Back in the alley, a single gang member remained. He was thin, he wore only a T-shirt and a light coat for his upper body in spite of the cold, and he sat on a flight of stairs and stared out at nothing like he had nowhere else to go.
Gramps walked right up to him. "Young man? Young man?" He had to repeat himself a dozen times before the young man turned his way with bored, blank eyes.
"What?"
"Do you think I could talk to you for a moment?"
"What do you want?"
"Your friends. The ones who talked to us before. I'd like to see them if I could."
"That ain't going to happen."
"Oh? And why is that?"
The arrogant young man turned his head from Gramps to chuckle. "You go home, old man. Your nurse's got your oatmeal all ready for you." Very casually, he slipped a switchblade out of his pocket and began to play with it.
Gramps looked to his left to see a dark alley that separated two buildings.
"Come with me, please," he said to the young man.
"Hey man, I had it with you. You gonna'..."
That's as far as the young man got before Gramps grabbed him by the windpipe to pinch it firmly. The sound the young man made was kind of an "ack-ack" guttural kind of thing as Gramps, finger and thumb still on the larynx, lifted the young man off the stairs to lead him into the alley.
A couple passing the alley four minutes later heard something emanating from its dark depths, a sound not unlike a squealing squirrel. Then, the sound of a young man's terrified voice. "No! No! No more! I'll talk! I'll talk!"
"Think we ought to 9-1-1?" the young woman asked.
"Keep moving. Keep moving," the young man muttered, and he quickened his pace.
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