Free Steel Guitar by Linda Barnes

away easily if he hadn’t stumbled on a curb. He hit pavement next to a broken-down Chevy. He lay winded for a moment, and then started to use the car fender to boost himself back up.
    â€œDrop the bag,” I yelled. At the same time my hand clamped onto his wrist. He had the bag in his other hand, but he neatly slid his arm through the strap, made a grab for the back of his pants, and came up with a knife.
    It was a folding blade, maybe five inches, and he held it like an extension of his hand.
    â€œYou crazy bastard,” I said softly.
    â€œHey, watch it, lady.” The warning came from behind me. It snapped me out of my daze, and I let go of the kid’s wrist and stood motionless while he backed off, breathing hard. I memorized his narrow, high-cheekboned face, the acne on his nose and chin. I couldn’t get the color of his eyes in the dim light, and that pissed me off because I wanted to be a good witness at the trial.
    Goddammit, what trial? Who the hell gives a damn about purse snatchers?
    The kid turned tail and ran.
    Hal, Dee’s road manager, appeared at my side. “I saw you shoot out of the lobby like your hair was on fire. What the hell was that all about? You almost knocked me on my ass.”
    â€œForget it,” I said to him, passing a hand over my sweaty forehead, trying to bring my breathing and temper under control. “He had a knife.”
    â€œI saw that! Jesus, I saw! You don’t go up against somebody with a knife! You into that martial arts crap? A lot of good that does against a knife or a gun. I got a daughter myself. She ever chased after a guy with a knife, I’d—Shit, I don’t know what I’d do.”
    I watched the kid disappear across Mass. Ave. into the maze of streets behind Symphony Hall.
    Hal said, “So, what happened?”
    â€œGuy stole my purse.”
    I started marching back toward the Performance Center, walking fast to get the anger and adrenaline out.
    â€œRight in the Center? You want to call a cop?”
    â€œThey don’t even fill out a form,” I said, which is not true. It’s just that they don’t do a lot more than fill out a form. Purse snatching is one of those crimes that’s so commonplace that the cops treat the victims like jerks. Well, what the hell do you expect, lady, carrying a handbag in this neighborhood at night?
    I was not in the mood.
    â€œGeez, I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help you out,” Hal said, breathing hard. “Guess I’m not so fast on my feet anymore. You believe I used to be a pretty decent runner?”
    He looked more like he used to be a department store Santa, but I didn’t say that. The chance of him having a heart attack while racing after me was probably far greater than the chance of my catching the thief. I didn’t say that either.
    He was still puffing away. I thanked him for coming to the rescue, and he managed a grin. He had a round-cheeked face, a pointed chin, a widow’s peak. His eyebrows were shaggy and graying, like his hair. Winded, he looked older than he had the night before.
    â€œI never carry much cash,” I said, as much to myself as to Hal. “It’s the other stuff I mind. The license, the credit cards, the keys.”
    Hal said, “Your car keys? You be able to get home?”
    â€œI’ll take a cab,” I said. “No problem.”
    â€œWhat are you gonna pay the cabbie with? I can spot you a twenty.”
    â€œThanks,” I said, “but no. I’ll do okay.” I keep a bill under the insole of my shoe like a lot of cops. Change in my pockets.
    â€œSo you were watching the show?” Hal said after half a block of silence.
    â€œDee invited me.”
    â€œHey,” he said, “no problem. Anything Dee says goes. She’s something, isn’t she? This new record, with the live cuts, it’s gonna blow everything else out of the water.”
    We walked