by Matt Betts
Occasionally, Harper joined her at the gym. It was a dirty, filthy old place where boxers and fighters went to work out, it wasn’t a trendy place where people wore their yoga pants and went to feel the burn. Certainly not somewhere in Harper’s comfort zone. At least not her former comfort zone. Deena was impressed with how her sister let things go now that their situation was dire. Harper had opened to new, cheaper, foods that she’d never have bothered with back home. The time on the run probably got her started.
When Harper came to the gym, Deena worked out on the other side of the building.
On a Tuesday night, Deena and Harper were working at the Nimbus with Ron, the manager, Troy, the “head chef” and another waitresses, and Amanda. It was close to quitting time, and Harper was helping Ron with the day’s receipts. They sat at a table in the middle of the dining room while everyone else cleaned up. The nightly ritual was usually just an excuse for Ron to look down Deena’s blouse or attempt to back her into a corner for a pat on the ass. She was getting more adept at avoiding that, much to Ron’s chagrin. Harper’s newfound skill at taking care of the bills and stretching a dollar made her more likely to volunteer to help with the daily tally, allowing Deena to slip from Ron’s gaze nightly.
“You girls going anywhere tonight?” Ron asked, thick fingers stabbing at the calculator in front of him. Though he was sitting with Harper, he raised his voice for Deena to hear.
Deena knew it was another lame attempt to get her to go out with him. She pretended not to hear him and kept wiping down the tables.
Harper took the bait, though. “Yeah. Home.”
“Come on, you girls are no fun. Christ. Live a little.” Ron puffed blue cigarette smoke out of his mouth absently. It drifted up and joined the usual cloud that gathered near the ceiling.
“You want us to loosen up and experience life? With you?” Deena laughed. “Where are you headed? Some old dude club or something?” Ron wasn’t that old, really. He was just old enough for Deena to be creeped out by him.
“I know some places that you’d enjoy.”
“I’m sure you do. Like your place, for instance?” Deena asked.
Harper continued to count, making tics on a piece of paper for each stack of bills she set aside.
Ron smirked and poked at the calculator as he leafed through the tabs.
From out in the lobby area, the bell that rang when the front door opened tinkled repeatedly.
The clock on the wall read 11:56. Four minutes to closing time.
“Someone’s cutting it close for their late-night slice of pie,” Ron said.
“Want me to go?” Deena asked, hoping for a reprieve from the stench formed from the cloud of smoke, meatloaf and Ron’s odor of sweat and what she referred to as his Chuck Norris cologne.
“Please, your sister and Amanda can get rid of them. They may be useless otherwise, but they know how to drive off customers.”
Harper gave him disgusted look. “I’m right here. I can hear you.”
“So go.” Ron took another drag off his cigarette. “Deena, carry the money to the safe with me.”
Harper got up and walked toward the lobby with Amanda.
Deena squeezed out a sponge into her bucket and came over to help Ron. She could feel his gaze on her ass as he followed her. She didn’t know why her arm started to ache and her back stiffened. She could feel his breath on her neck as he got a little too close when they passed into the main office.
In moments there was a series of thuds from the other room and a scream that Deena recognized as her sister’s. She moved toward the door but Ron caught her arm before she managed to turn the handle.
“Wait,” he said, and as she watched, he walked around his desk and pulled a pistol from the middle drawer on the left. He then quietly walked back around to Deena and let her go ahead and open the door.
In the dining room, Amanda lay sprawled out on the counter, dead. Blood still poured from several wounds in her chest, but her eyes stared blankly, unblinking at Deena.
On the other side of the counter, near the hostess station, four men pointed guns at Harper and Troy, the fry cook. They all looked over as the office door opened and Deena stepped out. She didn’t feel Ron emerge with her.
“Hey, look. Here’s another one.” One of the men pointed his pistol at Deena. “Come on out and join us.”
“This is a bad idea,” Deena said. “Do you know who owns this place?”
The man smiled. “Yeah. Everyone knows who this dump belongs to. Why do you think we’re here?” He motioned toward the cash register and one of the other men pulled a shotgun from under his long coat. He pumped the gun once and fired, blowing the register apart. Harper screamed again. “We’re thinking the owner might keep a little extra cash on hand somewhere.”
Deena took a step forward and shook her head. “I’m going to say it again. This. Is. A bad idea.” She didn’t want to look at her arm, it was throbbing, and oddly cold. It was beginning to feel like cement; hard to hold up and thick. She wondered what Ron was going to do. He hadn’t exposed himself to the assailants and was silent in the room behind her.
“Are you going to make us sorry we’re here, little girl?” The man with the shotgun said. “Maybe your manager had a gun in the office back there and you’ve got it tucked in your belt or your frilly apron? Is that it? You gonna shoot us?”
The first man smirked, but looked slightly concerned. “Maybe you should put your hands up, just in case.”
Deena did as she was asked, slowly lifting her hands toward the ceiling. Her gaze fell on Amanda’s body, lying on the counter and her confidence faded. There was something in her mind that was nudging her to attack the men, but there was another part that told her she would end up just like Amanda; dead on the floor for no reason other than stupid happenstance. OK, she knew she didn’t work for Marsh by happenstance, but it didn’t seem fair. She looked at her arms and the sides that were facing away from the men had begun to darken with black and blue half-moons like scales. She didn’t know if it was a trick of the light, but it seemed something flew over her, blocking out the lights and creating a shadow that drifted across her whole body, then disappeared.
The man with the shotgun walked past the counter and approached Deena with a wary glance. “How about it? What’re you hiding? Barretta in the apron? Little one-shot Derringer? Maybe you think you can stick me with a steak knife or something?” As he approached, his coat wafted open and Deena noted a pistol in his waistband. Up close, the shotgun seemed huge and even more frightening than at a distance. It wasn’t like an old double-barreled model; it was a huge black weapon that made Deena shiver just a little.
She shook her head no. The scales forming on her arms began to rise up above the skin, creating ridges. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she pictured fish hooks, like the ones she and Harper had used to catch carp in the lake when they were on the run. She tried not to react when those ridges became hard, curved points across the skin. It hurt. Not like the first time she’d had the darkness expose itself. That time in the woods had happened so fast and she’d been so excited with adrenaline that it didn’t seem to hurt at all. Now that she had time to see it and think about it, it felt like razors on her arms.
“Hmm…” The man leered at her and checked her up and down as he approached. “You could be hiding all kinds of things in that outfit.” His free hand glided across her stomach and lingered there.
Deena suppressed a snarl, keeping her lip from curling up in disgust.
It happened quickly. At least in her own head. It seemed there was little thought about what she was going to do from the moment she walked out into the dining area. Maybe she’d been analyzing the situation from the beginning without knowing it. Whatever it was, there was no time at all between when she decided to punch the man and the time the man was
on the floor bleeding from multiple slashes across his face and neck.
With the incident with Mike, it had been something that rose in her until she jumped on him. Her sudden strength had surprised her then. Deena had seen her sister in distress and reacted in a way that came naturally. She hadn’t planned that. It just happened. It was the same here, only she was more shocked by her own speed this time. Her body reacted to things in the environment faster than they registered in her mind.
As she watched the man’s head hit the floor, she was moving toward the others. Her hands were wet with his blood and his shotgun was in her hand. The men’s smirks hadn’t left their faces completely before she was upon them. She planted the butt of the shotgun in one man’s nose, and then swung it like a club, cracking it on another’s skull. Her fist raked across both men’s faces in quick succession, pulling skin as her jagged knuckles connected. She turned to attack the last man, only to find his pistol just inches from her nose.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are, this is over.” His jaw was trembling as his anger rose. The whole thing had happened so fast that Deena was fairly sure he didn’t realize his friends were down.
The shot that was fired didn’t come from his gun though. Everyone trembled as Ron’s .45 fired from the office and he stepped out. The last attacker jerked to the left as the bullet struck him on his right side. He stumbled a few steps and then went down on the floor. He immediately tried to get up but fell back down, moaning. No one else in the room was watching him though; their eyes were on Deena, the dark scales on her arms and hands, and the blood that still dripped from her appendages.
“Ron? Thank you for your help,” Deena said. She was sure she could have somehow fought off that last man, but that point was moot now. Still, she was emboldened by how she’d managed to handle the rest of the situation. Everyone staring fed her ego more than she realized. “But don’t ever grab my ass again.”
“Done.” Ron moved back into the office and in seconds, everyone could hear him on the phone. In a shaky voice, he recounted the events of the last few minutes.
Deena looked over at Amanda, and then the men. She anticipated some horrible breakdown of emotion, some outpouring of anguish, but it didn’t come. Everything that happened seemed like it had happened to someone else in a terrible movie from the seventies or something. She paused to make sure those emotions weren’t just taking their time in bubbling to the surface. When they didn’t arrive, she walked over to the table she had been cleaning, grabbed the sponge and wiped the blood from her arms, the spikes and scales were gone, leaving just a bold blemish in the shape of a small hook.
35
Stanley Yuko stood in front of the men at the door. He held up the grocery bag and waved it around. “Just bringing her some food and stuff.”
“Why?” The first guard said. “She’s not going to be around to enjoy it for long.”
Stanley rolled his eyes. “Yeah. But Marsh felt it was a good idea in the meantime. I mean, if we can’t prove Harper’s alive, Deena may never come in.”
“I don’t think a day without a meal will kill her.”
Stanley pulled out his cell phone. “Look, you want to ask Marsh why he wants her to have food, feel free. I’ll give you his assistant’s number.” He held out his phone to the man then pulled it back quickly. “Oh. Wait. That’s me. I’m his assistant.”
The guards both shifted uncomfortably.
“Would you like me to go ahead and put you through to him? I’d be glad to. I’m sure he’d love to explain his actions to you.” Neither of the men said anything. “No? You sure?”
The men opened the door without another word. Stanley reached into the bag and pulled out a couple of small bags of chips and handed one to each of the men. “Cheer up, guys. I’m sure you’ll get to rough someone up soon enough.” He stepped into the office, closed the door behind him and looked at the men standing on either side of Harper. “Good day, everyone.”
Harper was lying on a desk, using a sweatshirt for a pillow. “If you say so.”
The grocery bag landed with a thud on another desk. Stanley had dropped it slightly harder than he’d meant to. “I brought something to eat. Figured you’d be hungry.” He took out some chips and sodas for Harper’s captors and put them on the desk, then put the bag next to Harper. “There are some things in here for you as well.”
“I’m not terribly hungry,” Harper said.
“You need to eat.” This whole thing depended on Harper helping out. Stanley hadn’t had much time to think about a real plan. He hadn’t received any further instructions from the feds and couldn’t get them on the phone. Stanley was concerned that he hadn’t correctly conveyed to them the dire circumstances Harper was in. If they wouldn’t save her, Stanley would have to. He calculated his odds at successfully freeing her at well over fifty percent. “A drink would probably be refreshing right now. It would most likely change your whole outlook on things.”
“Are you saying you have a beverage in that paper bag that is so good, it would make me look forward to getting whacked by these goons?”
Stanley looked at the men. “Possibly.”
“Pass.”
One of the men stepped toward Stanley. “Look, I’ll take her snacks. I’m starving. What’d you bring?”
Stanley held out his hand. “Just. Just stay there. Harper? I really think you should drink this.”
Both of the men guarding Harper looked at each other, both still eating their chips. “What’s the deal here? Why are you so concerned with this?” One of them said.
“What’s in the bag?” The other asked.
Harper was still lying down, but looked up at Stanley with a raised eyebrow.
“Soft drinks.” Stanley tried to wink at Harper, but found he couldn’t.
“What the hell?” One of the guards asked.
Stanley hadn’t thought things through quite as well as he thought. “I need to take her downstairs.” It was an awkward statement and he knew it. He had planned to stick to his script, but the new lie just flew out of his mouth.
“What?”
“Marsh wants to talk to her about the bus job.”
The guard set his chips down and reached for the gun that was in his waistband. “Bullshit.”
Stanley pointed at the man. “Don’t do that.”
“Or what, you’ll go all Bruce Lee on me?”
The Asian reference angered Stanley. He was an accountant, not a thug, so the violence was all new to him. “First of all, I was born in Korea.” He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out two handguns—one in each hand. “Second, I have always been partial to John Woo.”
The guard grabbed his gun from his belt and raised it toward Stanley. He hadn’t considered the fact that he would have to shoot anyone; it made sense that they would surrender rather than be killed for such a man as Marsh. “Stop.”
“Shoot them,” Harper said. Stanley saw her drop from the desk to the floor. “Shoot.”
He did. Stanley pulled the triggers—alternating from one gun to the other. The automatic pistols roared to life and the stinging smoke of their discharge filled his eyes. He kept shooting and saw that some of the bullets found their target, though more seemed to dot the wall behind the guard.
Harper rolled toward the man as he fell then grabbed his gun. She turned and shot the other guard twice since both of Stanley’s guns had run out of ammunition.
“Did you bring more ammunition for those?” Harper asked.
Stanley hadn’t.
“The two outside guards are going to come in, and more from downstairs.” Harper pointed her gun at the office door.
As he held the guns up to his face, Stanley went over his statistics. It should have taken him just a couple of shots for each guard. And yet he had emptied two eight-shot clip
s on one man. He began to recalculate their odds when the door flew open.
36
Two hours later, Deena opened the door and stepped out. The hall was just as empty as when she left it. She bent to the water fountain and took big gulps. She was starving, with no idea how she was going to get ahold of nourishment in the foreseeable future. She’d thought she could make it home a little faster than this. She sucked down more water and hoped that would sustain her until she figured something out.
She walked quietly past the closed door where Taylor had been teaching class and then bounded up the stairs as quickly as her exhausted legs would carry her. Deena wanted to thank Taylor, but also didn’t want to impose on her any more than she already had. She also didn’t want to draw more attention to herself.
Deena reached out and shoved the door open. Outside, the air was cooler than she thought it would be. She was sure there would be an oppressive humidity that would slap her face as she stepped out, but there was nothing but a light breeze.
“Oh thank God. I thought I was going to have to put this stuff down,” it was Taylor, coming around the corner from the parking lot, her hands full with a giant cardboard box. “Could you hold that door, please?”
Deena stepped out of the way to let Taylor by.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming out of that room,” Taylor said. “Must’ve been even more full of stress than I guessed.”
Deena stood with the door in her hand as Taylor got down the steps to the hall. “Yeah. Thanks so much. I feel a lot better.”
At the classroom door, Taylor stopped again. “Uh, I hate to ask… but?” She motioned to the door with a free finger.
While she wanted to leave, Deena felt if she opened the door, maybe she’d be even with the woman for her help and she could walk away with a clear conscience—as clear as it could be after Deena had destroyed the training room, anyway. Maybe she could send some money to the center to cover it once she got settled. “Sure.” She walked down the stairs and grabbed the door for Taylor. “What’s all this stuff?”