by Molly Greene
“That’s how it works,” Mack replied. “The bad guys don’t give you much warning. So now you’ve gotten a taste of what can happen. If you want to keep on stirring up the muck and digging into other peoples’ problems, you need to be ready. There will be a next time.”
“I admit I may have been naïve.”
Mack loosened his grip.
She wiped the back of a hand across her cheek to be sure no tears had escaped. Dry, thank God. “But then, I’ve just been spying on cheating husbands until now. Who knew?” Gen gave him a feeble smile. “I suppose I need to suck it up and face the music.”
Mack ran a fingertip down her jawline, then dropped his hand and rounded the counter to take the stool. “That’s you being smart,” he said. “A little self-defense training wouldn’t hurt, either.”
“You know somebody?”
“Sure. I can fix you up.”
“Oh, I bet you could.”
That made them both chuckle.
Gen turned her back and was grinding coffee beans when he murmured something she didn’t catch. “What did you say?”
“I was thinking out loud.”
“About?”
“The thought of you on the mat in those clothes.”
She snorted a laugh. “I could take you.”
“I have no doubt you could.”
The carafe of water she was about to pour into the coffeemaker spilled. She cursed and threw him a threatening look, and he laughed some more.
* * *
A few days later Mack drove Gen to an industrial center near Dogpatch. She rolled out of his pickup like a sack of dried corn and stood, hunched beside the car, to catch her breath.
By the time she took a step, Mack was halfway across the lot and headed for a door marked private. He was ignoring her agony. He expected her to be tough as nails.
All right, then.
She was glad he wasn’t coddling her, she would have done the same for him. Friends didn’t handle friends like they were glass. She didn’t want to be treated like a princess, despite her special loungewear.
Leave that to the Catherines of the world.
He was holding the door open when she caught up. Inside, it was bright as a movie theater when the lights came on after the show. She blinked as her pupils closed down against the onslaught.
There were no dark corners here.
The interior of the place was laid out like a big box warehouse, lined with heavy-duty shelving that was neatly stacked with bins and boxes, all behind a central counter that bisected the room at the front. A sign on the wall said no clients past this point.
There was no visible way to pass into the back, barring a leap across the solid line of cabinetry. The message was clear. No browsing the merchandise.
Two other customers stood at the counter, each attended by a salesperson. The owners obviously kept plenty of help on hand, every last one muscled and looking like a member of some small-town militia.
Ex-cops, she guessed. Buzz their hair short and dress them in sweatshirts with the sleeves ripped off and they’d look like clones of Robert Crais’s super-human character, the famous Joe Pike.
A salesman nodded at Mack like they were comrades.
“What is this place,” she murmured, warming to the ambience. “An armory, or what?”
“Of a sort. Everything’s legal. Clients here are cops only or police referrals.”
“Don’t you get issued enough weaponry at work?”
Mack blew out a breath that was all snark. “We come here to keep up with the bad guys.”
“Is it legal for you to use unauthorized stuff?”
“That depends.”
“Oh.” Gen gave him a little elbow. “You want me to stop asking questions, don’t you?”
Mack didn’t respond. One of the guys behind the counter waggled his fingers as an invitation for them to approach.
“Hey, Rich,” Mack said.
“Mr. Hackett,” Rich replied. “Looks like your lady friend ran into some trouble. That why you’re here today?”
“That’s right. Miss Delacourt needs help with personal protection.”
“Came to the right place.” Rich smiled. “Wadja have in mind.”
“Taser or stun. Pepper spray. Show us what you recommend.”
Rich grabbed a mesh basket and walked down the aisle behind him. Gen watched as he tossed a few things into it, then hit the end of the row and came back up the one beside it. By the time he returned, his basket contained at least ten items. He plucked out three and spread them on the counter.
“You got your lipstick pepper spray here.” His forefinger tapped the Formica behind the packaged cylinder. “You got your keychain flashlight spray unit here.” Another tap. “And you got your Peppergard gun here.”
Gen picked up the lipstick and examined it through the rigid plastic, then did the same with the miniature flashlight. “I’ll take the light,” she said. “Too hard to find a lipstick in your purse under pressure. Keys would be easier to grab.”
“Excellent choice.” Rich nodded. “You look like you get a little exercise, am I right? Jogger, maybe? You might want to get something for those days you’re out and about and not carrying keys. You could tuck this baby right in your pocket.”
Gen placed the lipstick alongside the flashlight spray.
Rich moved the discard aside and shifted to the array of stun guns. “I recommend stun for the lady, not Taser. Less expensive, still does the job. We got this great new unit here, looks like a cell phone. Can’t tell the difference unless you give it a really good exam.”
Mack groaned. “We’re seeing those out on the street now. Bad news.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Mack. Blame the Internet, they don’t come from us.”
“What other choices are there?” Gen asked. “I’d hate to electrify myself while I thought I was making a call.”
“You got your stun baton here. We also got a full-size stunnifying flashlight, and we got this little unit that you can’t mistake for anything but what it is.”
“Too big.” Gen handled the baton. “Ditto for the light.”
“Get a way different phone cover for your regular cell and there’d be no blooper.” Rich hefted the phone. “It’s no heavyweight, but it packs a punch.”
“How much?”
“Fifty-nine ninety-five.”
“Sold.” Gen looked at Rich. “Is it legal?”
“Are you over sixteen?” Rich asked.
Gen grinned.
“Are you a drug addict?”
Gen shook her head.
“Section 12651 of California's 2008 Dangerous Weapons Law allows anyone in the state to purchase or own a stun gun with these exceptions: minors without written parental consent, narcotic drug addicts, convicted felons, and anyone who has been convicted of an assault anywhere. You fall into any of those excluded categories?”
Gen shook her head. “How do I learn to use it?”
“That’ll be our next stop,” Mack said.
“Okay then.” Gen took out a credit card. “Looks like you can now consider me armed and dangerous.”
“Lady, you were dangerous when you walked in.” Rich gave her a wink. “Now you have all the tools you need to back it up.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gen clambered into the pickup with her purchases and dropped her head against the seat. Any movement that involved her chest muscles was accompanied by a burst of pain that couldn’t be ignored.
She checked the time, then picked up the bottle of water she’d left on the truck seat and washed down a pill. Mack glanced over, but kept quiet. Gotta love the guy, letting her suffer in silence like this.
He drove a few blocks east to a similar complex and parked in a lot with a dozen other cars, then jumped out and made a beeline for another industrial-looking door.
Gen followed. Why was it the places Mack frequented didn’t believe in signage out front?
This time the interior was a
frenzy of action. A sequence of roped-off mats held pairs of people engaged in various stances, some facing off, some grappling, others ass to floor and flailing about, trying to defend themselves from an assailant.
It was like Mack belonged to a series of exclusive boys’ clubs. Gen wondered if it was his job or his personality that allowed him access.
But she quickly realized the inhabitants of this place weren’t just men. Women peppered the studio, as well. For the most part their hair was pulled back and their clothing leaned toward unisex, which was why it was difficult to pick them out at first.
It’s not like the air was filled with girly screams.
The gals here meant business.
They passed through the room. Gen stopped to watch as a man instructed a class in the proper way to confront an attacker. He took a solid stance with his feet slightly apart, then bent his elbows in front of his body, hands flat and forearms straight up and rigid before him.
Then he yelled, “No!” at the top of his lungs. His voice was low and resonated with the fact he would not be a victim. That scream held the promise he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Exactly what most predators wanted to avoid.
Mack was waiting at the open door of an office in the back. When she arrived, he ushered her in and introduced her. “Stan, this is Genny Delacourt. She bought pepper spray and a new stun gun today. I was hoping you’d have time to take her out and demonstrate the proper way to use them.”
Stan came around his desk with his palm extended. “Better late than never, Miss Delacourt.”
She knew he was referring to her battered condition. “I’m not the sharpest tack in the box, Stan, but I catch on eventually. Mack showed me the error of my ways.”
“Mack do that to you?” Stan gave her a grin.
She gave it back. “Nah. But I think he was secretly pleased. Got his chance to make me see the light about taking better care of myself.”
“Mack’s right, Miss Delacourt. He sees it every day, so best listen to him.”
“Genny’s a private investigator, Stan. She just graduated from chasing lost pets to getting tossed off a hill onto a pile of rocks. She decided she doesn’t want it to happen again.”
“I don’t blame her. You’re welcome here, Genny. We’ve got a lot of resources you can take advantage of, everything from how to run away from a mugger to how to take one on. Let’s head out back and get started with the gun.”
Stan led them out of the office and down a long hall to an exterior door. Outside, a plastic dummy was set up at one end of a chain-link enclosure. They aimed for it.
“Let me see what you got.”
Gen handed him her new cell phone stun unit. Stan ripped off the packaging and got it ready to go.
“This weapon is one of the most effective forms of non-lethal self-defense you can buy,” he said. “Easy to use, and it seldom delivers any lasting negative effects to the chump on the receiving end. What we’re going to do today is review how to safely and effectively operate it. Any questions before we start?”
“No sir,” Gen replied.
“Okay, here we go. The on-off switch is here. The trigger is here. The contacts are on this end. They emit the charge, so always hold your weapon in such a way that the trigger is easy to reach and the contacts are pointed away from you and toward the source of danger. Never let your fingers or any other part of your body touch the working end. Got it?”
Gen nodded.
“Now heft it.” He handed it to her. “Play with different hand positions until you find the most comfortable way to hold it.”
“Okay.”
“Now turn it on. See that red light? When the light is on, the unit is active. What does that mean?”
Gen grinned. “Don’t touch the contacts to anything but the bad guy when the red light is on.”
“Gold star,” Stan said. “In a minute I’m going to ask you to depress the trigger. Before I do, I want you to be aware that you should never activate your stun gun for more than one second when it’s not in contact with a human, preferably not you. Do you understand?”
“Sure.” Gen nodded. “But why not?”
“It can hurt the unit. The electricity has no outlet without suitable contact. When you shove the hot end against the bad guy, the electricity is directed into them and doesn’t damage the gun.”
“I get it,” Gen said. “Ready when you are.”
“Hold on now, Missy. I want to tell you what to expect so you’re prepared. When you push that button, a flash of blue electricity will arc between the discharge points You’ll hear the crackle of the charge. Count one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, then immediately turn it off. Am I clear?”
Gen nodded. “Now?”
“Go.”
She held the gun out and pulled the trigger, amazed and only mildly alarmed as the arcing line of electricity buzzed out into the air. One second elapsed and she released it. “Wow.”
“Good job. Now turn the switch off, I want you to practice drawing and firing with the unit inactive.”
Gen obeyed.
“I also want you to think about where you’re going to carry your weapon. You’ll get the shit kicked out of you again if you throw it in the bottom of your purse. You won’t be able to retrieve the gun in the split second that might make a difference in gaining the upper hand. Make sense?”
Gen nodded.
“So I recommend you mount it on the strap or right near the top of your purse, where you can grab it fast. There will be times when it will be better to carry it in your hand, and that means any time you feel uncertain. Pay attention to your gut. Don’t dismiss discomfort as paranoia. It could save your life.”
“I get it.”
“Okay. Is the unit off? Re-holster your gun and practice retrieving it and re-holstering until you’re lightning fast. When you’ve done that a few hundred times, practice turning the unit on but don’t actually do it. Pretend to turn it on, then depress the trigger. You need to be able to do this quickly, efficiently, and without hesitation or fear.”
Gen ripped the unit out of its holster, then mimicked turning it on and pressing it against the dummy.
“Very good. The unit won’t do its thing correctly unless it’s solidly touching flesh, so push it hard against your attacker’s body. It’ll penetrate through several inches of clothing. If you have time to aim, you’ll get the best results with contact against the neck, the upper torso, or the hips.”
He demonstrated, touching the parts of the dummy with the greatest body mass. “Maintain pressure for as long as you need to take the sucker down. Once he’s on the ground, run immediately to a safe place and call for help.”
“How long will he be incapacitated?”
“Excellent question. It depends on size, weight, tolerance, and the length of the stun itself. You can count on unconsciousness for five to thirty minutes. Don’t be a sissy and pull back too soon. The bigger the dude, the more juice you want to deliver. Capiche?”
Gen gave him a thumbs up.
“Dumbass final point: Be absolutely sure you’ve turned the unit off before you put it away.”
Mack applauded from his position to the side. “Thanks, Stan. Always a pleasure to watch you work.”
“Hey, the pleasure’s mine, Mack. Genny did good, but you keep on her now, she needs to practice.”
“I will, Stan. Thanks a lot.”
“Any time we can keep a face from ending up like yours, it’s a good day.”
“Amen to that,” Gen replied.
“Next time you’ll be ready,” Stan said.
He clapped her on the shoulder, and she winced at the pain.
Chapter Thirty
The art authenticator’s office left a message with Gen’s service the next day, saying Gen could pick up the paintings any time and that Natalie would like to speak to her when she did. She headed down to SoMa as soon as she heard, calling ahead to let them know she was on the way.
Na
talie Marks met her at the receptionist’s desk. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Long story, one I’d rather not share.” Gen touched her face. “Did you find anything?”
Natalie nodded and led her to the back. “I did, although nothing really revealing. It may not mean a thing. Just an interesting item I thought you might want to know.”
“No signature anywhere?”
Natalie shook her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I did find something else that was obscured.”
They entered the same room as before. The Shannon painting was on the table. Several images that looked like x-rays were placed across the top of the frame.
Natalie picked one up and pointed at Shannon’s lower torso. “Look here,” she said. “Underneath the woman. It’s been painted over, but once upon a time there was a figure of a child there. Unfortunately, it’s not a clear indication of anything.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Only the artist could tell us that. It could have been simply a change of mind. If this piece was done plein air, a more convenient or suitable subject may have come along.”
Gen nodded.
“I’m no art interpreter,” Natalie continued, “but on a deeper level, the image might symbolize that the artist has grown up or is protecting the child within.”
“That’s a heavy thought.”
“Artists can be intense.”
Gen frowned. “Unlike the rest of us.”
“Their craft gives them the advantage of having an outlet to cope,” Natalie said. “They can paint their pain away.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Gen replied. “Maybe I should take it up as a hobby.”
Natalie smiled. “I highly recommend it.”
* * *
Gen hadn’t spoken with Sophie since the fall and her return from Carmel. She didn’t want to alarm her, but it was time to provide an update about what happened. She needed to fill Sophie in on the latest twist about the painting.
When she called, she got a message that Sophie was out of the office and would be for several days. She decided to contact Shannon’s parents instead, on the off chance they might be able to share something new about Shannon or Noonan or Corey Uribe.