THE MYOSIN FACTOR

“Raise up your shirt Amadeo.” Patrini made circular motions with his hands.

“Hey Sean come out here.” Rourke shouted into the house.

Sean Rourke appeared. He was a genetic and not so miniature model of his father. He looked like a football player. He didn’t appear anxious.

“Did you do this?” The cookie monster’s voice lacked emotion.

“Yeah. He thinks he’s a big deal because his father’s a doctor and he’s coming to school to teach us some shit.” Sean Rourke’s voice was changing from pubescent tenor to junior cookie monster.

Gerry Rourke glared at Patrini. “Italian and a crummy doctor.” He dismissed his son Sean to go back into the house.

“Yeah,” Rourke turned back to confront Patrini, “I can see my Sean was provoked. Why don’t you take your pathetic WOP son home before I do the same to you?” Beer tainted breath wafted in Patrini’s face with Rourke’s words.

“Mr. Rourke, I can see you’re incapable of reason and I can also see where your Sean got his attitude that led to the unnecessary and severe violence toward my son.” Patrini’s fiery eyes met Rourke’s hateful orbs. “The next time we meet will be with my lawyer. I’m going to sue you for the assault and battery on my boy. You’re also going to pay for his medical expenses.”

“Oh yeah?” Gerry Rourke raised his voice and puffed up his chest. “Then why don’t I give you something to really sue me for, you guinea bastard.”

What happened next happened rapidly. Gerry Rourke pulled back his right arm with his mallet fist and swung a roundhouse punch toward Patrini’s head.

“Watch out dad.” Amadeo warned.

Patrini anticipated the pugilistic response and his left hand rapidly swung up to meet and grasp Rourke’s fist in mid-air. The motion of Rourke’s arm toward Patrini’s head stopped abruptly with a loud slap-like noise. It was rendered immobile in mid-air. Gerry Rourke tried forcing his contained right fist toward Patrini’s left temple. The result was an impasse like two arm wrestlers hung up without any lateral movement for either opponent. Rourke’s face began increasing in size with the effort. His face began turning red with both external jugular veins becoming visible. Rourke then suddenly activated his left arm and directed a second roundhouse sledge hammer swing heading for Patrini’s right jaw. Patrini caught this one also in mid flight with his right hand producing a resounding crisp-slapping sound. The two large grown men looked like they were about to start a dance on the small porch of the three-bedroom white ranch-style house. Patrini now became aware of Rourke’s sweaty body odor. Rourke’s face had become a reddish-purple cabbage with pronounced bulging jugular veins the size of thumbs. His lips were parted and his teeth were bared.

“I’m going to squash your head with both my fists Doctor WOP-man.” Rourke made animal noises through his teeth with his lips parted and jaws clenched.

Patrini said nothing. He too was beginning to sweat but it was minimal. He didn’t feel like he was even close to a maximal effort yet.

Rourke next attempted to knee Patrini in the groin. Patrini disabled the early leg movement by kicking Rourke in the ankle. The action sent Rourke down onto his right knee. Rourke painfully brought himself back to a total upright stance–his fists still vice-gripped by Patrini.

“You’re dead meat.” Rourke insisted in a raspy voice even though he could not make any progress.

Patrini continued to say nothing but he kept his eyes locked onto Rourke’s.

“After I get through with you, I’ll have Sean turn your son into roadkill.” This time his threatening voice was soft and labored. His eyes were becoming reddened. He looked like a crazed animal.

“I’m going to kill you.” Gerry Rourke’s mouth was now a grotesque distorted facial mask. He directed his 240-pounds to his fists still sequestered by Patrini’s hands. Rourke’s biceps, triceps and deltoids were bulging. The trapezius muscles of his neck were maximally flexed. He looked like a wrestler launching an attack directed by uncontrolled rage.

Patrini reassessed the situation. This man does not admit defeat even though he’s physically powerless. He’s as stubborn in his touch with physical reality as he is with his ingrained prejudice. There was only one conclusion. He stared into Rourke’s moist eyes. “It’s time to end this.”

Patrini anchored his feet in the manner of holding up the airport luggage apparatus and then focused on fine-tuning the activity in his upper limbs. He began squeezing his grip on Gerry Rourke’s fists. Gerry Rourke started to scream. The noise was an animal-like mixture of anger and pain. The pressure was beyond vice-like and increasing slowly. Gerry Rourke continued to scream. A loud cracking noise like tires suddenly rolling on top of a rocky driveway could be heard very succinctly. Rourke yelled climactically one last time as all four metacarpal bones on the backs of both hands fractured simultaneously.

Sean and Gerry Rourke’s wife Martha observed the initiation of the aggressive act by Mr. Rourke. The Rourkes’ neighbors on either side of their home also bore witness. They were drawn outside of their homes because of the noisy verbal exchange prior to Gerry Rourke’s assault. The crunching and snapping of the bones between the wrist and the knuckles of both of Rourke’s hands were audible to both the combatants and the onlookers.

Patrini released his grip and the wet maroon-faced Gerry Rourke had tears of pain and anguish in his eyes. Patrini told Amadeo to get into the car. He turned to face Gerry Rourke.

“The pain is nothing.” Patrini was actually snarling into Rourke’s face. “Wait until you try to wipe your ass with casts on both hands.”

“You fucking WOP quack doctor.” Gerry Rourke hurt so bad that tears were welling up in his eyes. “I’m going to sue your ass for assault and battery.”

“I was merely defending myself.” Patrini was cool and calm now. “I also have witnesses to that effect.” He beckoned to the six neighbor onlookers. They all looked pleased at the outcome. Gerry Rouke was not a well-liked person.