by J G Jerome
I look out the window for a while as I marshal my courage to finish the story. I feel Myra’s hand on my thigh.
From the front seat Trina says bitterly, “You should have killed her.”
I respond, “it’s not that simple, Trina.”
A couple of miles closer to Cottonwood, I continue. “Despite the knife in my chest, the police assumed I was at fault when they saw her battered body. She wasn’t a big woman - 5’3” with an athletic build and about 8% body fat - but I had trained with her. I actually met her on an op where she killed three terrorists. One of them was a male built like a bodybuilder; she beat the shit out of him until she could get behind him to finish him with a garrote. Anyway, I gave my statement. The only things that made them consider that I was telling the truth was the blood in the bed coupled with her handler showing up. She was still active at the time. Apparently, she had discussed her plan to kill me with him. He claimed she was ‘just venting.’ He married her early last year.”
I take a big breath and continue, “After that, I quit training seriously in martial arts. She only got a one-year sentence, based on the damage I did to her body. I visited her in the hospital. That’s when she accused me of cheating. I told her I didn’t. She asked where I had been. I just told her ‘Abu bin Hassan.’ She then wanted to know why I didn’t ask for her help. I admitted that I should have told her about it, but I was trying to protect her. That earned me a bitter laugh from her. I told her that I still loved her, but I couldn’t live with her and gave her the keys to the apartment and paid off six months of rent.”
Trina scoffs, “No way!”
“Trina, if you truly love someone, how do you stop? If you can tell me how, I would love to cut her loose. Remember, we were engaged. I was going to spend my life with her.” I keep looking out the window.
“That’s messed up,” she says as we pull past the Cottonwood city limits.
Myra asks, “Who is Abu bin Hassan?”
“He’s a hateful man that kills westerners in the name of God. I am not allowed to tell you more about it. I may tell you anyway, but let’s save that for another time - okay?”
“Yes, Beloved.”
We stop at the junction of AZ 89A preparing to turn right. I notice across the street a motorcyclist sitting in the Giant exit onto 89A.
“Hey Trina, did that guy on the Ducati pass us?
“Yes, Jack. He zipped off while you were getting the coffee.”
“I swear if that guy is a message from Abu bin Hassan, I’m going to reach down his throat and pull out his liver. My gun is my bag in the back.”
Trina exclaims, “You have a gun with you?”
“Survival measures,” I respond.
Myra says, “Stay calm, Jack. I’m sure it’s a coincidence.” I turn to look at her. She has a serious look on her face and is patting my thigh. I sit back in my seat and do some deep breathing exercises.
We depart the intersection and continue over the Verde River. About a mile past the Cornville exit, the Ducati passes us with a twin on his tail. Both give us the hairy eyeball as they pass.
“Damnit,” I say.
Trina starts shaking her head, “They are not after you, Jack.” I’m pivoting my head every which direction watching the road, the ladies, the sky.
Myra drops her head and says, “They’re probably after me.”
That gets my attention! “What? Why?”
Myra explains, “They are a different organization very similar to the one I represent. They are a competing faction. Best case, they are just harassing us. However, considering recent events, I suspect they intend to abduct me.”
“What?” I am ready to explode. “They do NOT get to take you from me.”
“Jack, you do not matter to them. If you get in the way, they will kill you without hesitation to avoid the inconvenience.”
“They can try. I am not helpless even without a gun,” I fume, shaking my head.
“Jack, look at me.” I turn to face Myra as she grasps my hand.
“Jack, I’m so sorry to do this to you, but it is for your protection. I love you too much to risk losing you.”
I’m sure my face is painted in colors of frustration and confusion. That’s when I notice Myra’s grey eyes begin to glow as she says in her warm, clear voice, “Jack Jerome! No matter what happens, you will sit in the SUV and not engage with any attackers unless I tell you to.”
I just look at her as her eyes fade.
Then I say, “Well, that explains the reflected moon glow on GC and Lunkhead’s faces.”
Myra is gobsmacked! “It didn’t work?”
“No shit?” Trina asks as she looks at me in the mirror.
“Watch the road, Trina,” I say. “Myra, maybe you need to use my full given name.”
She shakes her head, “That helps, but it’s really more to get the subject’s attention. Shit! Shit! Shit! Jack you have to stay in the car! Promise me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t promise that, Myra.”
“Jack, please. They have no remorse. You don’t know what they are capable of,” she cries.
“Myra, I’ve given you some clues, but you have no idea what I’m capable of either. I will not let them have you. Trina, have you called the police or your office for a support unit?”
A Cadillac Escalade passes us like a bat out of hell and disappears over the rise in front of us.
Trina responds, “I have no signal. Myra?”
“Me either.” I check mine, “nothing.”
I turn to look at Myra, “So, what is the glowing eyes thing?” She looks miserable.
“I’m not supposed to tell you.” She pauses, and then nods to herself. Mustering her courage “It is a way to influence someone to subvert their will. I’m strong at it. Trina is stronger. The opposition have many people that are much better than either of us.” She sighs heavily.
“Jack if they try to take me, you should let them, then go with Trina to get help in Sedona. They won’t hurt me. They may ransom me, but I’ll be okay.”
Trina clarifies, “It’s more likely they hold you captive and have every male in their court try to breed you until one of them succeeds.”
“What?” Okay, now I’m gobsmacked.
Myra snaps at Trina, “You’re not helping, dear!”
“What kind of sick fucks are these guys?”
Myra responds, “They paint themselves as the ‘good guys,’ and they have public opinion on their side. It’s crap, but that is the handicap I live and work under.”
“So, other than you being the most desirable woman I know, why do they want to breed you?”
“I’m the scion of my family. We are one of the most powerful families in our...group. If they can get a child on me, then they think they can influence our policies and actions.”
“You sound like you’re a royal.” She just looks at me.
I nod to myself for a moment, and then look her in the eye. “You are royal. Your opponents want to impregnate you.” No response.
“Your opponents are generally considered the ‘good guys.’ You do magic that affects the mind, and they are better at it than your faction.” I pause to check my facts. “When all the possible have been eliminated, whatever is left, regardless of how improbable, is the truth.”
I shake my head and then spit it out. “What you mean to tell me you are the heir to the Winter Court of faerie?”
Myra eyes bug at that conclusion. “How did you come up with that?”
“I read a lot of weird shit. Your explanation set up royal and heir fairly easily with only a small leap. ‘Mind magic’ led me to Fae. ‘Good guys’ are generally the Summer Court, and if I recall things correctly, ‘light and illusion’ would put ‘influence magic’ squarely in their wheelhouse. Therefore, you’re Winter Court. Plus the whole porcelain-skin and moon glow from the eyes supports that. Although, I would have picked Trina as Summer Court by comparison.”
She hangs her head and nods.
I pull her to me, and wrap her in a hug. “My dearest Love, you and I are going to have a serious talk soon. I think we both have secrets we should share. Mine are hard to swallow, but I think yours are even harder.” She nods at me.
I kiss her with all the passion and frustration in my heart. She gives it all back to me. She pulls back. “This isn’t too much for you?”
I shake my head, “I am yours until they drag my cold dead corpse away, Myra.” I kiss her again.
“Hopefully it doesn‘t come to that. It would destroy me to lose you,” she said.
“Here we go,” whispers Trina.
Myra squeezes my hand to get my attention as the truck slows. I see two Escalades parked across the road where there is a sharp drop on the right and a driveway down on the left. I remember this place; it’s like a rest area below the site line with brush along the road.
A couple of soldiers that look like male models wave us off the road to the left while keeping a hand on the butt of their guns in shoulder rigs. Trina follows their instructions and drives across the approaching lane and down the slight incline. The two bikes are parked next to another Escalade, and their riders are standing with another four underwear models. The other two Escalades follow Trina into the rest area and park behind her.
Myra says, “Duck down, Jack. Maybe we can gain an advantage if they don’t see you. Whatever happens, do not throw your life away! I need you to survive! Worst case, let them take me and get help.”
I sink behind Trina’s seat and look into Myra’s eyes. I give her a short nod. “I’ll do all that I can, Myra.”
One of the drivers walks past Trina to stand to look in through the windshield. He points to where Myra is sitting. There is a knock on her window, and then a voice says “Please exit the vehicle, Princess. You will not be harmed.”
The guy in front of Trina points at her and holds a hand in a ‘stay there’ motion. I hear her sigh, and then she nods while flipping the guy the bird. I can’t see her face, but I imagine a small polite smile on her face.
“Look straight ahead until I close the door again, Jack.” I nod. “I love you, Trina.”
She responds, “Be careful, My Heart.”
Myra pops the latch and smoothly steps out. She steps around the door and firmly closes it. The ‘model-goon’ motions her towards a douchebag with a man-bun. She shakes her head and moves into the indicated direction. She walks about two steps past him, and he grabs her arm to stop her. Only then does she turn to look him in the eye. Douchebag waves Model Goon off towards our SUV. Once he has some private space, he talks to Myra barely moving his lips. Her expression indicates that his breath smells like ass.
“Trina, what weapons do you have here in the cab?”
“Myra’s pistol is under the passenger seat. There are two cold iron clubs under there, too. Plus I have my pistol and my Elven bladed knife.”
“I didn’t know Elven blades were a thing. Something to discuss later. Cold iron hurts fae, right?”
“Some more than others. The big help is that it has a good probability of disrupting a temporarily charmed item if you hit the item. It’s useful. Otherwise, it only has a major effect on these guys if you break the skin to cause an allergic reaction. Still works great as a club.”
I look around and spot Myra’s clutch purse. That might hold a pistol.
“Is she a good shot?” I find the pistol and pull it out.
“Deadly.” I confirm there is a full mag and a round in the chamber.
“If I toss her a pistol, is she likely to catch and start shooting?” I release the safety.
“Depends on the toss.”
“Yeah, that’s a crap idea.” I put her pistol under the flap of her clutch purse. Then I reach for the clubs. They’re about 18” long. “How many do you think you could hit with the truck?”
“One or two. I’ll lose surprise as I put it in gear and rev it.” I slide the bars into my left sleeve and hold them in place with my pinkie, ring, and middle finger.
“So if I create a distraction and you aim for the left side of that gaggle, that should drive them into a mass, and maybe you break one or two. One or two may get out on your side. Can you cap ‘em then?”
“Definitely. Is this the plan?” I ensure the pistol is oriented properly to allow Myra to grip it in one move.
“I’m open to suggestion.”
“Nah. Let’s kill some creeps before they grope my girlfriend.”
“I’m in. In case I never said it, Trina...” I slide to the door Myra used to exit.
“What?”
“...you’re a fucking hot, awesome woman. I kinda like the idea Myra put in my head,” I say with a deadpan expression.
“You’re an ass,” she laughs. I wink at her, take a big breath and blow it out as I pop the door. My feet touch the ground, and I close the door with my elbow visibly holding onto the bag as though it was the most precious thing on earth.
Channeling an enthralled GC from the airplane, I walk steadily towards Myra. I say in a sing-song voice. “Mistress! Trina said you need your purse. You forgot your purse, Mistress!” As I get close to Myra, Model Goon steps toward me, but Douchebag waves him off. ‘Your funeral, douche.’ I keep walking. “Mistress, I have it! I have your purse.” I try to keep a vacant look on my face. Myra looks at me quizzically. “Right here, Mistress!” I’m two steps away, when I rotate the purse and extend it with both hands. Myra looks at it, pauses, and reaches for it with both hands.
She says, “Thank you, Jack. That was very kind of you,” as she grasps the clutch under the bottom with her left hand. I take one more step to put me in Douchebag’s line of sight in front of Myra. I see her grasp the grip of the pistol. ‘First objective complete. Let’s dance.’
I pivot-and-launch to drive a right uppercut into Douchebag’s solar plexus. ‘Arrogant fuck.’ He starts to fold over my fist. I let the clubs slide down into my left hand as my right flows up and across my torso to put the point of my elbow into his right carotid. He sags to the ground as I raise the clubs and grab one in the right hand. I step back and whip the short end of the right club into Douchebag’s temple. It caves in nicely, and then his head flips back as the left club sinks into his spine below his skull. I hear quiet pops from Myra’s gun as I drive the long end of the right club across the top of he head, leaving a nice crease across it. I knee him in the chest and he drops bonelessly. I step across his corpse.
There are a number of little douchebags, let’s call ‘em Douchettes, reaching for guns, while the two bike riders appear to wield long blades. I step towards them as I hear the truck roar. Trina manages to get three of them. I’ll need to circle around to check on them once we deal with the rest.
The lead biker carries a sword similar to a Marine sabre in a sheath at his side. He lifts his right hand to lift his visor to reveal glowing blue eyes. I feel a compulsion to bow as he looks at me. I shrug internally, and I drop my weight enough to make him think I’m considering it. The magician quick-draws his sword and whips it towards my neck. I rapidly drop low and slam a club into his lead knee as the blade whips over my head. I follow the blade with the other club to smack his elbow. As he twists and falls I hit him in the heart with one club as I circle the other to come behind him to smack his helmet to drive him face down.
I kneel on his back, but before I can hit him in the back of the neck, the other rider yells as he tries to plunge an 18” dagger into my throat. I step forward over his compatriot and thrust the right-hand club up to deflect the blade, which unfortunately cuts off the end of the club into a point. ‘Damn, that blade is SHARP!’ I follow-up by hammering the left club into his elbow above the green gauntlet on his right hand, which causes him to drop the blade. I shift forward in a bow maneuver and thrust the sharpened end of the club under his jaw up into his mouth. His right hand dropped to mine. ‘That couldn’t be fatal.’
All during my dancing with the biker Douchettes, I hear a variety of gunshots. All of them are curi
ously quiet compared my Sig 9mm in the car, but I’ve no doubt they’re equally lethal. Leaving the club-spear in his head, I grab the latest biker’s jacket and maneuver to get his body between myself and the mob of Douchettes with guns. I manage to get behind him and duck down. Using his head and body for cover, I assess what’s going on. My shield’s head snaps back, and I see Trina scanning away from me back to the pile of corpses lying between us. A green scarf emerges on its own off the dead-guy as I lower him to the ground. The scarf wraps around my left wrist, and then it transforms into a dark green bracer around my forearm. Before I can freak out, I hear a voice in my head say, *Relax. I am an ally.*
*Great,* I think. *I have two voices in my head now.*
The new voice says, *At least you had one to begin with. The last boor barely had two thoughts to rub together.* I see Trina and Myra scanning over their pistols. No one else is moving.
I think back, *Quiet for now. We’ll talk later.*
I see the dagger on the ground at the last biker’s feet. I push him to fall flat on his face. I pick up the dagger. Kneeling on his back, I pull the helmet off his head. Then I put the point of the dagger into the indentation behind his right ear. I push the dagger the width of my hand into his skull. I repeat the procedure with the other biker. Then I walk over to the three car crash victims and slide the dagger into each heart.
I check all gunshot victims for a pulse. I give each of them the heart treatment, too.
The ladies are standing in front of Trina’s SUV, guns at their sides. “Are you both okay?” They both look at me and nod, satisfaction in Trina’s eyes, tears in Myra’s.
“Trina, I need a bag to collect all the weapons. Do you have something?”
“Yes, I’ve got something.” She goes to the back of the SUV.
I kiss Myra on the cheek. “Are you sure, you’re okay?”
“The killing has been going on for millennia. The rape, murder, thievery, lies, and slavery...for millennia with very little variation.” She looks me in the eye. “When will we ever learn?” she weeps. “We’re supposed to compliment each other, not destroy each other!”