Don’t Mess with a Marine

Sergeant Abe Diamond was home in Denver from his last deployment in Iraq, enjoying the extended leave he had earned for his service there. He dressed in civilian clothes and did not feel the need to carry a weapon. On his right hand he wore a close fitting white cotton glove to cover the scars of the burns he received while pulling an Iraqi boy from a fire. After visiting his parents, who had proudly set up a display case for his two purple hearts and his silver star, he visited his dad’s parents. His grandparents Marie and Ben Diamond were enjoying their grandson’s visit to the fullest. Children of parents who died in the Nazi death camps, they carried on the traditions of their religion. Ben Diamond was very devout. He attended the nearby synagogue, Beth Shalom virtually every day.

Before joining the marines, Abe had been a devotee of martial arts. He had become so proficient at various forms of the sport such as Wing Chun. Capoeira, Savate, Taekwondo, Karate, Muay Thai, Sanshou, Hapkido, and Judo, that for a time his duty was teaching fellow marines some of the martial arts skills. He attributed these skills to having saved his life during his service in Iraq.

From time to time, some tough young men would pester Ben during his journeys to and from his place of worship, occasionally pulling his beard. He tolerated these incidents without seeking police protection. He had an unjustified sense that the police in Denver would be of no help. His grandson’s visit was not only an enjoyable reunion of love but also a time when he thought he would be free of harassment if Abe accompanied him.

They were walking toward the synagogue for evening services. Abe stopped to tie a shoelace that had become undone. Ben walked on, knowing that Abe would catch up to him. Milton Reilly stepped out of a doorway and blocked his path. “On your way to that stinking temple of yours, are you?” he asked.

“Please let me by,” Ben asked, “I don’t want any trouble with you.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Reilly asked.

He reached for Ben’s beard and gave it a tug, much to Ben’s discomfort.

Just about then Abe came alongside, “What’s going on Zadie?” he asked.

Reilly didn’t give Ben a chance to reply. Instead, he answered, “I’m just giving this old Jew a lesson.” He gave another tug to Ben’s beard.

Abe reached out and slapped Reilly’s face. “Keep your filthy hands off my grandfather, and get the hell out of his way,” he said in a low, angry voice.

“You’re looking for trouble Jew boy,” Reilly sneered, “You’ll pay for that slap.”

He made fists and took a fighting stance.

Abe laughed, “You sure you want to give me trouble?”

Reilly swung a haymaker at Abe, who grabbed Reilly’s wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. “Be nice, and I’ll let you go,” he growled at Reilly.

Reilly’s friend Joe Schultz stepped out of the doorway. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“This son of a bitch slapped my face for pulling that old Jew’s beard. Then he grabbed my arm and he’s holding it behind my back and telling me to be nice,” he answered Schultz.

“Well ain’t that something for a yellow belly Jew,” Schultz said, “We’ll have to teach him who runs this neighborhood, won’t we?”

He reached out to grab Abe. Suddenly he found himself on the ground. He did not know how he got there. Abe had not released Reilly’s arm. He said quietly, “If you gentlemen have had enough, we’ll continue on our way without any more trouble.”

Schultz got up. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a Glock 22 and pointed at Abe. “You Jew bastard,” he shouted, “Let’s see how you handle my Glock.”

Moments later Schultz lay dead on the street, with his gun alongside his body and an open switchblade knife clutched in his dead hand. One bullet had been fired that hit him in his head. Reilly stood in disbelief. Abe pulled out his cell phone, dialed 911 and told the operator that he had just shot a man to death. He said that the man had attacked him with a gun and knife and that he had disarmed the man and used the man’s gun to protect himself against a knife attack and to send the police. Soon after a police cruiser arrived.

Reilly, his arm released, stood in shocked awe looking at Schultz lying on the street with blood leaking out of the hole in the center of his forehead. “You, you killed him,” he said.

“Yes, I did,” Abe said calmly, “I’ve called the police.”

People who had witnessed the whole scene took to their heels, especially when they heard Abe say that he had called the police. Reilly stayed in place for a brief moment, thought the better of it and left. Ben, horrified, sat down on a nearby garbage can.

A police cruiser arrived and two policemen got out of the car and came up to the scene. “What happened here?” sergeant Kelly asked.

Abe gave a brief answer, “He came at me with a gun. I disarmed him and was about to remove the cartridge with the bullets when he came at me with his switchblade. He was too close for me to deal with the knife. Besides, I was trying to remove the cartridge from his weapon. I shoved it back in and shot him with his Glock before he could stab me. He still has the knife in his hand. I dropped the Glock next to him.”

“What’s the white glove on your hand for?” Kelly asked.

“It covers some scars,” Abe answered.

“You look familiar,” Kelly said, “Didn’t you teach martial arts at the downtown YMCA?”

“Yes, I did,” Abe said softly.

“Well, my kid Ali junior was one of the black kids in your course.”

“What’s he up to now?” Abe asked.

Kelly laughed, “He’s teaching martial arts at Quantico.”

“So he’s a marine?” Abe asked.

“A very proud one,” Kelly smiled

Kelly called in to the precinct, asked for a detective, an ambulance, and forensics. When they arrived, the forensics team photographed the body with the Glock lying alongside it and the switchblade still grasped tightly in the dead man’s hand. There was very little blood on the ground and the forensics team washed it away.

Detective Joe Shayne noted that the street was empty. He asked Abe to tell him what happened. Abe repeated what he told Sergeant Kelly. Shayne asked, “Were there any witnesses?”

“Yeah,” Diamond said, “When they heard me call 911 and ask for the police, they took to their heels. He was here with a companion. But he was apparently uncomfortable with cops coming and took off too. My grandfather Ben Diamond saw the whole thing. He’s the man with the beard sitting on that garbage can over there.”

“You seem to be pretty calm about having killed a man,” the detective said.

“I’ve been attacked and protected myself before, “Abe said softly.

“Do you have some identification?” Shayne asked.

Diamond took out his wallet and showed his driver’s license.

“I see that your license says you are in the military,” Shayne noted, “May I see your military ID?”

Abe showed his military ID.

Shayne responded with, “Semper Fi, brother.”

“Were you. . .?” Abe started to ask.

“Yes, I was,” Shayne said, “Honorably retired, but once a marine always a marine. “Let’s try to clear this mess up. Come down to the station with me. We’ll have to book you, and you’ll probably need a lawyer. Don’t say anything you’re not asked. Were there any witnesses besides your grandfather?”

Abe repeated what he told Sergeant Kelly.

Shayne took Abe and Ben Diamond to the police station. He told Officer Sanger at the intake desk what Abe had said. Sanger asked Ben, “Sir, please tell us what you saw.”

Ben wiped a tear from his eye and said softly, “I was on the way to the synagogue to pray and study. My grandson was walking with me. He stopped for some reason and I walked on. The dead man’s friend pulled my beard. I asked him to please let me by and said I didn’t want any trouble with him. He grabbed my beard and pulled it again. When my grandson came up to us, he asked what was going on. Before I had a chance to say anything, the guy said, ‘I’m just giving this old Jew a lesson,’ and he pulled my beard again.

“My grandson slapped his face and told him to keep his filthy hands of me and to get the hell out of my way.

“ The guy told him you’re looking for trouble Jew boy and as best I remember he said you’ll pay for that slap.

“Then he made fists and my grandson laughed and asked him if he was sure he wanted to give my grandson trouble.

“When the guy tried to hit my grandson, he grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back and told him to be nice, and he’d let him go. It was just like my son would have done.

“Then this other guy, the dead one, came out of the doorway and asked what was going on and the guy who pulled my beard told him that my grandson had slapped his face for pulling an old Jew’s beard and that my grandson had grabbed his arm and was holding it behind his back and telling him to be nice.

“The dead man said something like, ‘Well ain’t that something for a yellow belly Jew. We’ll have to teach him who runs this neighborhood, wont we?’ and he tried to grab my grandson.

“But just like my son would have done he used his other arm and put him on the ground. When my grandson asked if they had enough, and said we’d continue on our way without any more trouble, the dead man got up and pulled a gun out of his jacket. He pointed it at my grandson and said something like, ‘You Jew bastard let’s see how you handle my Glock’.

“My grandson took his gun away and the guy pulled out a knife. My grandson shot him.”

Ben began to sob. He muttered, “It’s never enough. My Mordechai got a Purple Heart fighting with the marines in Vietnam. My grandson Abe has two purple hearts and wears a glove over his burned hand. But it doesn’t matter. There are people here who would tattoo us like the Nazis tattooed my Zadie and my Bubbeh. They’d send us to ovens if they could.”

Sanger overheard Ben’s muttered lament. He asked, “Your son was a marine too?”

Ben shrugged, “What difference does it make?”

Abe told Sanger, “My dad was a marine. He is my hero and that’s one reason I’m a marine. But although the marine corp. is not a democracy, it is the best protection that democracy can have. The only thing that being a marine requires is being able to do your job. Marines are a brotherhood that doesn’t give a damn about your skin color, eye slant, religion, native tongue or politics. The only prejudice I ever encountered is against fucking the dog. We never leave a wounded or a dead marine behind.”

After the usual police procedures had been followed the district attorney decided that Abe Diamond had acted in self-defense, noting that the serial number of the Glock had been filed off and the open switchblade knife was still in the Schultz’s hand. He noted that Joe Schultz had a long record of arrest for petty crimes of one type or another. In a brief statement, he said, “It should be a warning to wannabe tough guys not to mess with a marine.”