ANGEL OF THE BRONX
Anna O'Reilly never heard the gunfire erupting not more than seven blocks from her job at corner diner. Nor did she hear about the second round not four blocks from her apartment. In fact, the only things she heard were the slurred congratulations of neighbors and other regulars as she counted down the hours till the end of her last shift. "And I'm outta here!" she exclaimed, tossing her apron onto a peg. She glanced on the clock as the large hand struck one and added, "See you in three weeks, boys." Walking behind the fry cooks, she gave each a peck on the cheek, playfully dancing away as they tried to grab her waist. Stopping at the door to the dining hall, she mockingly bowed to them and said, "So, you guys be nice to my gals and remember, always tip your waitresses." Ushered out by the accompanying groan and well-aimed towels thrown at her head, she passed her boss at the cash register. Giving him a slight nod, she left the diner entering the "quiet", cool night air. At the age of twenty-three, the second generation Irish/German/Italian mix had lived in this area of the Bronx most of her life. In fact, she had grown up in the apartment she still called home. Her job at the diner she had held since she was sixteen years old, and with it had managed to keep her building superviser at bay. Now, having finally graduated NYU with a Bachelors in Psychology, she found herself having the first honest break she'd had in a long time. Turning the second corner, four blocks from her apartment building, Anna self-conciously gripped the bottle of mace in her hand tightly. Despite her general comfort with the neighborhood, it didn't change the fact the the crime rate had increased by leaps and bounds in the last couple of years. What with the invasion of gangs into mafia territory. While things had begun to quiet down slightly, there was still the underlining currents of hostilities. Despite the talk of most people, Anna wasn't foolish enough to blindly accept things were changing for the better. Taking cautious steps past a particularly grimy, dark alley, she stepped into the wide beam of a street light. At the moment she felt a large hand descend on her shoulder. Her reaction was instantaneous. With a scream, she whirled around, releasing a thick spray of mace into the would-be attacker's eyes. The man let out a yell of his own, grabbing at his face with both hands and falling to his knees. Anna took no time in delivering a swift kick to his side. The man let out a low moan, and crumpled. Taking off towards her building, she was foot away before glancing back. The dark figure still lay, unmoving, on the ground. In the light, she could just see a trailf of large, dark drops even spread in a trail stretching in her direction. Slowing down, she looked at her own feet. On the tip of one otherwise white shoe was the dark stain of a familiar looking substance. Oh God! the thought through Anna's head as she came to a full stop, Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I couldn't have kicked him that hard! She turned around completely, staring at the still figure. Part of her urged her to run, get in the building, and call the police. Another told her to check to see if the individual was alright. Later in her life, Anna was not quite sure why she listened to that half of herself. Nevertheless, still grasping the can of mace, she slowly retraced her steps. Stopping just short of the figure, she craned her neck to see if he was still alive. It took a moment to see the familiar rise and fall of breathing beneath the black jacket covering his frame. Swallowing, Anna took another step forward. "Hey!" she called out, reaching out to tap the body with her foot, "Hey, buddy, you alright?" She felt herself grow a little braver when the individual didn't respond. Kneeling down, she reached out slowly to tap the man's shoulder, reeling back as her hand touched something wet. The tips of her fingers were stained red with blood. Gasping in suprise, she grabbed for her purse to pull out her cell phone. Dialing 911, she began to lightly shake the man, trying to get a reaction. "Hello, this 911, please state your emergency," a calm female voice replied on the other end. "Hello, Hello, I need an ambulance! Someone's hurt...I..." "Ma'am, I need to know where you are?" the operator continued in a calm tone. "I'm at the corner off...Ahh!" Anna shrieked as a hand stretched out, grabbing her wrist. She found herself staring into a pair of pained, startling blue eyes. "Hang up," an gravely, accented voice ordered. Anna opened her mouth to tell him he could kiss her ass as she was about to save his life, when she saw the tattoo along the hand grasping her wrist. Despite the foreign language it was written in, she had heard of it many times before. Looking at the man, she pressed the end button. The concerned voice of the operator vanished. The pair remained staring at each other for a full minute. "I-I'm not goin' ter hurt ye," the man said, releasing her wrist, "Jus-...need to get to a church." Still never understanding what part of her ever urged her to do this, Anna narrowed her eyes and snapped back, "No, you need to get to a hospital." Pulling away from the man, she once again began to dial 911. The man tried to pull himself to his feet, at the same time moving to stop her. Instead, a sharp stab of pain ran through his entire body. With a Gaelic curse, he fell to the ground again. His eyes fluttered closed. "Oh God!" exclaimed Anna, moving back towards him, "No, don't you dare pass out. Hello? Hello? Damnit, now of all times!" All she could hear on her phone was a busy signal. Leaning towards the man, she tapped his shoulder. Thankfully, he was still letting out steady, even breaths. She was just about to call out to him again when the blinding flash of headlights passed over the pair. Straightening, she squinted into the bright lights. She felt her heart skip a beat as she realized the vehicle was slowing down.
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