EDUCATING BROCK LEE

"When I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Cor 12:10

The streetlights had just come on and the street was deathly silent. It was closing time in the small mom & pop neighbourhood convenience store, the heart of the community. The old shopkeeper was in the storeroom and had just removed his apron hanging it on the peg on the wall as he had done for nearly fifty years. He could hear the familiar household sounds as his wife busied herself getting their evening meal ready in the kitchen of their small apartment above the shop.

He heard the friendly jingle of the tiny bell over the door as someone entered the shop; a last minute customer perhaps? The old man froze gripped by the icy fingers of panic when he heard the smarmy voice, “Good evening Vittorio. How is your good wife, Fiorina?”

With head bowed and eyes averted, “Business is not what it once was. I have no money for you.” He lamented.

“How can I be expected to protect you, Vittorio, if you don’t pay your insurance premiums like everyone else? Maybe you just need a little incentive?” hissed his tormentor, menacingly slapping a cricket bat against the palm of his left hand and giving a nod to his minion.

The henchman stepped forward and laid hold of the old man’s wrist forcing his hand down onto a nearby wooden stool splaying the old man’s fingers.

The yob raised the bat above his head ready to bring it down with force upon the frail old hand. Vittorio winced, eyes shut tight, awaiting the excruciating pain of the cricket bat smashing his brittle old bones.

The tiny bell tinkled, surprised and annoyed the two hoodlums turned to face the new arrival.

Giving the bruiser a goof slap upside the head the repugnant little man said to the stranger, "I'm sorry but this is a private meeting. You'll have to leave." then motioned for his goon to close and lock the door.

The newcomer quietly replied, "This will only take a moment." and with that there was a brilliant flash.

The old shopkeeper suddenly became aware that the beefy hand that had held his wrist in its sweaty vice like grip was no longer forcing his hand onto the stool. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself slumped on the floor. He could not feel his hand. Afraid to look, he cautiously lifted it expecting to find a bloody pulp but, to his amazement, there wasn’t a mark on it. It had merely been asleep from lack of circulation and now he could feel the pins and needles as blood once again filled his old veins. Bewildered and looking around he grew conscious his assailants had vanished.

Regaining his equilibrium he cautiously searched the shop but found no one. Had it all been just a nightmare perchance? Locking the door lest they come back, he heard his dear wife’s voice calling him, “Vittorio, where are you?”

Dread filled him once more. Fearing the thugs had decided that they would make more progress by threatening his precious, Fiorina. Panic stricken he raced up the stairs as fast as his old legs could propel him.

There in the kitchen stood Fiorina, hands on her hips, “Where have you been, Vittorio? I’ve been calling you for dinner. Were you napping in the storeroom again? Your supper will be cold.”

Relief filling his heart he breathlessly rushed forward, his weary eyes welling with tears, and wrapped her in his arms. “What’s gotten into you, Vittorio? You’re pale il mio amore.” Fiorina asked smiling lovingly, while her eyes revealed her concern. In her hand she held a calling card with the moniker, “THE ILLUSIONIST” embossed across its face, “Feeling helpless and threatened? Take back your life”.

Outside, concealed by the shadows of a darkened alleyway, stood Benjamin Wolf, his collar turned up against the chilly north wind, and beside him Skip Dover. Eileen Dover, Skip’s mother had passed away and he had returned to England to attend the Institute of Criminology at Cambridge University where Benjamin was teaching a course in Criminal Justice Ethics. The Illusionist had invited Skip or Brock Lee, the young man's real name, and by which he now wished to be known, to join him on a mission that would be grist for the mill that is the discussion of Criminal Justice Ethics.

“What did you do to them and what will you do with them now?” inquired Brock as he watched the miscreants begin to stir.

“Watch and learn my young friend.” He replied prophetically then knelt and whispered something in the ears of each of the malefactors.

Sitting propped against the alleyway wall the bewildered pair got unsteadily to their feet. Dazed and disoriented the pint-sized villain sought to regain his composure and with a look of trepidation he took one tentative step, as if testing the water before diving in. After what seemed an eternity of listening intently and carefully checking their surroundings for any potential threat the instigator shoved his stooge straight back to Vittorio’s shop to complete their unfinished business.

"B... but boss?" whinged the lackey.

"I don't know what just happened but if we don't finish this we'll be out of business and our lives won't be worth living. Now, get a move on you big girl's blouse."

Brock looked concerned. “What have you done? How will that help? They’ll just start again only worse this time, won’t they?”

“Bullies operate by making their victims feel alone and powerless. They are only as strong as you allow them to be. Bullies lose their power if you don’t cower. The story of David and Goliath is a classic example of the weak vanquishing the strong, but taking power from them is not always as simple as it might seem. The apparent strength of a bully can also be their undoing.”

A diminutive greasy weasel of a man who clearly had a Napoleon complex nodded to his lackey. The great lumbering oaf took one step toward the door of the little shop and immediately the pair stopped dead in their tracks as if frozen with fear. Uttering a scream of terror the boss jumped behind his hatchet man for protection, but protection from what? They both slowly started to back up in unison then turned to make their escape but as they did something amazing began to happen. First one shopkeeper stepped from the door of their shop, then another followed by several others. Acknowledging each other as if they were all of one accord they walked with resolve towards the small shop and the two thugs.

“The community must reclaim their power by making and maintaining their associations with their fellow neighbourhood shopkeepers. Edmund Burke once said,"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing".” He said indicating the group gathering around the two terrified gangsters trembling with fear out front of Vittorio’s shop.

“But what stopped them from entering the shop? What did they see that struck them with such abject terror?” Brock asked, clearly puzzled.

“Perhaps it was a reflection the approaching merchants or perhaps the reflection of their own evil.” Was all that the Illusionist said.