Standing in the Shadows m&f-2

by Shannon McKenna

  Barbara was marching toward the building. "My baby's in there."

  Sean sprinted after her. He took her arm and started talking earnestly, but Barbara Riggs in full battle mode was a challenge, even for him. Connor left him to it and groped in the back window for the aluminum cane. It wasn't ideal as a weapon, since it was weighted all wrong, but it would do in a pinch. Bare hands were more fun, but whatever. The bum leg earned him a couple of pity points.

  Sean had actually managed to collar Barbara right outside the entrance, the slick bastard. He smiled and kissed her hand, gave them a thumbs-up, and disappeared inside. Barbara waited by the door for them, clutching her purse to her chest with white-knuckled hands.

  A couple minutes later Sean opened the door and gestured them in. The place was dark and loud. It smelled of spilled beer, smoke, and male sweat. Several nearly naked girls writhed around poles on a long stage that ran the entire length of the bar, lit with pulsing red lights.

  Heads swiveled as Barbara Riggs walked through the room, wildly out of place in her pale pink pantsuit and her white purse, wide-eyed and tight-lipped. Sean shoved open an unmarked door. They crowded into a dingy corridor with an open door at the end of it. Light and noise spilled out. Two women dressed in skintight jeans came out, talking loudly. They shut up, painted eyes widening as they shimmied by the motley band that lurked in the corridor.

  Connor turned to Erin and Barbara. He jerked his chin toward the door. "That is a dressing room. Go get her. Be quick. I want to get out of here." So far, this was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Not that he was complaining, but he had a nasty, prickling feeling behind his neck. No way could this play out so easily. Not the way his life was going.

  Erin pushed her way into the crowded room, and Barbara followed close behind. The room was shrill with high-pitched voices. Brilliant light from the banks of makeup mirrors made Erin's eyes water. The smell of powder, hairspray, and cosmetics was heavy in the air.

  She caught sight of Cindy in the back of the room. She was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes looked dazed, and her mouth swollen and blurred. She was dressed in only a tank top and panties. A sharp-faced blond girl was bending over her, saying something to which Cindy was shaking her head.

  "Cindy?" Erin called out.

  Cindy struggled to her feet. "Erin? Mom?"

  Cindy stumbled toward them and threw herself into her mother's arms, almost knocking her over backwards, and burst into noisy tears. The blond girl sidled past them and ran out of the room.

  Oh, God. Now Mom was sobbing, too. As always, it was up to her to be the practical one. She was keenly aware of the men waiting out in the corridor for them, and the malevolent Billy lurking out there in the dark somewhere. "Cin? Help me out here! Where are your clothes, hon?"

  Cindy looked around, glassy-eyed. "Um, I don't know."

  A muscular redheaded woman handed Erin a pair of leggings. "Put these on her," she said. "I'm Sable. I'm the one who called that guy Sean, who was looking for Billy. Is that girl your friend?"

  "She's my sister," Erin said. "Cin? Your shoes? Any idea where you put them?"

  "I'm real glad you guys came to get her," Sable said. "She is, like, in orbit. I don't know what Billy's got her on, but she's not together enough to perform. No fuckin' way. She can't even stay on her feet, let alone dance. It is, like, incredibly unprofessional!"

  "You are absolutely right," Erin agreed hastily. "And I'll be sure to tell her that you said so. Look, I have to find her some shoes—"

  "Make sure she drinks a lot of water before she passes out," Sable advised. "And keep her away from Billy. He is pure, toxic scum." She thrust a pair of battered cloth slippers into Erin's hands.

  "I will. Thanks a lot, Sable. You've been really kind to help—"

  "Hurry. Go. Get her the hell out of here before there's trouble."

  Cindy allowed herself to be dressed in the leggings and slippers, as unresisting as a doll. They hustled her out into the corridor. Miles took off his black frock coat and wrapped it around her, and the dusty black hem dragged on the ground behind her like a train. His dark eyes were fierce with anger behind his round glasses. "He hit you," he said.

  Cindy squinted, stumbled, and finally focused on him. "Miles? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you. That bastard hit your face," he said. "He dies."

  Cindy lifted her fingers to her mouth. "Oh. Yeah. I'm all right, though," she said faintly. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

  "He dies," Miles repeated.

  The three men formed a protective triangle around them as they pushed the shuffling Cindy through the crowded room. No one protested, no one barred their way. Erin held her breath and crossed her fingers. Out the door… sudden quiet and a blast of cool, bracing oxygen. Now just the length of the parking lot, and they were home free.

  The door of the club swung open, and music blasted out. "Hey! You guys! Where the fuck do you think you're going with that girl?"

  "Oh, thank God," Sean murmured. "Finally, some action."

  Connor pressed his keys into Erin's hand. "Get your mom and sister into the car. Quick. We need to have a talk with that guy."

  "But you—"

  "Get them into that car and start it up. Now."

  His tone left no room for argument. She bundled Mom and Cindy into the backseat, slammed the door shut, and leaped into the driver's side. Cindy sobbed in Mom's arms, and Mom was crooning comforting sounds. Neither of them seemed even remotely aware of the dangerous drama unfolding outside. She started up the car. Connor's phone was lying on the seat. She snatched it up and clutched it like a weapon.

  Her heart beat so hard, it was about to burst out of her chest.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Billy Vega swaggered out of the doorway. Connor drew a mental sigh of relief. He was a tall, dark guy, well dressed, with florid, sensual good looks and a gym rat's body: thick through the upper body, rigid through the midsection, overdeveloped shoulders hunched over, hammy fists dangling like an ape. No worries.

  The blond girl who had pushed past them in the corridor darted out the door after Billy. More guys filed out, arraying themselves behind Billy: five, six, seven, eight… nine of them in all, counting Billy. With Sean at his side, the odds were still OK if nobody pulled a gun. He really, really didn't want to involve the gun, since that often necessitated shooting the gun, which was a fucking dangerous mess. He was still hoping to fly below the radar with this thing, but if bullets started to zing, he could kiss that fond hope good-bye.

  He hefted the cane and wished that Davy or Seth were there.

  "That girl was with me," Vega said. "Who the fuck are you guys?"

  Sean nudged him. "Got any preference as to how we handle this?"

  "Just make sure he's fit to talk afterwards," Connor replied softly. He addressed Billy. "Cindy told her sister that she wanted to go home. We're just here to give her a ride. We don't want any trouble."

  "Hear that, guys? He doesn't want any trouble," Vega sneered. "Isn't that sweet. Too fuckin' bad, asshole, because you found some."

  The loose battle formation started closing in on them. He and Sean sauntered closer. He made a big show of his limp as he scanned them for signs of weapons. Miles hesitated, and hurried after them.

  Connor caught Sean's eye and nicked a questioning glance toward Miles. Sean gave him a who-knows? eyebrow twitch.

  Too many unknowns. He wished he'd told Erin to gun the engine and drive straight home, but she probably wouldn't have obeyed him anyhow. There was no way out of this now except for through.

  Billy's eyes narrowed when they landed on Miles. "I know you. You're that stupid band's autistic sound geek, huh? What's your name again, you big ugly fuck? Igor?"

  "You hit her," Miles said. His voice was shaking.

  "She was begging for it," Billy said. "The useless bitch."

  Miles lowered his head like a bull and charged. Connor and Sean both hissed in anticip
atory agony as Billy jerked aside, ducking the wild roundhouse punch, and rammed his fist up into Miles's belly. Miles doubled over, choking, and Billy followed up with a knee to Miles's face and a vicious elbow jammed down into his kidney. The kid went down like a felled tree. Shit. They should've coached him, but watching X-Files videos in the basement was no way to train for a street fight. Everybody had to learn the hard way. There were no shortcuts.

  No time to fret, though, because Miles's opening gambit was the signal for the fun to begin. The goons closed in, and they got real busy, moving as if through unmeasurable slow-time, a state that he always slipped into in combat situations. Sean exploded into action at his side with a spinning kick that caught one of Billy's thugs in the teeth and sent him bouncing off the hood of a car. Flashy, as always.

  Billy ran straight at him, bellowing. Connor flipped the cane up into guard. Billy lunged for the bait and gripped the cane, and Connor flip-twisted it, trapped Billy's wrist with his hand, and whipped it down until the bones in Billy's wrist snapped.

  Billy lurched forward, sucking air. Connor tossed him away and spun to deal with the guy behind him. He parried the punch, sliced the heel of his hand down onto the bridge of the guy's nose, and kneed him smartly in the groin. A gurgling shriek; two down. Another attack; a sweep of the cane, a quick, judicious elbow jab to the throat, and he used the guy's own leftover momentum to fling him straight into his buddy, who was coming at Connor from behind. The two men crashed to the ground. The point of his boot to the kidney finished off the first guy, a forefinger stabbed into the soft pulse point under the ear finished off the second. Four down. Not bad, for a gimp.

  Miles stumbled to his feet again and launched himself at Billy. Billy toppled, broke his fall with his broken wrist, and screamed. Miles started pummeling him. Good man. Connor left him to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sean smash one guy's kneecap and then spin through the air like a dervish as he went for the next attacker, but he couldn't pay real close attention; the last two guys were circling him warily and both of them had pulled out knives. He danced back, panting, and tried to keep both in his peripheral vision. His bad leg was trembling beneath him.

  Darkness rippled, a flurry of movement. One of his opponents flew, shrieking, across the parking lot. He smashed into the grill of a big Chevy pickup truck and slid limply to the ground, twitching.

  The other looked around himself, backed away, and fled.

  "Hey, Davy," Connor called out.

  Davy stepped out of the shadows, dressed in black. He tossed the blade he'd taken from the guy up into the air, and caught it, nodding his approval. "Nice balance," he said calmly. "Maybe I'll keep this one."

  "Thanks," Connor said.

  "You're welcome."

  "But I could've taken them on my own," Connor added.

  Davy looked amused. "You're still welcome."

  Connor looked around. Eight guys were sprawled out in various attitudes of pain and penitence on the ground. Miles landed a wet-sounding punch in Billy's face and hauled off for another.

  "Whoa. Miles! Hold off on him," he called out.

  "He hit Cindy," Miles panted.

  "So beat him to a pulp later. First let me interrogate him. OK?"

  Miles subsided, and dragged himself to his feet. He was shaking so violently he could hardly stand. His mouth and jaw were covered with blood that streamed from his broken nose, and one of the lenses of his glasses was shattered. "I want to learn to fight like you guys."

  The three of them exchanged wry glances. Miles had no idea what it cost to learn to fight like that. Their father had taught them hand-to-hand combat practically since they could walk, and lucky for them, since Crazy Eamon's wild boys were the target of every angry asshole spoiling for a fight in all of Endicott Falls and its environs. They would have gotten slaughtered regularly if they hadn't trained like commandos.

  Eamon had been an expert in several disciplines, but as time went on, each brother developed his own preferences. Davy was drawn to the mystical stuff: kung fu, aikido, tai chi, and all the woo-woo philosophy that went with it. Connor preferred the angular, straightforward practicality of karate. Sean favored the acrobatic stuff, full of flying kicks and back flips. And that training had saved their asses. Many times. Just as their father had assured them that it would.

  Crazy Eamon's legacy was a formidable one. Miles had no idea.

  But the tenderhearted Sean just clapped Miles gently on the back. "Sure, man. Just be prepared to work your ass off for hours every day until every muscle screams for mercy and every inch of you drips with sweat. You'll get the hang of it."

  Miles looked daunted, but he wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve, nodding. "I don't want to ever get slammed like that again."

  "No guarantees, buddy," Sean warned. "I've gotten slammed plenty of times. There's always some trick you don't know."

  "Or they come at you six at a time," Davy said. "That's always a bitch. But training helps."

  "Speaking of getting slammed," Connor said. "I saw you leave your balls wide open twice, Sean. Pull up your guard. It's not about looking good, it's about walking away in one piece. Show-off."

  "None of those clowns could've gotten inside my guard if I'd given them a written invitation," Sean snapped. "And you're a fine one to talk about stupid risks with your track record, bozo. If you see me do it in a real fight, then you can give me hell. Until then, shut up."

  Erin barreled into him and grabbed him. "Are you all right?"

  The anxiety in her voice made him smile. "Miles got pounded pretty bad, but he's on his feet," he told her. "Nothing to worry about."

  "Nothing to worry about? Nine against three? Is that what you call nothing to worry about? God, Connor! It happened so fast!"

  He tried to put his arms around her, but she jerked away. "You didn't tell me that was going to happen!" she shouted.

  "You didn't say one word about fighting with him! You said 'talk,' remember? Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, Connor McCloud! Do you hear me?"

  "He started it," Connor protested. "And I didn't—"

  "Don't even try!" she yelled. "Just shut up!"

  He tried kissing her, but she was having none of it. "Look, babe," he soothed. "Why don't you go on back to the car and look after your mom and Cindy while we have a talk with Billy?"

  "Let the little lady go and be good behind the scenes while the big manly men do their big manly thing, hmm?"

  Erin's eyes were afire with anger. God, she was so red-hot when she was mad. It was making him hard just looking at her.

  "Hey," Davy called. "You can spare yourself this argument, Con. Miles clobbered him." Davy crouched over Billy, touched his throat with his fingertip, peeked under his eyelids. "He's out of it for a while."

  The rat-faced blonde ran over to Billy and flung herself across his limp form. "You killed Billy!" she shrilled. "Fuckin' murderers!"

  Connor rubbed his aching leg, and visualized a cigarette with a sharp pang of longing. "Nobody's killed anybody, nor will they," he said wearily. "I guess we just have to wait for him to come around."

  "The police will be here any minute," Erin said.

  "Police?" Connor gaped, appalled. "What do you mean, police?"

  Erin held up his cell phone. "Of course, the police!" she said tartly. "What do you expect? Nine guys attack you all at once, and what am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Wave pom poms?"

  "You were supposed to let me deal with it!" he snarled. "I don't want to talk to the police! The police cannot help me right now!"

  "That's just tough!" she shot back. "You scared me to death! Now deal with the consequences!"

  He glanced at Sean and Davy. "Let's get the fuck out of here. We can hunt down Billy some other time."

  Sean turned to address the crowd of gawkers gathering around them. "Public service announcement, everybody! The cops will be here any minute, so start thinking about your witness statements now!"

  The crowd melted
away like magic.

  The back door of the Cadillac was open, and Barbara Riggs was half in, half out, eyes frozen wide. He handed her his cane. "Would you throw that into the back window for me, Mrs. Riggs?" he asked. "Let's get going. I'm sure you want to get Cindy home."

  He got into the car, and waited for the back door to swing shut It did not. He followed Erin's startled gaze, and jerked his head around.

  Barbara Riggs was marching across the parking lot, clutching his cane like a club. The evening, which could never have been called normal to begin with, was about to take a turn for the seriously weird.

  "Which car is Billy's?" Barbara demanded.

  Miles daubed at the fresh flow of blood from his nose with his gory sleeve and pointed across the lot, to where a low-slung silver Jaguar glowed softly in the dark, like a phosphorescent sea creature.

  Connor ran to stop her, but it was too late. She lifted his cane high over her head and whipped it down over the Jag's windshield with admirable force. The glass crunched and sagged. Fault lines shivered through the entire gleaming surface. Crash, a blow to the other side of the windshield. Smash, out went the right headlight; crash, tinkle, there went the left. Driver's side window, smash. She whipped the cane down and managed to make a pretty decent dent in the roof. The white purse dangled and swung over her arm with each movement.

  There was an awful, ponderous inevitability to it, like watching a wrecking ball taking down a brick building. She was drawing another crowd, too. It wasn't every day that you saw a middle-aged lady in a pale pink pantsuit bashing a hundred-thousand-dollar car to garbage.

  "What's her problem?" a big, swag-bellied biker type asked him.

  Connor shrugged helplessly. "He owes her money."

  Pop, crash, crunch, the mayhem went on and on, until Erin's anxious voice penetrated the noise. "Mom? Mom! Listen to me, Mom!"

  Barbara looked up, tears streaming down her face. "That son of a bitch hit my baby!"

  "I know he did, Mom, but she's going to be OK. And the guys beat him up for you already, didn't you see?"