by Vicky Jones
“Why did you let him go?” Chloe bawled, her face red and soaked with tears.
“Because they were hurting him. I couldn’t bear it,” Shona replied, her voice barely audible. She reached down to pick Chloe up off the ground, placed her gently on the porch swing and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back later. I gotta go sort this out.”
“No, I’ll come with you,” Chloe replied, wiping her face and trying unsuccessfully to compose herself, but Shona had already leaped down the steps and was in the truck roaring away.
After barging past anyone who dared to step in her way, Shona kicked the door of Sheriff Lawrence’s office wide open.
“What the…” Lawrence spluttered, wiping fresh coffee off his blue shirt.
“I wanna know two things, and maybe then I might let you keep your teeth, Lawrence,” Shona roared, not giving a damn for the three cops who had hurried up behind her with their cuffs ready and revolvers aimed. “Who called you, and where is David?”
Lawrence stared at her for a moment then waved his men away. “Well, they are two very good questions.” He sat down in his chair. “The first question I’m not at liberty to answer, and the second, well, that ain’t none of your goddamn business now, is it?”
“You tell me where my boy is or I swear…” Shona ripped away the chair in front of her and slammed her palms on his desk, her face almost puce.
Lawrence leaned forward, grinning again. “He’s not your kid, though, is he?” The malice dripped from his voice. “He’s not even related to you. As far as I am concerned, you have no legal say in what happens to that boy.”
Shona sat on a bench outside, her head spinning, her emotions raging like wildfire inside her. She knew that the second she’d laid a finger on Lawrence she would have been arrested and thrown in the cells, doing her and Chloe, and David, no good at all. A tiny part of her, however, regretted not at least getting one punch in at Lawrence, even if just to wipe the smug grin off his face. No, there was only one person she could think of that could possibly help her and Chloe now.
“Shona, it’s late. Are you OK?” Minnie Barker’s concerned face appeared in the crack of the open door seconds after Shona had wearily knocked on it.
“They’ve taken him, Minnie. They’ve taken David,” Shona managed to squeeze out, her voice quivering.
“Oh my, you’d better come in,” Minnie said, putting her arm around Shona and leading her inside.
Shona sat at the bar and ordered a beer and whiskey chaser. Serving it to her, Lula smiled. “You look as if you need those.” Shona ignored her and held out a dollar. “On me,” Lula replied, waving away the dollar.
“Come to talk us out of it?” Bertie asked after sidling up behind Shona. Shona turned to see a determined looking Bertie, then looked over her shoulder at the group of angry women she didn’t recognize as regulars, sitting in a booth. On the table in front of them was a vast array of baseball bats, hockey sticks and protest placards.
“No more violence?” Shona read. “A little ironic, don’t you think?” She nodded her head towards the weapon-strewn table. “And no, I haven’t come to talk you out of it.” She slugged down the last of her beer, then followed it with the shot. “Someone needs to take these bastards down. I lost my kid today. I only have one request,” Shona said.
“Name it.”
“I won’t hurt anyone. Some of the cops have done nothing wrong. But if we see Lawrence out there, he’s mine.”
A sly grin appeared at the corner of Bertie’s thin lips. “Agreed. Welcome to the party, Shona.”
Shona stood in the restroom of the bar looking down the black balaclava she’d borrowed from Bertie and began scrunching it through her tight fists. Taking in a huge deep breath, she stared at the reflection of a woman she hardly recognized. The carefree soul who’d thought her traumatic life was finally starting to change seemed to be all but gone.
“No more hiding in the shadows. No more pretending that the world will accept you without a fight. The time for action is now,” she said, slipping the balaclava over her blonde hair. Pulling it down and adjusting the eye holes so she could see clearly, she took one last look at herself. “I tried to live a quiet life. But I gotta fight back now. For my family. Please forgive me, Dorothy.”
“They’re all out there,” Edie reported, her thumb and forefinger prizing open the blinds.
“Ready?” Bertie said after turning to Shona.
“Ready,” Shona replied through tight lips.
“Then what are we waitin’ for? Let’s go crack some skulls,” Lula roared, banging her bat against the bar. The others in the bar cheered and stormed out the exit onto the sidewalk, then recoiled when they saw in the near distance the wall of police officers.
Edie shot a look towards Bertie, then at Shona, both standing front and center. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Bert? They look like they mean business.”
“We need to make this look like police brutality. If that means we take a few hits ourselves, then so be it,” Bertie hissed back.
Edie switched her stare to Shona who fixed her gaze on one man in particular, her lip curling at his menacing grin.
“Let’s do this,” Shona commanded. She walked forward, then picked up her pace until she was almost at the middle of the street. Bertie gave the rallying cry and the rest of the group ran after her.
“C’mon, boys, let’s put these bitches down,” Lawrence roared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a grenade.
Shona’s blood turned to ice. “Get down!” she yelled behind her, watching in horror as the grenade whistled over her head and into the crowd of women behind her. Every heart was in every mouth as the grenade hit the concrete, bounced once, then twice before exploding into a huge cloud of smoke. Relieved it was not real, Shona turned back to the approaching men and let out a murderous battle cry. In less than thirty seconds, the rest of the women had caught up with Shona and were now fighting hard with the police officers. Wood clanged against metal shields, bats and batons crashing together, the crunching sound of them hitting arms and legs filling the air.
“Bertie, I’m hit,” cried Lula, her nose a bleeding mess.
“Come on, Lula, fight,” Bertie replied, trying to fend off two young officers who had rounded on her. Within seconds she too had been battered to the ground.
The gravel was swathed with pools of blood and vomit from those hit so hard in the stomach that they writhed on the floor in agony. Lula looked down at the young police officer she’d hit hard enough for blood to now pour down his forehead. She spat on the ground next to him then, whooping like a wild animal, brandished her bat in the air and ran off to strike down her next victim.
With Lawrence in her sight seemingly distracted by his men dropping like felled trees around him, Shona clenched her teeth and began to pace forward, as if oblivious to the melee around her. Lawrence was the only one in her crosshairs at that moment and every ounce of anger and hurt at what he’d done to her family was fizzing through her veins. Bending down halfway towards him, she picked up a baseball bat that someone had dropped in the chaos and swung it.
“Batter up,” she growled into the cacophony.
All around her, as she stalked closer to Lawrence, women were running around in the white smoke from several more grenades that had been flung at them. Lula had joined a small group of women who were wearing masks and clattering into police officers who battered them to the ground as if they were bowling pins. At the far corner of the street a police car had been set on fire, one Shona had fixed earlier that week. White smoke was replaced by black, as thick acrid fumes began to suck the oxygen out of the air, each sweat-soaked face Shona passed becoming grubbier by the minute.
Seconds later, as if a light had been switched on in her head, Shona stopped walking and dropped her bat. About three feet away from her, lying prone on the ground, was a face she recognized. It was Eric Everett, his brand new police uniform thick with the dirt and grime he’d picked up after try
ing in vain to fight off his attackers. A nasty head wound poured with dark red blood. His body was motionless and about to be set upon once again by a mob of stick-wielding rioters.
“No, leave him! Stop!” Shona yelled, ripping off her balaclava, then crouching down to shield the body.
“What’s your problem? He’s the enemy,” one of the rioters, a young woman wearing a yellow bloodstained tee-shirt and dirty white shorts, sneered back. In one hand she held a plank of wood with three hideous looking nails sticking out of it.
Shona looked up and flashed a murderous looking grin. “Back off, he’s mine.”
“No problem,” the woman set off about her next conquest.
Eric moaned and tried to lift his head. A few feet away from him was another cop coughing spurts of blood.
“It’s Shona. Stay still, I’ll be back in a minute,” Shona whispered into Eric’s ear. He must have understood because he hadn’t moved a muscle by the time Shona pulled up at the side of the road in her truck. Spotting Dee looking completely bewildered with what was going on around her, Shona called her over.
“What are you doing?” Dee asked, running over to find Shona trying to heave Eric up.
“He’s hurt. Bad. Now, help me. I gotta get him to the hospital.”
“If Bertie sees this, she’ll go crazy,” Dee said, shaking her head as she lifted Everett’s son’s legs over the tailgate, laying his body with a thud onto the back of Shona’s truck.
“We came out here to get their attention, to try and make a difference. Not to kill anyone.”
Chapter 26
The sun had barely risen when an exhausted Shona pulled up outside the garage. She stepped out of the truck, letting out a low whistle as her red-rimmed eyes took in the destruction all around her. Windows had been smashed to smithereens, the street littered with splintered wood and broken bottles. The car that had been set on fire was now cold but had left an ugly black stain on the bright grey road. Shona had returned home briefly from the hospital to explain to Chloe what had happened in town but had altered the story slightly, not wanting to worry her even more, knowing that Chloe was teetering on the edge of the abyss at the moment. Losing David had caused her enough heartache already without her facing the prospect of losing Shona too.
Eric Everett had needed seventeen stitches in his head wound and had a concussion but was otherwise going to be OK. Over the three hours she’d been in the emergency room, Shona had seen several injured cops brought in, but before the police force from the neighboring town could be deployed, Lawrence had fired several gunshots in the air to call off the rioters.
Shona, in the cold light of day, felt disgusted with herself for getting involved. As she’d driven down the highway to the hospital, all she could hear in her head was Dorothy’s croaky voice: “This isn’t you, Shona.”
A few hours later, after sweeping up the shards of glass strewn around the parking lot, a familiar voice piped up behind her. Turning around, Shona saw Minnie standing there holding a basket covered with a red and white checked dish towel.
“A bit of a skirmish in town last night, then,” Minnie said, eyeing Shona. “Edie in the store told me what had happened to the place. I was surprised she still had a job after what she told me, but she said she was wearing a balaclava so no one recognized her. Those women from San Francisco apparently did most of the damage around here. Everyone I’ve talked to this morning is glad to see the back of them. But why did you get involved, Shona?”
Shona looked at the ground, feeling the weight of Minnie’s knowing stare. “They took my boy, Minnie. I had to do something.”
Minnie’s face creased. “Oh Shona, it’s not like you to get involved with violence. That’s not the way to change things. You know that.” Her voice was soothing yet scathing at the same time. She handed over the basket and placed a hand on Shona’s shoulder. “Here, it’s just a few things I baked yesterday. I’m going to see William later. He still has a lot of friends in the office. Maybe he can talk to someone about all this business with David?”
“I’d appreciate that, Minnie. It can’t be legal, what they’re doing,” Shona replied, holding the basket against her chest.
“I know. But you need to keep out of trouble, Shona.” Minnie paused. “Maybe William can give Bill Everett a call, see if he’s able to come back yet. I know it’s been a few years, but this town needs a decent man to cut out the rot that’s set in since Lawrence took over.” Minnie’s eyes misted over, then refocused. “Always remember what’s important, Shona. Family.”
Shona nodded and waved goodbye to Minnie who climbed back into her car and set off. She looked over to the bar. The front windows were all smashed, the red and white striped awnings slashed and torn down. The door was scuffed and in need of a repaint. She pulled the garage doors closed and set off across the street to the bar.
“Hey Lula, Bertie around?” She walked up to the booth nearest to the door where Lula was sitting staring at the wall.
“Where did you slope off to last night?” Lula asked, not bothering to make eye contact.
“Nowhere. Where’s Bertie? I need to speak to her.”
“Nowhere, my ass. You were seen, Shona. Helpin’ that Everett boy into your truck. Word is he’s recoverin’ in hospital now. Two other police officers too, so I hear.”
“It got way out of hand last night, Lula. People got hurt.”
“Yeah, I know they did.” Lula paused, then turned to look Shona full in the face. Shona recoiled. Lula’s nose had clearly been broken. Around her left eye, she had a dark blue bruise and a three-inch cut across her eyebrow. “But I didn’t notice you throwin’ me on the back of your truck. Why should you give a shit, though, huh? Too busy playin’ nice. Tell me, Shona, why did you even want a piece of this action anyway?”
Shona felt guiltier the longer she looked at Lula’s injury. She’d been angry last night but she’d never wanted anyone to get seriously hurt. Apart from Lawrence. She tried again to apologize but Lula had already turned away.
“You can’t blame her,” Bertie said after walking up behind Shona. “We all feel a little disappointed in you, especially after all your big talk last night about helping the cause.” She was also nursing her own memories of last night; her lip was cut and her left arm bandaged at the wrist.
“I’d like to help pay for the damage here,” Shona said, pulling out a small wad of bills from the top pocket of her denim jacket.
“I don’t want your money, Shona. I wanted your support.” Bertie’s reply, like Lula’s, was soaked in disappointment. It was the first time Shona could recall seeing a vulnerable side to Bertie, but there it was.
“Take it. Call it a donation from the community.” Shona reached over and tried to place it in the pocket of Bertie’s shirt, but Bertie stepped backwards.
“I can’t take your money, Shona. I just wanted your help and the only way to get it was to give you a reason to fight with us. I had to make you as angry at Lawrence as we are.”
Shona noticed a strange flicker in Bertie’s eyes. It looked like guilt.
“What? You made that call to the authorities,” Shona hissed, feeling her heart thud. “You got my kid taken away?”
“Don’t you realize what’s going on in this town, Shona? Every day, people like us are being persecuted for trying to live a normal life. I lost the love of my life because she couldn’t handle the shame of who she was. The sideways looks, the whispers behind her back, people around here judging us. Three years together, then one morning she’s gone. Just like that.” Bertie fought to contain the emotion now flooding through her words. “Why the hell should you get what we can’t have, huh?”
The room fell silent. Both women stood toe-to-toe, then Shona pressed her face into Bertie’s. “Leave me and my family the fuck alone, you piece of shit!”
Incapable of holding in her rage any longer, Shona tore the backyard of her garage apart seconds after Bertie left, her half-hearted apology for the phone call still ha
nging in the air. Oil drums, old crates and various boxes of nuts and bolts were kicked around with Shona finally ending up in a heap on the stony ground, a sobbing mess.
“I gotta get him back. I gotta get him back,” she repeated over and over again.
Almost an hour passed before Shona felt composed enough to drive home. It was still only midday, but she didn’t feel in the mood to be working. She needed to be somewhere where she could think, without people around her. Solitude was sometimes the only company she wanted. About half a mile in the opposite direction to the beach house, Shona saw a car broken down at the side of the road. Next to it was a young woman who, after spotting Shona’s approaching truck, began waving her arms to flag her down. Shona felt her right boot press slightly harder down on the gas pedal, but her better nature overwhelmed her desire to drive past. Sighing, she clicked on her turn signal and slowed the truck down, pulling in behind the red Pontiac.
“Having some trouble?” Shona called over as she climbed out of her truck and grabbed her tools from the back seat.
“Yeah, I heard a noise like nails being fed through a grinder, then it just cut out. You a mechanic?” the woman shouted back, wrinkling her nose in surprise. Shona was used to that comment by now. Normally she’d throw a witty comeback, but today wasn’t the day for it.
“Yeah. Want me to take a look or just tow you back to town?” Shona asked as she began walking over.
“Well, if you don’t mind taking a look? I’d be really grateful. I’m not having the best of days and this just topped it all off.” She wiped her eyes and ran a hand through her tousled sandy blonde hair. She was around twenty years old, wearing brown slacks and a white tee-shirt. Her light brown jacket was edged around the collar and lapels with a thin line of dark brown fur. Her pretty face was stained with dry tears, her tired looking eyes heavy lidded.