Kill him, quick!
The woman’s voice was like a drug. The sweetest addiction that Betty had ever craved. If she hadn’t spent a lifetime shielding her own mind from the thoughts of others, Betty knew she would have slumped willingly into its embrace, and followed that voice from the room, into the car, and onward toward murder. Like Tilly had, and Lucy, and Carla and the others.
But Betty wasn’t like the other lambs being led to commit slaughter.
She’d heard enough.
Betty threw up her shields. She killed the voice in her head like a record ripped from its needle. Then slowly, deliberately, Betty turned in her chair, letting her own face fall into sharp relief under the bright lights of the bar. And though the young woman sitting in the car fell under shadow, Betty knew that she, herself, could be seen in the spotlight. And Betty knew the woman would recognize her. Because they had met before, not only in Murdoch’s head, but also, Betty suddenly realized, in the flesh. At Greybone’s Asylum, as Betty had rushed out with her umbrella, bumping a stranger in the doorway. A woman with bright blue eyes and a smile playing on her lips. A woman on her way to commit murder.
Betty grinned. She waved, provocatively. A spark flashed behind her eyes. Amused. Unhinged.
With explosive force, Betty threw down her mental shields for only a moment and attacked the woman’s compelling mind, to steal the two things she wanted most. Names.
Vladimir Malinov. The Tin Man.
Violet Mills. The Boudoir Butcher.
It was time to turn the tables.
As if on cue, Betty saw a shape streak across the road toward the car, police revolver stretched out. Jacob was shouting.
Betty’s shields went up again.
She jumped to her feet, threw back her chair and reached forward over the table, sending Kuczynski’s vodka’s smashing to the floor as her forearm smashed into his face. He ricocheted backward in his chair, tipped on two legs and fell hard onto the floor. Betty ran for the door, leaving Kuczynski’s unconscious body sprawled on the linoleum.
By the time Betty reached the black Mercury, Jacob had the driver’s side door hanging open. His gun was pointing in at the woman’s head as traffic swerved around him.
“Get out of the car!”
Betty ran to his side. Behind her, she heard the clatter of the chairs as Anastasiya dashed over to Kuczynski, confused by the sudden turn of events that had the man’s oversized limbs tangled under the table and chair legs, keeping him trapped.
The woman in the car recoiled at Jacob’s gun. For a moment, she looked frightened.
Then she looked across at Betty. Their eyes met.
Betty could barely tear her gaze away. Violet’s eyes were mesmerizing. The brightest violet blue. And so indescribably familiar. She may have been twenty-five, or even nearly thirty, around Betty’s own age. But her pretty face was tired, and though her eyes flashed with intelligence and fire, her petite form was soft. She was no fighter.
“You.” Betty growled.
“Yes, me.”
“Miss Violet Mills,” said Betty. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Mrs. Betty Jones.” The young woman replied, with a smirk. “I know you have.”
For a moment they glared, sizing each other up.
“You killed Lucy.” It wasn’t an accusation so much as a statement of fact. Betty’s voice was stayed, but her insides burned for revenge.
“I killed no one. I simply make suggestions…” Violet looked between Betty and Jacob, the latter still holding his gun aimed at her head. She didn’t move.
“You brainwashed them,” Betty spat. “Broke their minds.”
“A useful skill,” Violet said, “One you don’t seem to have. Is that a spot of envy, Mrs. Jones?”
“Get out of the car, Miss Mills,” Jacob repeated. “I’m arresting you under suspicion of involvement in the murder of Lucille Wright. Among others.”
“You ought to be careful, Mrs. Jones,” Violet said, ignoring Jacob. Her jaw tightened. “I did warn you to mind your own business.”
“You must have missed the telegraph, dear,” Betty said, darkly. “No one threatens me and lives to tell the tale. Now, you heard him, get out, or I’ll get you out. And trust me, the Sergeant will be far gentler with you that I plan to be.”
Betty gestured toward Jacob, but even as she turned her head to look at him, his arm swung slowly around. The barrel of the revolver touched Betty’s own brow. She heard a soft click.
“What on earth are you doing?” Under the light of the streetlamp, Betty could see Jacob’s eyes were unfocused and hazy.
“Last warning,” said Violet.
Betty growled, as she realized her mistake. “You rotten little minx –”
“Times up.”
Bang!
Betty ducked as the gun shot rang out in the cold night. Everyone had moved at once. Betty smashed her arm up into Jacob’s, sending the gun off kilter as the shot fired. Jacob tripped as he fell back. He flung his free arm toward the car, grabbing the inside edge of the door. A fistful of Violet’s coat was all Betty could reach as she lurched forward to drag her from the car, before Jacob wrenched at Betty from behind, dragging her back out. The high-pitched whine of a sidecar nearly caught them, as they wrestled away from the traffic and wedged back into the space left by the open car door. Inside, Violet was moving too, reaching for the inside door handle, despite the bodies obstructing it.
Slap! Betty’s palm hit Jacob’s face. “Snap out of it, sunshine!” She shot a look behind her as she tried to drag Jacob’s gun arm down. Inside, Violet was grinning. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jake,” Betty shouted at him, still wrestling, “but I’ll break your arm if you don’t stop trying to shoot me with it!”
Violet laughed, scooting back against the passenger side door to escape Betty’s kicks.
“I did warn you,” Violet shouted, gleefully. “He’s all mine, now.”
The fury rose in Betty’s chest. She could almost feel herself breaking free of her own skin.
“He- is- most- certainly- not- yours!” Betty seethed between kicks and punches. Jacob was putting up a formidable fight, lending all of his considerable strength and training to protect the woman that had brainwashed him to do so. It was as if he didn’t know Betty at all, the best friend he had loved his whole life. As if he didn’t even know himself. His eyes were still vacant, but his body moved and fought with every instinct it had.
“This is really getting on my nerves, Jake,” Betty growled, knocking him backward again. “And you,” she said, ducking his upper cut to launch herself inside the car at Violet again, “all this mind-control nonsense – getting other people to do your dirty work – it’s a little cowardly, don’t you think.”
“You’d use it too, if you had the talent,” Violet shrieked, kicking Betty in the face and scuttling further back against the passenger-side door. There was a sickening crunch and blood began to stream down her chin.
“How dare you!” Betty spluttered. “At least I have the decency to fight my own fight,” Betty pinched her own nose hard, and snapped it back into place. “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
“Why should I fight when I have so many willing to do it for me?” Violet boasted. “Like your arm-candy Sergeant. Say, what would Mr. George Jones think if he saw you gammin’ the streets tonight all dressed up like a hooker with this hunk of heartbreak on your arm? Oh, yes, I know all about you, Betty Jones. We’ve had you followed!”
“You- keep- my- husband- out- of- this-” Betty said, her breath almost leaving her as Jacob dragged her back out again, around the open door and threw her against the hood of the car. He pinned Betty down, his full body weight against her own with the cold metal behind her back. His hand came up, revolver tight in his fingers.
“Jake!” Betty shouted into his face, as she saw Violet slide back into the driver’s seat through the windscreen. “For goodness sake, I’m tryin
g to be gentle with you, but you really do insist on pushing me to my limits!” His blown pupils were wide and vacant above her, his hair falling out of its neat combed style and dropping into his eyes as she wrestled the gun from his grip, trying not to break his fingers. But still Jacob fought back against her, relentless. He shoved Betty’s chest back down, pressing the gun into her breast.
“For Heaven’s sake,” she growled. “You’re giving me no choice here, darling, she’ll get away!”
Betty smashed him backward off her body, sending him stumbling into oncoming traffic as it wheeled and screeched around him. Quick as a flash, she leapt forward again and grabbed Jacob by the lapels of his overcoat, wrenching him inward to her own body again, out of the path of danger.
Bang!
Another shot disappeared into the dark as Jacob pulled the trigger, narrowly missing her ear.
“I should never have let you come,” Betty cursed under her breath.
Thud!
Betty slammed him back against the car, smashing his hand over and again against the metal body until the gun fell and skittled off under the wheels. “You know I don’t want to do it,” she promised, through gritted teeth. His vacant eyes didn’t react, but instead, Jacob fought back hard against her, knocking her off her feet. Betty sprang up from the asphalt as a yellow cab swerved around her, honking angrily. She pushed Jacob away, harder. Still he kept coming at her. From inside the car, Violet watched them, an enraptured look on her face. The car engine roared to life. The driver’s side door slammed shut.
“Oh no you don’t!” Betty shouted, flinging Jacob across the hood, where he fell to the sidewalk on the other side. “Sorry, darling,” Betty yelled after his battered shape, as she drew back her arm.
Smash!
The driver’s side window shattered into a thousand pieces under the force of Betty’s fist.
Violet’s head jerked toward her, a look of terror crossing her delicate features.
“One of my useful skills,” Betty grinned. Violet’s foot revved the accelerator, her hand scrambling for the stick in the dark, her eyes wide on Betty. “One you don’t seem to have. Is that a spot of envy, Miss Mills?” Betty purred.
Beyond them, the bar door flew open, the glass smashing back on its hinges with a loud crack. Kuczynski almost fell out of the door, rushing toward the road where the car was spinning its wheels.
Betty’s hand closed over Violet’s throat, ready to rip the woman from her seat and through the window. Something hard and warm enveloped Betty’s shoulders. Her arms were wrenched back out of the broken car window as Jacob pulled her away, his own arms wrapped tightly around her chest.
The release was enough. Violet threw the car into gear and it screeched forward.
Igor Kuczynski dashed toward it; a split second too late.
Thump!
The car jolted and heaved as it hit him, swerved wildly, hesitated only for a moment, and then sped off up the street, disappearing into the stream of night traffic.
Betty threw Jacob off her back onto the curb. She ran to Kuczynski.
He was dead.
Betty looked down at her empty hands, furious and frustrated. She’d caught neither the Tin Man, nor the Boudoir Butcher. All that had come of her effort tonight, was a dead racketeer.
And two names, she corrected herself. I suppose that’s something. I’ll hunt them down.
Behind her, Betty heard a long, deep groan. She turned to find Jacob pulling himself up from the gutter. She walked over to him, offered him a hand, and began to brush the detritus of New York City’s backstreets off his coat.
“Welcome back, Jake,” she said. “You look terrible.”
Jacob looked around, his face pained, as if he were waking up from a particularly bad and punishing dream.
“What the hell happened?” he asked. He felt his face, gingerly. His lip was bleeding. His knuckles looked bruised and shredded from where she’d smashed them against the hood. His dark hair was askew, and a few buttons were missing from his torn jacket.
Betty sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“You fell asleep at the party, darling,” she patted his cheek, gently, and winked, “but don’t worry, I still had fun without you.”
“Right leg higher, that’s it! Arms wide and keep them straight – now, try to kick each hand as you walk, darling. And left, and right, and left - keep your head up, Nancy! Back straight and strong. That’s it, and turn around, come back again.”
Nancy’s face was screwed up in concentration as she practiced the basic Kung Fu move across the lounge room floor. It was a small space, so she could only fit a few of the kicks into each lap before she had to turn around and continue back the other way.
“Higher Nancy, bring that leg up higher! Straight back, strong arms! If you lean too much into your kick, your opponent can knock you off balance.”
Nancy stopped and turned around, her face red with effort.
“I can’t kick any higher, that’s as far as my legs go.”
“Not for long,” Betty said, “You just need to keep practicing those stretches I showed you. A young girl like you could twist herself into knots if she trains hard enough, you’ve just never had to do it before.”
“None of this is real fighting though,” Nancy complained. “You’re just making me walk up and down kicking myself for hours at a time. I look ridiculous. Besides, I already know this one, can’t we do something else?”
“You wanted me to teach you to fight, Nancy. If I’m going to do this – and keep in mind, it is still against my better judgement – then you’ll need to learn it the right way. If you don’t practice the basics over and again, you’ll never have the instinct to perform the moves properly when you really need to. There’s no point having strength and speed without technique. You’d be better off just running away from the fight. Which, in your case, I thoroughly approve of.”
“I’m not going to run away from a fight, mom.”
“Then you need to make sure you’re going to win.”
“Fine, but I didn’t realize it was going to be so boring.”
“Boring is good, Nancy. Boring is safe. Please remember that. Now, keep going with those inside kicks.”
“Yes, mother,” Nancy sighed.
“I can see those eyes rolling through the back of your head, dear.”
With a pout, Nancy began again.
Betty shot a look to where the curtains were pulled tight across the window. There were no gaps. The front door to the house was shut, as was the internal lounge room door, and Betty had bundled up little Georgie in his winter clothes and sent him off to play in the street with his friends after lunch. With skipping ropes, a pocket full of knucklebones and marbles and his sled, he was unlikely to return until dinnertime when cold and hunger forced him back home.
“Higher legs, Nancy,” Betty coached. “Bring that foot right up in front of your face before you kick your hand.”
Nancy kicked out her right leg in high arc across her body. Her left leg slipped underneath her and before she realized what had happened, she had landed on her backside with a hard thump. She looked up at her mother with angry eyes brimming with tears.
“You’re doing so well, darling,” Betty consoled her. Betty stepped forward and pulled her daughter up off the floor and into a tight hug. “This isn’t meant to be easy, you know.”
“You can do it,” Nancy said. She pulled away and crossed her arms.
“I’ve been doing it for over twenty years and I began just like this. One leg in front of the other, one punch at a time.” Betty sat down on the couch and looked at the impetuous thirteen-year-old with sympathetic eyes. “You need to be patient; you can’t learn it all at once. You know, sometimes you remind me so much of myself it’s terrifying.”
Nancy pulled back, then looked critically at her mother. Betty’s heart grieved, not at the sight of her, but at what was missing in those big blue eyes. Onl
y a few short years ago, Nancy was all red ribbons and curls, story books and innocence. Now, her eyes were beginning to sharpen as she saw complexities emerge in her world that she had not known were there. The darkness, doubts and desires of adults infiltrated Nancy’s mind every time she stepped out of the door, and though Betty was training her hard to block them out, Nancy would never have that pure naivety of childhood again.
“I don’t think it’s so bad I’m like you,” Nancy conceded. “Sometimes.”
After Nancy’s tryst at the Christmas fair with the barber’s son had gone so horribly wrong, Betty knew her daughter still resented her for interfering. In a way, the girl was justified. Nancy would never know her true strength until she faced challenges alone. But Betty wasn’t ready to step aside yet. Not by a long shot. So, she decided to take Jacob’s advice and give Nancy what she wanted. Betty was teaching her to fight.
“How charitable of you,” Betty laughed. “I promise, this is the best way to learn. The only way to learn, in fact. But for goodness sake, don’t tell your father. The poor man has had enough nasty surprises for a long while, I think.” Betty stood up, looked around, then picked up a large ornamental pillow from the upholstered chair. “Let’s try something else.”
Nancy stepped over, looking a little happier.
“Try to punch me like I taught you yesterday,” Betty said, “only this time, twist a little so you’re coming at me on a slight angle.” Betty demonstrated, her legs wide and her body sliding easily into the familiar path of attack. She stepped back and held the cushion up with one hand. “Left arm first, then right.” Betty blocked Nancy’s left fist as it came toward her, allowing her right arm to deflect and find its mark in the cushion. “Twist a little more, keep those legs bent for balance.”
Nancy threw herself into the task, her punch finding the cushion over and again with a satisfying thud until the girl’s sweaty face was beaming.
“Remember, technique, not strength,” Betty coached. “Swap arms now.”
Nancy began again in earnest with her left, each time punching harder. She was fast, far faster than she should be, but Betty knew how hard it was to reign in her natural speed. Betty had only managed it for a year or so when she’d begun learning herself, to keep the secret from Jacob. Eventually he’d put two and two together. The day that Betty, then Suzie, had finally given herself permission to let go, it had taken Jacob a full half hour of sulking on the sandbags by the dock before his affronted ego gave way to their friendship once more. After that, he had embraced her innate advantage in speed and strength. And just to be kind, every so often, Betty had let him win.
Lady Vigilante (Episodes 16 – 18) (Lady Vigilante Crime Compilations) Page 6