Promises to Keep

by Sex, Nikki

  What else could he use?

  Jack looked around and his eyes fell on the stainless steel towel rack. The Suites was a snazzy hotel—only the best stuff was used for its fixtures.

  He tore the rack from the wall and slipped the rod from its brackets. It was only about a foot and a half long, but it had some heft.

  Jack slid the rod up his sleeve as he ran out the door. It wouldn't do to have someone see him running through the hotel with a blunt object in his hand. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t in an active war zone.

  He ran down the stairs and out of the front entrance. The parking lot was quiet. The moon was just beginning to rise over the Atlantic Ocean to the east.

  Nobody was about except for one man who was loading newspapers into the vending machine by the door. His eyes were puffy—he looked tired, as if he were coming to the end of a long route. Jack figured all the poor man was thinking about was getting the last of his load out of his truck, going home and then climbing into bed.

  "She went that way," the newspaper man said.

  "What?"

  "The girl—the one crying with a bag over her shoulder." The man pointed down the waterfront. "She went that way."

  "Thanks," Jack said gratefully.

  "I don't know what you did mister, but you'd better find you some flowers and candy right quick, or you'll be in the doghouse for a month of Sundays."

  "Thanks again," Jack murmured, as he took off running in the direction the man indicated.

  It was about 10 P.M. with not a soul around. Laura wasn’t joking when she said they rolled up the streets here at night. Street lamps were on and the light of the full moon spread across the waters and into the town.

  Through the semi-darkness, he saw Laura walking on the shore and sped up. The air felt thick in his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran and he panted in deep, ragged breaths.

  He may have been used to heat, having spent the better part of the year in the desert, but he sure as Hell wasn't used to this degree of humidity.

  It wasn't until he approached her that he realized that Laura wasn’t alone. Moonlight shone off the faces of two people.

  "Laura—I—" Jack gasped.

  "Back off, asshole," the stranger said.

  The man facing Laura was more than unkempt; he was filthy. Unwashed and tangled hair topped a face that was covered with a scraggly, several day's growth of beard. His eyes were clearly bloodshot. Even in the shadowy light, he looked desperate—and dangerous.

  Laura faced the man, clutching her bag in both arms. "Jonah, I’m not going anywhere with you. Please leave me alone."

  Fuck! He’s the psycho killer! There’s no way this asshole is going to hurt Laura—not on my watch.

  Jack, still breathless from his mad run, positioned himself between them, facing Jonah. He calmly but forcefully said, "Walk away, man. You got enough trouble as it is."

  "Trouble? What the fuck you know about trouble? I got more trouble than you can ever imagine, sailor boy."

  "How—?" Jack started, surprised that Jonah knew who or what he was.

  "I've been watching you two. I've been watching real good." Jonah spat—a green bilious blob that twinkled briefly before it impacted on the ground with a splat.

  "My girl here thinks she's gonna latch on to another one of you morons in uniform—take you for all she can just like she took that other sucker for a ride. I bet she rode him real good too."

  Jack slid the towel rod out from his sleeve. "I said, back off," he surprised himself when his words came out as an enraged snarl.

  Jonah grinned and the irregular shape of his teeth reminded Jack of a carved Halloween pumpkin.

  Jack could see the brown discoloration on what should've been his pearly whites. That staining indicated heavy meth use. The pipe and the crap within it stained a user's teeth permanently.

  The way Jonah twitched with every word, the way his eyes darted back and forth, and the way he held himself, told Jack that Jonah was currently wired. Like a tightly wound spring, the asswipe was ready to go off at any moment.

  Psychotic and high as a kite, Jack thought. A dangerous combination.

  "What're gonna do with that?" Jonah asked, as he slipped a large knife from his waistband. It had a long, curved blade with brass knuckles for a handgrip.

  Jack had seen killing daggers like it in old war movies. It was called a trench knife because soldiers used it to cut, stab and bash any enemy unfortunate enough to wander into the trenches.

  An ugly, perilous weapon like this would scare any rational human being.

  He looked from the blade, up into Jonah's eyes and Jack saw something he’d only seen once before.

  Mad eyes, Jack thought, stunned with shock.

  In less than a second, yet more than an eternity, his mind flashed to an earlier moment in his life—when he'd been in a similar situation.

  Suddenly, he was back there.

  They’d arrived at the school and the Marines fanned out in a desperate attempt to find the bomb. The informant told them that there was an IED, but he couldn't say exactly where it was. Max the dog was a heck of a bomb sniffer, but it would still take time.

  Jack, Chief and a female Marine tried to corral the kids into the safest corner of the playground. Without the team interpreter, affectionately nicknamed, "Tito," this would've been an impossible task.

  All seemed calm, until Tito came up to Jack and said, "Doc, the teacher says a kid's missing."

  Fuck.

  "Where in Hell?"

  His question was answered in an instant. Around the corner, running away from the baying of Max, the dog, was a picture of insane intensity.

  Disheveled and dirty, the insurgent had dark, angry, irrational eyes. Jack instinctively pulled his pistol, but held his fire because the maniac had his arm wrapped around the neck of a little girl with a dirty, tear-stained face.

  The man half dragged, half carried her across the playground as he babbled and shrieked at Jack and his friends.

  "Tito!" Jack yelled.

  "He says he’ll kill her if we don't let him through!"

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  "Tell him to calm down." Jack noticed the blade, tight against the little girl’s neck. He inched forward as carefully as he could.

  "I don't think he's going to do that, boss." Tito's voice was panicked. A man could see a hundred dead men, but a single hurt kid could reduce him to tears.

  "Keep him talking," Jack said, inching still closer. "Everything's good as long as he's talking."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chief circling the man to the right, and the Marine circling to his left. As long as he stayed focused on Jack, they might get the jump on the bastard.

  Just a few more steps.

  Suddenly, the insurgent's ranting took on a higher pitch. He pushed the tip of the knife into her skin and the little girl screamed. A trickle of blood dripped from under her chin and stained her white blouse crimson.

  They were out of time.

  With the sudden action of a trained athlete, the female Marine, blonde hair streaming out behind her like a shaft of golden sunlight, dove for the child. She caught the little girl in a double-armed rugby tackle and ripped her from the mad man’s arms.

  Together, they flew past him and rolled to the dirt in a heap.

  Stunned for an instant by the rapid change of circumstances, the insurgent and Jack simply faced each other.

  For the briefest moment, Jack looked straight into the eyes of pure madness. He saw sheer loathing and hatred ooze from those dark, maniacal eyes.

  Without hesitation, and with perfect accuracy, Jack shot him in the face.

  Chapter 49.

  The memory disappeared as quickly as it arrived, leaving him facing off with Jonah, armed only with a towel bar.

  Jack looked into another set of maniacal, hate-filled eyes. He was up against sheer madness and a fucking nasty looking knife.

  This time, instead of an in
nocent child, the life of the woman he loved was on the line.

  Never again, since that time in the schoolyard, had Jack felt such revulsion, fear and anger—not until this very moment, with Jonah's knife so close to Laura.

  Jack wanted to shoot this psycho in the face, too.

  "I'll bash your head in, if you don't leave, now," Jack growled, waving the towel bar at him menacingly. He was furious at the thought of this jerk trying to hurt Laura.

  "Oh, I'll leave, alright," Jonah said, as he advanced on Jack. "With her, right after I spread your guts all over the place."

  Street fighting was one thing medical school had never taught Jack. He'd been in a few fistfights as a kid, but that had been nothing more than some posturing and rolling around in the dirt.

  Basic training had covered hand to hand—but that was a long time ago.

  Iraq was a distance fight. Jack could shoot a rifle with the best of his men, but he'd never thought he'd face a trench knife wielded by a tweaked out junkie. How hard could it be to outsmart a fucked up crack head?

  Jonah took a little swipe with his blade, causing Jack to jump backwards.

  "Fucking pussy," the junkie giggled.

  As adrenaline burned through his veins, Jack struck out with the towel rod, but hit nothing but air. For some reason he had Star Trek battle music running through his head, but he wasn't Kirk and Jonah wasn't some actor in a rubber mask.

  This fight was real and it was for keeps.

  Jack wanted to pound this jerk's head into mush, while carefully avoiding that menacing knife. Laura raised the stakes. Jack was at ease gambling with his own life, but not with hers.

  The asshole reeked of violence.

  Chances were that Jonah, even stupid and hopped up, was probably even more dangerous due to street fighting experience.

  "Jesus, Jack," Laura called out from behind him, "Be careful."

  Shit! Yeah, I was intending to dive onto that knife. Now, I won't. Thanks for the advice, Captain Obvious.

  He swung the towel rod again, as hard as he could, aiming for the asshole's head.

  Jonah ducked.

  Goddammit, hold still—you SOB!

  “Stop it, stop this, right now,” Laura yelled.

  They both ignored her.

  Enraged, Jack threw a flurry of blows at Jonah, holding the rod with both hands, striking as hard and as fast as he could. Jack forced him back, but didn’t do any damage, as Jonah managed to stay out of range.

  An awkward slide on the moist grass caused Jack to slip precariously and overbalance. A second later, he fell forward, landing at Jonah’s feet.

  On his stomach with a face full of grass, the tip of Jonah's knife pierced Jack’s shoulder. A trail of fire cut into him, as the edge of the blade scraped along the back of Jack’s shoulder blade.

  Intellectually, as a doctor, Jack knew that there was nothing vital along the back of his scapula—but emotionally, all he knew was it hurt like a son of a bitch.

  Who aims for a bone? Good thing this prick is a fucking idiot.

  Jonah kicked him in the side—instinctively Jack rolled over onto his back. He held up his towel bar and Jonah knocked it aside.

  "I'm gonna gut you like catfish," Jonah said calmly, as he brought the knife up and over Jack's abdomen.

  By Jack’s estimation, less than twenty seconds had passed since the fight began.

  "I said stop it!" Laura shouted.

  Something in the agitated, yet commanding tone of her voice instantly made both men turn and look at her.

  For Jack, it was a moment frozen in time.

  There she stood, with tears running down her face. He immediately saw that her tears were not of grief, sorrow or pain. They seemed more of a physical response to strong emotions.

  Laura’s green eyes flashed with murderous rage, while her beautiful features were twisted in fury, frustration and resolution all at once. She held a stainless steel revolver with both hands.

  The woman looked formidable, as if she were some sort of Goddess of retribution.

  The rest of Laura’s body visibly trembled, but her hands were rock steady.

  Jonah stood up to his full height and faced her. "You don't have the guts—"

  Laura shot him in the chest.

  "What'd you think?” she snarled. “That I'd give some dumb ass speech? This isn't a movie, idiot" Clearly in a mad rage, she shot him again.

  His eyes wide with surprise, Jonah sagged to his knees.

  "I fucking hate you. You killed my friend! Why would I have anything to say to you, or give a shit what you have to say?" she added, and shot him a third time.

  Jonah crumpled, falling over on his back in a heap.

  Laura strode over and stood above her adversary, radiating a justified, vengeful aura. After a short pause, she shot him once more, in the middle of his grimy forehead.

  Jack stared at her, dumbfounded.

  She dropped the gun. With a determined stride, Laura came over and fell to her knees in front of him. "Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I should've shot him sooner. Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine," he replied, in a detached manner. His voice seemed far away. Jack’s shoulder stung where he’d been stabbed, but he hardly noticed the pain.

  Dazed, he continued to stare at her stupidly. The overpowering sense of relief he felt that Jonah was dead, hit him with the force of a twenty-foot wave.

  Now, he knew where her neighbor, Ron’s gun went. Ron must’ve given it to Laura. A southern girl, born and bred, it seemed that the woman knew exactly how to use it.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  Why hadn’t Laura told him about the gun? What else didn’t he know? He wanted to discover every single thing about her.

  What a girl! A beautiful, strong, resourceful and amazing woman.

  The tank load of adrenaline still running through Jack’s veins had him bouncing out of his skin. His throat was dry and his fingers had the telltale tremor. Shaken up, stunned, overjoyed and elated, his mind shot off in a number of directions.

  Life is a strange and wonderful thing.

  Jack thought of Chief Whitley and the bravery he’d witnessed from so many soldiers, friends and colleagues during the war. He remembered the courage and sacrifices made by Bob Wynn and others, both men and women.

  These were people who overcame their natural and instinctive fears. They rose to the circumstances, gritted their teeth and heroically went out and did what had to be done.

  He remembered his and Laura's first night together at the restaurant, where she related a tragic, yet humorous account of her childhood. A story of how a gutsy young girl, on the cusp of womanhood, half-killed a pervert by hitting him on the head with her high-school swimming trophy.

  Yes, life was strange and wonderful, and it seemed to Jack, as if everything had come full circle.

  Laura was smart, stubborn and courageous. Yet, he’d been misled by her kindness and her soft, feminine exterior. Jack had never recognized the powerhouse hidden within.

  Laura promised to keep me safe.

  But who would have ever imagined that she would?

  Epilogue.

  Jack downshifted and cruised up the ramp. I-40 ran straight East to West and the engine of the Jeep growled as they merged onto the highway headed due west. Laura was in the passenger seat, peacefully curled up and nodding off to the melodious sounds of a Beatles melody.

  North Carolina wasn't exactly Texas, but Jack discovered they weren’t too far apart philosophically.

  With Jonah's criminal history and the fact that Ron's wallet was found in his jacket, along with Jack's stab wound, Laura was let off for the shooting.

  Given that she was a war widow, and the only witness to Jonah’s death was a veteran and an officer, it took the district attorney all of fifteen minutes to "no bill" what was obvious to them as an act of justified defense.

  Jack also learned that ‘no bill’ meant the DA did not intend to press charges and the police chief was c
ompletely onboard. What it really meant was a ‘free pass’ and they were taking advantage of it.

  They waited around another two weeks for Ron's funeral. Laura thought she owed him that, and Jack wholeheartedly agreed.

  Ron hadn’t any family, so his drinking buddies from the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) gave him a hero’s sendoff, complete with Marine Corps honor guard who drove up from Lejeune.

  Apparently, Laura's kind but quiet neighbor had earned himself The Navy Cross—second only to The Medal Of Honor—in a shithole corner of Vietnam called Khe Sahn.

  Laura had cried, but she’d loved the service. They both thought Ron would have gotten a kick out of it, too.

  California was where they were headed and the GPS said they'd be there, excluding stops, in three days. They'd take a week. Jack was going to show Laura the Grand Canyon on the way.

  When they got home to Orange County, he was going to take her to the beach where they’d surf from sunrise to sunset. The Pacific Ocean—wide and clean and peaceful—would cleanse them of every darkness.

  Maybe, with time, they’d overcome their nightmares. He was certainly sleeping better now that Laura was with him.

  Sure, they were both messed up, each in their own unique way. There was a lot of healing and growing to do, but they planned to do that healing and growing together.

  It felt right, it felt obvious and natural. Could life get any better?

  Driving down the highway, with nothing but their future in front of them, and Laura by his side, Jack couldn't imagine being happier than he was now.

  He’d become a doctor and rolled with the Marines. He’d served his country to the best of his ability. He’d met a strong, kind and intelligent woman who knew her own mind—and how to protect herself.

  Laura made him happy.

  Jack felt certain he could make her happy, too. The woman was naturally upbeat anyway, despite everything she’d been through.

  I won’t just make her happy, he decided with a smirk. I’ll make her ecstatic.

  He was driving her home to meet his family. If Laura said yes to his proposal, they would marry and start their own family soon.

  Slanting a look to his beautiful, sleeping, soon to be fiancée, Jack found himself grinning again.