtis yelled as a guy holding up a bloody man against the wall came into view. Without thinking, Curtis grabbed the attacker by the collar of his tacky shirt and pulled him off the other man.

It all happened so fast, the assailant reeled back from Curtis and swung an arm at him. Curtis jumped back as a flash of silver slashed the air between them. The voice of the 911 operator came through over the speakerphone, asking what was going on.

“Back off!” the guy warned with his arm jutted toward Curtis.

Curtis’ eyes zeroed in on the pointy knife dripping with blood in the other man’s hand and instinctively put his hands up in a defensive stance while backing up to put distance between them.

“Easy!” Curtis tried to calm the situation.

He’s barely a man.

Gone was the bravado Curtis had heard in the younger man’s voice earlier. Panic filled his eyes as he took in Curtis, who towered over most people.

“Sir! I’m sending responders to your location right now,” the operator’s voice rang loudly between them. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Fucking hang up!” The attacker shook his knife hand at Curtis.

“Put the knife down,” Curtis urged in a steady voice.

“Hang up the phone!”

“Sure, I’ll hang up.” Curtis made a show of lifting his phone as if he was about to disconnect the call, but with a swipe of his thumb, he snapped a picture and turned on the video recording instead. Adrenaline surged through him as he racked his brain for ways to give hints to the operator about their location. “But you know the police will storm this stairwell through that emergency exit any minute, so you better put the knife down.”

“Shut up! Fucking shut up!”

“Kid, I don’t want any trouble, okay?” Curtis sidestepped toward the unmoving man who had slid down the wall and crumpled on the ground. Blood was pooling underneath him. “Shit. Did you knife him?”

“Fuck you!”

The operator, thankfully, got the silent memo and stayed quiet. Curtis hoped she was sending an ambulance, too, and that help would get there ASAP. As if on cue, the blare of sirens came from a distance.

Knowing he might be surrounded by law enforcement at any minute, the man lunged at Curtis, just like any cornered animal would. Curtis jumped to the side to evade the sharp point of the knife and grabbed his opponent’s wrist and twisted it. The younger guy screamed in pain and the knife clanked as it hit the concrete floor. Curtis pushed and sent him scrambling back. But with the agility of youth, he caught himself before falling on his ass and bounced back.

Curtis braced himself for another strike, but the guy stormed right past him, through the door, and ran into the night.

“Hey!” Curtis yelled after him, but the slight groan behind him made him turn. He dashed back to the injured man. “Hey, man. Hang in there, okay? Help’s on the way.”

“Sir, sir? Can you speak now?” the voice spoke again on the phone. “I have officers arriving on the scene. Is the person with the knife still there? Is anyone hurt?”

“No, he ran.” Curtis put his phone on the floor as he knelt and eyed the now-unconscious man. “But there’s a man stabbed. There’s a lot of blood. I don’t know where he’s hurt.”

“EMT will be there in two minutes,” the operator said. “If you can find the source of the blood, put pressure on it. Can you do that for me, sir?”

“Ah…” Curtis stammered. Facing a guy with a knife seemed easier. He’d trained for that. Treating a stabbing victim wasn’t part of the mixed-martial-arts program he’d been doing for the past year.

“I will guide you,” the operator said calmly. “Can you tell me your name, sir?”

“Curtis,” he answered. “It’s Curtis.”

“Okay, Curtis. Deep breath,” the operator kindly said.

He inhaled and blew it out.

“You’re doing great. Now, do you see where the blood mostly is?”

Scanning the man’s left side where his shirt was soaked, Curtis confirmed and listened to the rest of the instructions in a dazed, automated mode. He bunched part of the man’s shirt and pressed it against the wound on his stomach with the heel of his hand as hard as possible. His mind traveled elsewhere as his hands did what they needed to do, until an officer came running in and pulled him back, and an EMT took his place.

Standing against a wall, he couldn’t take his eyes off the bleeding man as the EMT worked to stabilize him. The officer stood in front of him, peppering him with questions, but Curtis didn’t hear what he was saying.

He watched them wheel out the man, but somehow in his gut he knew. That man was gone.