by Sonja Bair
I was stuck halfway between sitting and standing while a madwoman with a deadly weapon was spitting a stream of furious Chinese at me faster than I could understand. Of course, come to think of it, I couldn’t understand Chinese spoken slowly at me, so the speed of her invectives was neither here nor there. But the point was clear: after she finished with the monologue, I was going to be shot.
Now, there are three ways that any animal, including humans, react to danger: fight, flight, or freeze. Thank God my amygdala (that leftover reptilian part of the human brain) paused only a moment on the freeze response and then powered right into the fight response. I used my crouched position to launch myself into the path of the gun with the hopes that was not what she expected. Unfortunately, she reacted quick enough to fire the gun, but my quick movement threw her off and the shot went wild. I plowed shoulder first into her neck region, hoping to knock the wind out of her. It worked. She fell on her back, grasping for air. The gun was still in her hand, but her grasp was loose enough that I was able to easily pry it out of her grip.
The gun was now in my hand. For a split second, the reptilian amygdala told me to kill Jia. Shoot her and rid myself of the threat. But then the forebrain, the more evolved human part, came up with a better solution. I flipped the handgun around and grasped the barrel of the gun. It was warm from the round that had fired, but I held on to it anyway. I raised the gun over my head and swung it down with all my might. The hard grip of the gun made a disgusting squishing noise as it made contact with Jia’s head, and my arm immediately ached from the hit. There was a moment of panic when I checked for a pulse, but a steady heartbeat steadied me. I had just knocked her out cold.
The post-fight adrenaline dip made it hard for me to stand, but I pulled myself upright. The confrontation had taken thirty seconds, maybe a minute, but I was completely drained, emotionally and physically. I propped my hands on my hips and looked up into the tree. I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe a nest of little Jias out to attack me—but there was nothing there. I glanced back down to the woman on the ground. She looked strangely peaceful, as if she were taking an afternoon nap in the shade of the sycamore tree. She was wearing the same clothes that I had last seen her in, but they looked much more worn and stained than before. Her cheeks looked slightly sunken, like she hadn’t had a good meal in a few days. But overall, this was not the face of a lunatic. I sighed. Poor woman. Even though she had torched a church and now tried to kill me multiple times, I still felt sorry for her. Hopefully, Meng and Wen could reach her in this confused state.
“What should I do with you now?” I asked Jia’s still form. I have no idea how long unconsciousness from pistol whipping lasted, and thanks to my wonderfully helpful move of ripping out the Lincoln’s spark plug wires, I didn’t have handy transportation. It was fairly easy to remove spark plug wires, but it was almost impossible to put them back on in the correct order without a manual. The Lincoln was effectively dead. I couldn’t carry Jia back to the ranch, and I didn’t have a cell phone with me, not that I would get reception anyway. I looked around, hoping to find inspiration. I found it in the Lincoln. The trunks in these old cars were massive; the joke was always to measure them in terms of how many dead bodies they could haul. But in this case, it was almost appropriate. The trunk would be a great place to store Jia until I could return with reinforcements to deal with her properly. Cars of the Lincoln’s vintage didn’t have the safety trunk releases like modern cars do. She would be stuck until we let her out.
Now, the average Swedish woman is about five-foot-six. I know because I once looked it up to know how much I missed the mark by. I don’t know offhand how tall the average Chinese woman is, but I guess that it is quite a bit less than the average female Swede. Jia and I had to be exceptions to the average, but on opposite ends of the height spectrum, of course. That woman seemed to be ridiculously heavy and tall. Therefore, the process of hauling Jia over to the Lincoln and then into the trunk involved quite a bit of muscle, sweat, and swearing. Previously, I had stuck Jia’s journal and gun into the waistband of my shorts, but they got in the way of pushing and pulling a limp body, so I took both out and set them on the roof of the car. After I pulled a couple muscles in my back, I eventually got her up and in the trunk. I slammed it shut with an air of achievement. The Jia situation could be checked off the list of problems. As soon as I got back to the ranch, I would send Drew and his cavalry over to better secure her, and Meng and Wen could deal with her as they saw fit. After a moment of happiness, reality crashed in and I realized that I had another problem waiting in the wings—the werewolf situation. But with my current sense of accomplishment, even that problem seemed achievable now.
Chapter 25
Drew wasted no time organizing a posse to rescue Jia from the Lincoln’s trunk, taking off with some trusted ranch hands and a few guns, just in case. While they were gone, I got a hold of my mother and the Yus, and everyone shared my relief that Jia had been found and was safe. Both parties expressed heartfelt thanks that Jia had been found and safely brought in. My mother promised to immediately pick up the Yus and head out to the ranch so they could be there for the arrival of their prodigal tribemate. I had had enough of the situation by this point, so I grabbed the keys to the Eagle and headed back to San Luis.
Back at home, Alrik was still parked at my old desk, talking on the phone while frantically typing away on his laptop at the same time. I smiled at him from the kitchen, caught his eye, and gave a big thumbs up. He flashed a smile in my direction, but the next second he was back full-throttle into his work.
I poured myself a glass of lemonade and headed to the back patio. I sat down in one of my chairs, propped my feet up on another, and tilted myself back. I turned my face to the warm sun and closed my eyes. Life was good. I think I even fell asleep for a few minutes.
The next thing that broke into my consciousness was the sound of a patio chair scraping against the cement. I opened my eyes in time to appreciate Alrik’s smooth motion as he joined me. The quietness and grace of his movement reminded me of all those martial arts classes he had taken. Part of his desire to become highly proficient in both the defensive and offensive martial arts came from the necessity of his job as Arbitrator. Part of it was who Alrik was—a powerful, dangerous man who, above everything else, would always take care of himself and those important to him. He prided himself in his control of any situation. Unfortunately for him, an evil idea had occurred to me.
“I bet I could beat you in an arm-wrestling contest,” I said in a completely serious voice, twisting myself to look at him. It took Alrik a second to process what I had said, but even then, he shook his head and his brows knit together in confusion. “Did you really just challenge me to an arm-wrestling contest?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, again with a serious voice and straight face.
“Why?” Alrik pulled away from me slightly, as if he expected some hidden trick to jump out and bite him. Which, of course, was about to happen.
“Winner cleans the house, top to bottom,” I said.
“Are you going to cheat?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” I said, maintaining the serious tone.
Alrik pushed his chair back on two legs and looked at me through squinted eyes. I could see him running through scenarios in his brain, trying to figure out my plan. I waited patiently, serenity exuding from me in the most suspicious manner possible. He must have ran through all the scenarios and had come up with no possible way that even with cheating, I could win. He nodded and said, “For the sake of a clean house, I agree.” The chair banged on the ground and he scooted forward and set his elbow on the table. Perfect: the trap set and baited. My smile grew. The prey had fallen. I arranged myself to get the proper leverage.
“Are you sure?” he asked as we grasped hands.
“Are you sure?” I parroted back.
“You start,” he said.
I gave him one more sweet smile and put all my power into my arm
. Immediately, I felt him flex back. Just as I thought: he was going to play with me for awhile and let me think that I had a chance against him. Of course I didn’t. He was way out of my league when it came to muscle. Five Freyas probably couldn’t beat him in a fair arm wrestling contest. But of course, this wasn’t a fair contest. I reached over with my free hand and slowly, seductively, dragged a finger up his arm. Smirking, Alrik didn’t react at all.
“Oldest trick in the book,” he said in an annoyingly condescending tone.
Yup. But it made a good distraction for setting up the real trick, and a great false confidence builder. While he was gloating over his resistance to my ploy, I braced against the edge of my seat and used the leverage to give a sharp, powerful karate kick to the bottom of his chair leg. The chair, already front-loaded with Alrik’s weight, snapped forward, tipping him out. In that split second, I cranked all my strength into my arm, slamming his arm down onto the table.
He now had to recover fast or he would end up face first on the patio. He pivoted almost instantly—and I must say gracefully—and ended standing up, the chair balanced on two legs behind him. The chair remained suspended in air for a moment, defying gravity before crashing over. During his little dance with the chair, laughter came rolling out of me in big waves. I actually ran out of air, I was laughing so hard, and tears started streaming out of my eyes. To be fair to Alrik, he took his loss in stride and gave a little smile in acknowledgment of defeat. After a few seconds, my laughter slowed down and I wiped away the tears.
“A double cheat. I should have expected that. But you are never what one expects,” Alrik said with a shrug.
“No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition,” I managed to get out between hiccups.
Alrik head tilted to the side and he frowned slightly at me—I guessed he didn’t understand the reference. He righted the chair and sat down. “So you seem in high spirits right now. Did something happen out at the ranch?”
I felt a smile split my face in two. “You could say that. I found Jia and...” I paused, momentarily enchanted with my own sense of humor, “truncated her visit to America.”
Alrik’s eyebrows raised and he motioned me to continue. I filled him in. At the end, even Alrik was grinning and sitting up straighter. As I finished, he nodded and gave highly enthusiastic praise for a Swede: “Good job.”
“I think so.” I put my hands behind my head. We sat like that for a few minutes in companionable silence. Of course, there were other problems to be solved, but I allowed myself to revel in the moment.
My cell phone broke the silence and I glanced at it. It was my mother. She was probably going to give me an update on how Meng and Wen were handling Jia. I answered with a smile in my voice, but that smile left within moments. I listened without a word as my mother gave me the bad news. After she finished, we both said terse goodbyes and hung up. Alrik looked at me expectantly; he had picked up on my change in demeanor.
I cleared my throat and explained, “When Drew arrived at the scene, he found the backseat had been busted through. I didn’t know, but if someone tugs on the right wires while pressing against the backseat, you can get the seat to collapse. It obviously took a lot of effort, but Jia broke out of the trunk. She’s loose again. Drew and his crew couldn’t find her.” I felt my shoulders fall and collapsed head first onto the patio table. I banged my forehead a few times against the metal edge.
Alrik gently massaged my scalp. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I let anger push them away. “This needs to stop. She needs to stop. How? What else can we do? What are we missing here?”
There was a sigh and then Alrik’s quiet response. “Nothing. There is nothing else we can do than what we are doing. We keep doing it, and we will succeed.”
The sun was setting, so I moved my pity party inside. I further indulged my moping by watching a marathon of bad reality television and eating a massive bowl of popcorn while wearing my favorite pair of pajama pants and a well-broken-in t-shirt. Alrik showed his good guy side by watching two episodes before he made up some lame excuse to excuse himself from the room. By the end of the third episode, I was tired of my own mope and started to get itchy to do something else. I grabbed my cell phone from the coffee table and scanned through the recent numbers. Amy from school had called me almost daily since the chlorine gas poisoning and had invited me out a few times as well. Previously, I hadn’t felt up to it, but right now I wanted to get out of the house. Amy answered on the second ring.
“Hey Freya, what’s up?” she asked cheerfully.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m looking to get of the house. Do you have any plans, and can I tag along if you do?” I tried to keep the pleading tone to a minimum.
“Actually, I do have plans, but I would love it if you came along. My cousin plays in a band and they have a gig in town tonight. Want to come?”
“Live music sound fabulous. I’m going to convince my friend Alrik to come as well. Is that okay?” I asked. Alrik would come as a bodyguard whether or not it was okay, but I decided to be polite.
“Wait, isn’t Alrik the hottie I met in your classroom at the beginning of the year? The big blond Swedish eye candy with the muscles and the gorgeous accent?”
I could almost hear Amy drooling at her own mental image.
Right then, Alrik re-entered the room, so I repeated her phrasing while looking right at him. “Yup, Alrik is the big blond Swedish eye candy with the muscles and the gorgeous accent. So can he come?”
He froze and a moment of horror passed over his face. I smiled at him. Of course, Amy’s answer was enthusiastic, to say the least.
Chapter 26
I was delighted when I learned Amy’s cousin happened to be the drummer in the alt folk band I previously wanted to see, McCleary and the Clearies. The band was everything that I hoped it would be, switching from up-tempo bluegrass to modernized Celtic classics. The bar itself was a cheerful setting; the lights were low, but not so low that I couldn’t see friends, and the walls were covered with neon signs advertising long-defunct beer brands. The crowd was thick but well behaved.
I ordered a beer for both Alrik and myself and handed it to him. I braced myself for the snide comment about American beer compared to European beer, but nothing came. Either the beer was better than average (it was), or Alrik was learning to hold his tongue. Amy ordered herself some traditionally girly drink, complete with floating fruit slices and an umbrella. The pink drink did, however, cause Alrik to roll his eyes when Amy wasn’t looking. Before we had gotten to the bar, she pulled me away out of his earshot and asked if he and I were together. I had expected the question so I had an answer ready. “Long story short, no” was my answer. I figured that I would give Amy a shot and if they fell head over heels over each other, that would solve my predicament. As the chances of that happening were low, perhaps I was setting myself up for an evening watching Alrik dodge the persistent attention. Which would indeed be entertaining.
I wasn’t too surprised when I saw Officer Joanne McCleary sitting at a table with a few other people. If I remembered correctly, her brother was the singer. She didn’t look as official as the last time I saw her, perhaps because she wasn’t in police uniform. I decided to leave the disaster that was Amy attempting to flirt with Alrik and say hi to Officer McCleary. I expected to have to introduce myself since we had previously met under such different circumstances, but she immediately recognized me and enthusiastically motioned to the empty seat next to her, inviting me to sit down and laughing at me the first time I called her “Officer McCleary.” I was asked to “Please, please call me Joanne.”
Joanne asked about my health, and I answered her questions as succinctly as possible. Much as Joanne didn’t want to be Officer McCleary tonight, I didn’t want the Jia situation to intrude into my night out and the good music. I told her as much, and she seemed to understand. So we talked about her brother’s band and the connection to my fellow teacher. She and Amy were not relatives, but w
ere connected through some in-laws back in the family tree.
“If you stick around San Luis long enough, you will realize that we really are a small town. Everyone who has been around for a few years is connected to everyone else, either through family, business, or friendship. In fact, since I grew up in this town, some people can’t take me serious as a police officer,” Joanne said during a pause between songs, shaking her head in frustration.
“The car with the flashy lights probably jogs their memory,” I said in a helpful tone of voice and got a laugh from Joanne.
“My first arrest was someone a few years ahead of me in school. It isn’t very professional of me to say this, but he was a jackass to some of my friends back in high school, and I took extra pleasure in putting on his handcuffs,” she said with a small smirk.
It was my turn to laugh. I sympathized with her since I, too, had had my fair share of trying to convince people that I could play with the big boys. We both turned and listened to the band finish the most upbeat swinging version of the traditional bluegrass song “Darling Nelly Grey” I had ever heard. The banjo player took his turn at a solo, and his fingers flew over the strings until they were a blur. The crowd started to whistle, clap, and shout encouragement. I joined in, lost in the music. When the banjo stopped and the rest of the band joined back in, I found that I was strangely out of breath as well. I think I had been mentally playing my cello alongside the banjo. I missed playing with others. The tempo rose up to a fever pitch, the melody tossed from one instrument to another, then was played by all the band members. The band finished the song with a strong single note. The timing and communication between the band members was breathtaking. I clapped with the rest of the audience in wonder. The four men on stage took a bow and announced they were taking a half-hour intermission and then would be back for more. They were cheered off stage.