by Janene Wood
Weaving her way through the intermittent stream of homeward-bound traffic, she crossed to the other side of the road, huddling deep into her lamb’s-wool coat and thinking enviously of her friends back home. Right now, they would all be wandering around in shorts and t-shirts and complaining about the heat. And it wasn’t even summer yet.
The off-license was doing a brisk trade for so early in the week. As she made her way to the red wine aisle, Kate passed a tall, broad-shouldered man in an expensive suede coat, examining a bottle of port. His shoulder-length hair hung loose over the top of his collar, and she felt an almost irresistible urge to sidle up to him and run her fingers through his long, wavy locks. She willed him to turn around so she could compare his face to the elegant contours of his body, but their thoughts must have been on different wavelengths because he refused to cooperate. He’s probably gay, she concluded, irrationally put out. Or ugly as all hell.
Kate sidled past an overweight woman unashamedly berating her much smaller husband in a loud, toneless voice. Smiling ruefully at the resigned expression on the poor man’s face, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for being blessed with enough strength of character to insist on being treated with respect in her own relationships. She would rather live out the rest of her life as a lonely spinster than share it with someone who didn't treat her as an equal.
After spending a few minutes comparing several different varietals, she decided on a favourite Australian Shiraz and a Cab-Sav whose label simply appealed to her.
By the time Kate reached the head of the checkout, there was a long line behind her. While searching in her bag for her purse, a wiry man in black jeans and khaki anorak came striding through the entrance toward the checkout – which didn’t seem odd, until she looked up and saw the black balaclava pulled down over his face, concealing everything but his eyes. Her gaze dropped to the gun in his hand and her stomach clenched into a tight fist.
The gunman halted a metre from the counter and raised the pistol. “Nobody move!” he shouted. “Do what I say and no one will get hurt! You!” he ordered the cashier, “put your hands up where I can see them!”
The lanky lad behind the register was white as a sheet, but raised his hands obediently.
“The rest of you get on the floor!” The gunman made a sweeping gesture that encompassed everyone in the checkout queue. Kate hurried to obey, but the gunman grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Not you, sweetheart. You can stay with me.” He raised the gun to her temple. “If anyone tries to be a hero, I’ll blow her fucking head off!”
The terrified customers hastened to obey. Kate struggled to keep her stomach contents where they belonged.
Pulling a canvas bag from his coat pocket, the gunman tossed it to the cashier. “Put the money in there. Quickly now, or I’ll shoot your fucking balls off!” he ordered, waving the gun at the lad’s groin. The cashier turned even paler and fumbled with the till until it opened with an over-loud ding. In the sudden silence, the muffled rise and fall of anxious voices drifted forward from the rear of the shop.
“You lot back there!” yelled the gunman, “move down here where I can see you!”
More muted mutterings ensued, but finally the overweight woman and her brow-beaten husband stepped forward, leading a nervous procession. Three grungy-looking youths followed in single file. A man in an ill-fitting suit shuffled forward next, his fists clenched tightly by his side, followed by a sultry looking girl with long, black hair, who halted abruptly when she noticed the gun. It wasn't until the gunman yelled at her to get down that she finally fell to her knees.
The masked man turned back to Kate and placed a heavy arm around her shoulders. His breath stank of stale garlic and beer and it was all she could do not to gag. With his free hand, he stroked her cheek, turning her insides to water.
“Havin' a nice evening, darlin’?” he smirked. He seemed perfectly at ease. “I hope you didn’t have any pressing plans, I wouldn’t want to keep you from anything important.”
This isn’t his first time, realised Kate angrily, trying to control the trembling that had started in her fingertips and was moving up her arms. He was far too relaxed for this to be his first time.
The gunman leered at her suggestively and squeezed her arm. Kate winced but kept her focus on the floor in front of her, telling herself it would all be over soon.
“You know what, sweet-tits? Why don’t you come with me and we’ll have a nice little party, just the two of us?”
“Let her go!” cried the girl with the long, dark hair. “Take your filthy hands off her!” Then she leapt to her feet and charged the gunman like an enraged bull.
Kate wondered at the girl’s sanity; she was completely unarmed and must know she had no chance of overpowering a fully-grown man with a gun! Laughing, the gunman pushed Kate aside. Gripping the pistol by the muzzle, he raised it to shoulder-height and smashed the side of the girl's head with the butt of the pistol. There was a sickening crunch and Kate thought her skull must surely have been crushed. The girl staggered sideways, faltering momentarily, but regained her balance by sheer force of will. Blood streamed from a gash above her left ear, but she seemed unaware of it, like a junkie high on PCP.
Fearlessly, the girl stared the gunman down. Slowly, she took a step toward him, snarling like a cornered animal. Very deliberately, she reached into her boot and extracted a nasty looking knife. She brandished the blade at him and took another step. The man eyed her steady progress. Even with the blade in her hand she was hardly a credible threat, but this time when he raised the gun, he pointed the muzzle the way its makers had intended.
Kate impulsively reached for the bottle of Shiraz on the counter and lunged forward, swinging. At the same time, there was a deafening BOOM! as the gun went off. The bottle came down on the back of the gunman’s head, exactly where she had aimed. She felt the immediate satisfaction of a job well done, but all he did was stagger forward a few steps. Fall! she willed him, but his feet remaining squarely beneath him.
Kate couldn't believe it! He should be flat out on the floor!
“You fucking bitch!” he spat, rubbing his head with his free hand and glaring daggers at Kate. She took a step back as the consequences of her actions hit her: it was only a matter of time before he pointed the gun at her. And shot her. Just as she was contemplating her impending death, a large ursine figure leapt out of the fortified wine aisle and wrapped a muscular arm around the neck of the gunman. With seeming ease, the bear-like man wrested the weapon from the gunman’s grasp and kicked his legs out from under him.
The entire fracas had taken little more than a minute.
Kate gradually became aware that she was safe...thanks entirely to the quick thinking of the hirsute stranger. If not for him, she would be the one lying on the floor right now. Dead.
Her first impression of him was of a very large, very angry, grizzly bear, but on closer inspection, she saw he was entirely human – more like a young Grizzly Adams than a real grizzly bear. His dark-brown hair was long like Adams’, swept back off his forehead to reveal a serious face, the lower portion of which was covered by a full, thick beard. He and Adams shared an aura of indomitability that was as rare as it was comforting. It emanated from him in invisible waves, leaving Kate with a sudden, overwhelming sense of security that she had only ever experienced once before. It sent an uncontrollable yearning through her trembling body, as unexpected as it was disturbing. Taking a deep breath, she shuddered once and sent it on its way.
Keeping one eye on his prisoner, Grizzly calmly removed the magazine and chambered round from the confiscated handgun and dropped them into the pocket of his suede coat. The gunman lay face down on the floor, harmless now, yet Kate backed away warily, her entire body still trembling uncontrollably. It was shock and the after-effects of the adrenaline rush, she supposed dispassionately, as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself in an effort to control the shaking. It was to be expected after facing the possibility of sudden, violent dea
th. But the shame she felt at her recklessness was also a contributing factor, she was sure. The risk she had taken, not only with her own life but with the lives of everyone else present, had been foolhardy in the extreme. If Grizzly hadn’t been there to back her up, who knew how badly things might have turned out?
“Are you okay?” Grizzly asked her, his voice low and solicitous. He stood over the downed gunman, watching him carefully until he could be properly restrained. Kate nodded mechanically, her eyes downcast. She averted her face and wiped an errant tear from her cheek.
Grizzly frowned, but left her to her own devices. Bending down, he pulled the balaclava off the bandit’s head, revealing an acne-scarred face, framed by long, greasy hair.
“Keep still now, mate, or I’ll shoot your fucking balls off.” Grizzly spoke just loud enough for Kate and the cashier to hear. The role of rescuer seemed to come easily to him; he did what was necessary without hesitation or fanfare. He calmly tied the youth’s wrists behind his back with a ball of twine dug up from under the counter, then picked up the phone to call the emergency operator.
Kate emerged from her miasma of self-pity long enough to spare a thought for the dark-haired girl who had foolishly – albeit bravely – tried to protect her. Either she had been incredibly lucky, or the gunman was an incredibly bad shot.
Kate searched for the girl amongst the other customers, but she was nowhere to be seen. She was about to enquire if someone knew where she had gone when a flat, shiny object across the floor piqued her interest. Quickly decamping, she made a wide circle around the other customers until she reached the spot where she’d seen the object. Bending down, she saw it was a silver purse, a cheap vinyl thing, probably picked up from a flea market for a pound or two.
“That belongs to the nut-job who nearly got us all killed,” said a female voice. Kate stood and came face to face with the large woman who had been abusing her husband earlier. “She must have dropped it when she scarpered out of here.”
“The girl with the knife? She left?” Kate was unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
The woman nodded. “Flew out of here in a real hurry.”
“No doubt she’ll come back when she realises she left her purse.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” said the woman. “She’ll need to get that arm taken care of first. By then the shop will be shut.”
Kate frowned, confused. “What was wrong with her arm?”
“Duh! She was shot, remember?” the woman retorted irascibly.
“Oh!” gasped Kate, taken aback. “I thought he missed!”
“Nope. In one side and out the other; clean but bloody. On the telly, they call that a through and through,” the woman advised smugly, going on to expound the virtues of “The Sweeney”, her favourite police drama. She was soon too preoccupied to notice Kate's inattention.
Tuning out the woman's droning voice, Kate frowned and walked away, noticing blood on the floor for the first time. It was only a few drops here and there, but the trail ran all the way to the entrance, confirming the woman's version of events. She hoped the poor girl wasn’t badly hurt and wished she’d had a chance to talk to her and thank her for intervening. Then it occurred to her that perhaps she still could.
Unzipping the silver purse, Kate took a quick look inside, then tipped the meagre contents onto the counter. Unfortunately, there was no identification, just a wad of pound notes, a comb and a lipstick. Wait a minute... What was that, tucked into a pocket on the inside? It was a photograph, limp and creased from frequent handling. It was worn around the edges, but when she unfolded it, the two subjects were easily recognisable. Kate stared at the picture in disbelief. It was a familiar image; one she had seen before. In fact, as a child, she had stared at it for hours on end, speculating on its significance. How did it come to be in some stranger's possession when she had hidden it where no one could possibly find it?
However she looked at it, Kate was unable to come up with a plausible explanation for it being here. She surreptitiously tucked the picture into her pocket and replaced the other items in the silver bag, which she left on the counter in case the girl came back for it later. She would probably wonder what happened to her photo, but since she had no right to it in the first place, that was just too bad.
Grizzly finally put down the phone and made his way over to the erstwhile captives hovering uncertainly in the middle of the shop.
“Okay people, the cops are on their way,” he announced calmly. “Stretch your legs by all means, but stick around until they get here. They’ll want to talk to all of you.”
The small group surrounded him, showering him with thanks and praise, the men shaking his hand and the women hugging and kissing him, much to his obvious discomfort. Kate watched from a distance, detached and slightly amused, as he graciously accepted their thanks and shrugged off their compliments. The distant wail of sirens announced the imminent arrival of the police and a few minutes later, two plain-clothed detectives and a pair of uniformed officers arrived to arrest the gunman and take statements from the witnesses. There was still no sign of the dark-haired girl.
Forty minutes later, after giving her version of events, Kate was preparing to leave when a wry voice behind her remarked, “Never bring a knife to a gun-fight... Isn’t that what they say?”
Kate spun around, frowning. Grizzly stood a few paces away, watching her intently. Up close, he was more physically imposing than she had realised, towering over her by half a foot or so. He was infuriatingly calm, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day of the week. His brown eyes bored straight into her, yet revealed nothing of his own state of mind.
“You know, you very nearly got yourself killed back there.” His voice was vaguely reproachful. There was something eerily familiar about the timbre of it, but Kate's troubled mind refused to make the necessary connection. It was the eyes that finally gave him away; eyes that were impossible to mistake. She wondered that she hadn’t known him immediately, but his was the very last face she had expected to see, here or anywhere.
Very little escaped those deep-set, fathomless brown eyes. They could eloquently express his deepest desire, or just as easily trick you into believing he felt nothing at all. Yet the rest of him was so changed, it wasn’t really surprising she hadn't known him at first. Back when they were lovers, a lifetime ago, he had been a mere boy compared to the man he was now. Back then, he was clean-shaven and clean-cut and altogether more…civilized than he appeared now. There was something untamed about him now that she found vaguely alarming. And alluring at the same time. There was a new maturity to his features and Kate wondered if regret had played any part in the changes etched upon his face.
Lost for words, yet calmer than she would have believed possible, she eyed him unashamedly up and down, noticing how his body had filled out and how comfortable he was in his own skin. She had an almost irresistible urge to reach out and place her hands against his chest, the same way she had done a hundred times before, just to reassure herself he was real. But her hands remained obediently at her side. Where they would stay.
He was dressed conservatively in a pair of tailored black trousers, blue shirt and tan suede jacket. With sudden clarity she remembered noticing him earlier, remembered admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the way his torso tapered smoothly to a narrow waist. The desire to run her fingers through his long, thick hair lingered, but she knew it now for an impossibility. Had she recognised him on some primitive, instinctive level that her conscious mind had refused to acknowledge? She had definitely recognised the comforting sense of security he exuded so effortlessly. It should have warned her, but circumstances being what they were…
His clothes were well made and expensive and suited him well, she realised, surprised...not at how good he looked, just taken aback by the unfamiliar attire. She had only ever seen him in army fatigues or shorts. Or nothing at all. Kate flushed as she remembered the warmth of his flesh beneath her hands...
He spoke with such easy familiarity that Kate had to force herself to remember their history and the years it had taken to repair the damage he had wrought, and, if she was perfectly honest with herself, the desolation that still echoed in her soul. He had no right to walk up to her as if there was no gaping chasm between them and make goddamn small talk! Where was the acknowledgment of his betrayal? Of her sundered spirit? Apparently the dissolution of their relationship meant nothing to him. Yet despite her best efforts, she still dreamed of him, waking occasionally with tears on her cheeks, wondering how the hell she had ended up here, so empty and alone.
But the feelings always passed, just as soon as her head cleared sufficiently to remember the unpalatable truth of his faithlessness.
She had worked hard to make a new life for herself and to put aside the memory of the promises they'd made to each other, succeeding for the most part. She wasn’t about to throw it away now, by allowing him any sort of access to her new life.
The old familiar fury was beginning to build inside her as long-suppressed memories attempted to squeeze their way through the armour around her heart. But she was stronger now and more self-aware than ever before; anger was too self-destructive an emotion to indulge in. She reined it in with every last ounce of her self-control. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, to return his gaze and pretend she was as unaffected as him.
“You’re right; it was stupid. I didn’t think. I thought he was going to kill that girl and I reacted,” she explained calmly. For the third time that day, her legs threatened to collapse beneath her.