by J. A. Coffey
And they would fall.
Bat boy lumbered in, the Slugger raised like an axe intended to chop him down. Darius slipped sideways as the bat raced down, grabbed it and continued its arc, bending it back around behind the man and twisting it from his hands. He then continued the circle, using the handle to jab the man in the back of the neck as he fell forward, knocking him out.
One down, three to go.
And now he was armed.
He swung it like a baton, back and forth, side to side, creating a dizzying figure eight in the air intended to confuse and intimidate his opponents.
They gathered closer, and when one lunged, Darius spun away from him, following through in one move to pound the man in the back with the bat. The other two charged, and Darius stepped into that realm of utter calm, where he could see the moves his opponents would make the second before they decided to make them. He grabbed one man's wrist and twisted it backward, making the guy turn a pinwheel in midair before landing hard on his spine. The other went to punch him, but Darius grabbed that man's wrist and slipped it right by him, then draped his arm over that man's and bent him forward, then back, sweeping his legs off the ground with the flow of energy.
Satisfaction greeted him at the sound of hard flesh striking packed earth.
On and on they charged, these three, but Darius read each move as they came, smoothly using their own momentum against them, borrowing their centers of gravity and claiming them until they fell.
One reclaimed a bat and went to swing at his legs, but Darius did a hands-free somersault and avoided the blow, following through with his own momentum to grab the back of the man's arm. He brought his knee up hard and heard the crunch of the man's elbow snapping in two.
Two down.
Still they came, ignoring their fallen comrades.
It must have been quite a promised bounty.
They charged, and he twisted their fingers as they came, pushing them to the ground over and over, dodging their punches, avoiding their blows, watching as their anger made their moves more frantic, less controlled.
And ultimately, making them more tired.
One charged at his abdomen like a raging bull, and Darius grabbed his head and swooped his hand under the man's chin, making him somersault and land hard on his back, where he placed a fierce blow to the man's solar plexus, knocking him out.
And then, he saw the gun.
He was right in his belief that the leader was packing heat. He felt little vindication in that knowledge, though, as he watched the man who he was sure had a mile-long rap sheet hold the pistol steady at his head. Broken-arm man stumbled up the hill to the cars, and raging bull was still down, but he couldn't find the first one he took out with the bat.
And then he heard Jess' battle scream.
The gun was held close to his head, but he watched as Perp One braced for a charging Jess, knocked the tire iron out of her hand, and wrestled her into a bear hug.
Shit.
He watched Jess as if in slow motion as she tucked up into a ball in the man's arms, pounded her feet down on her captor's the way he had shown her, and then slammed her head into his face. The gun shifted aim from Darius to Jess, and he feared the gunman would shoot her when she placed a hard kick to her captor's groin. Darius moved to block the pistol, but somehow the man sensed his plan and elbowed him in the face.
Blinding light filled Darius' vision, and he felt his body drop to the ground amid Jess' scream.
*****
Jess raced over to Darius' prone form despite the gun being aimed in her general direction. The back of her head ached from where she bashed it into the man's face, and she felt blood welling from a fresh cut there. She wished Darius had forewarned her of self-inflicted injury. "Please, please don't shoot him."
She watched the man's jaw set as he glared at her.
"Please. We're getting married tomorrow. Please."
"Nothing personal," he said, and she thought she noted a bit of regret in his tone, like he said more than he intended. He cocked the gun and aimed it again.
"You don't want to kill us. We're good people who have done a lot for the community. Please." She cradled Darius' head along her lap, seeing the whites of his eyes rolled into his skull. "Darius." Not another concussion. No. Not now. Every warning from the hospital blared loud in her head. So close. So close to a happily ever after.
The man motioned with his gun. "Move away."
Tears burned so hotly she felt her throat close with the pain. "Please don't."
"Move!" he yelled, and Jess released Darius and crab-walked a few feet back.
Darius moved his head and opened his eyes, looking at her before focusing on the man looming overhead. "You'd shoot an unconscious man?"
"You're awake now."
The men locked gazes, and Jess felt that as long as Darius was conscious, he would win. "That was some elbow jab," Darius said as he fingered his socket. "Metal implants?"
The man's gaze hardened, narrowed into slits. "No."
Darius rolled to his feet, and the man backed up, saying, "Don't move."
"Come on," Darius said, staggering a bit as he placed his palms in the air and stepped closer. "Let's finish this like men."
The man turned sideways, holding the gun sideways as well. "Don' move, fukka."
Darius stood perfectly still, and the standoff lasted an interminable moment until the man straightened the gun, at which point she watched Darius lunge and grab him and pull him forward, twisting his arm and kneeing him hard in the chest as he lost his balance.
The man coughed and doubled over, and Darius continued the motion, using the man's arm like a crank to twirl him ass over teakettle, still maintaining his grip on the arm with the gun even after he crashed face-first on the ground.
Darius held the weapon fast in the perp's hand, twisting it back at an unnatural angle and she saw the man couldn't get up.
Sirens announced the arrival of the police, and Jess heard yelling and doors slamming as they apprehended the man with the broken arm as he tried bumbling away from the crime scene.
Tim raced down the slope, concern plastered all over his face as he scanned Jess to make sure she was fine, but she shook her head and pointed to Darius, her main concern.
Tim pulled out his cuffs and read the Miranda rights to the gunman after liberating the pistol from his hands. William came down the slope and gathered up the prisoner, and EMTs started rolling a gurney downhill to collect the remaining trash.
Darius seemed none-too-worse for the wear, but his bleeding scalp caused her no limit of concern. She cleaved to him, her life, her savior, her soon-to-be-lover, and knew she never wanted to be apart from this man for even a single day.
"Want to tell me what happened?" Tim asked, his paternal side obviously warring with his police side as his pen hovered over his notepad.
Jess pulled out her smart phone and said, "Here. I recorded the first part, until that goon started throwing rocks at Darius." She pushed a few buttons and then pressed the play button to show Tim.
"Only three minutes?" He asked, noting the time feature.
"Felt like twenty," Jess replied.
"Only felt like thirty seconds to me," Darius smiled, and she elbowed him in the ribs, making him double over in a feint.
Tim studied the video silently, replayed it, then handed the phone back to Jess. He regarded Darius with solemn eyes. "I can honestly say I've never seen anything like that before. I have to ask." He straightened up, arms crossed over his chest. "Could you have killed those men, had you so chosen?"
Darius faced him, feet spread, arms clasped behind his back, and Jess recognized the pose. "Aikido is not about killing but using an opponent's own power and momentum against him. But, to answer your question, yes. Had they been skilled in martial arts, or had I felt it was personal, I would have made different choices. Once Jess was in danger, though, I almost had to make that call. As it was, these were hired thugs, hired by my father, with no pe
rsonal vendetta against us. I do not want blood on my hands for their greedy mistakes or lack of judgment."
Tim's crow feet crinkled when he smiled, and Jess was keenly reminded of just how good a man he was. He squeezed Darius' shoulder and looked at her. "He's a keeper, Jess. Don't let go of him."
"I'm not. In fact," she stepped forward, touching his forearm with her request. "We're getting married tomorrow. Since my parents aren't here, and you've always been like a father to me, would you mind giving me away?"
Chapter Fourty-Two
It did not escape Beauregard's notice that he drove west into the sunset. The thugs he hired should have been more than sufficient to take down that young upstart who shared his name. He knew the boy competed, but those men he hired fought to live. There simply could be no comparison.
Once he had seen Darius and that strumpet emerge from the walled Alcatraz that Ollie had called home, Beauregard had used his walkie to radio in their driving location to his hired men before heading out of town.
The question was how long to wait to ask around for the body. It had to be long enough to show concern, and not too soon, since they had quarreled and would not likely talk so recently afterwards.
Too long, though, and he'd be out of cash.
And time.
And luck.
Seventeen miles separated him from his alibi, and he wadded up the casino tickets to make sure he didn't lose them.
He thought he should rent further out of town tonight.
Just to be safe.
He removed his sunglasses, no longer needing them in the waning light of day. He cracked the window, letting the warm summer wind wend its way into the car.
He noticed headlights behind him, and he touched the gas to maintain some distance. The road curved into a forest, effectively blocking out the remaining light, and he slowed to negotiate the numerous curves.
Something rammed into him from behind, and the car lurched forward from the impact. He grabbed the wheel, overcompensating from being shoved, careening all over the road and barely missing an oncoming car.
He got bumped again, but this time his hands remained locked on the wheel. The other car pulled up alongside him, disregarding the double-yellow lines, and a man in the passenger seat rolled down his window. "Hello, Beau."
Frankie B. One of Vito's henchmen. Beauregard dropped his chin in a nod.
"Pull over."
Little shoulder room existed in this stretch, but he slowed the car and continued until he saw a wider patch where he could park. The other car stopped as well.
Beauregard watched Frankie B. get out, leaving the driver safely ensconced in the driver's seat should a high-speed chase ensue.
Frankie B. came up and leaned into Beauregard's window, crowding him. "Where've you been, Beau?"
He felt sweat bead on his upper lip. "Gaining the last little bit I owe Vito."
"Oh, ho, ho." The man leaned back and looked at the other driver. "The last little bit, eh?" He leaned back in the window. "Vito told me to tell you those last four hundred ponies you dropped off all went to pay your back interest, like you ain't got enough to settle square with him. Looks like your value to Vito just went up a bit, eh, Beau?"
Sweat beaded under his palms, making the wheel slick as he gripped it. "That, that's not fair."
"Oh, ho." Frankie B. leaned in again. "You wanna talk fair? How 'bout me having to chase you all over God's blooming country? Why you have to go abandon your house, Beau? Why you take all the money out of your account? Clean out the jewels and valuables in your home? Why you gotta go and do that, eh? And look, you buy some hunk a' friggin' junk to drive. Lucky for me, Vito listens to the police scanner. Turns out you was stalking your boy. Had your name plastered all over the APB. Wasn't that nice of you to make it easy on Frankie B?"
"But." Beauregard looked up at Frankie. "I had the windows tinted. They couldn't have known it was me. That's impossible."
Frankie B. held his hands in the air. "I don't know what they seen. All I heard was them callin' in your hunk o' junk car. If you was smart, you'd of gotten new plates after that stunt."
"All I did was follow them to the interstate."
"Maybe they don't like the looks of cars like this in that part of town; you know what I'm saying?" He leaned back and crossed his arms, staring Beauregard down. "Hey. Tell you what I'm gonna do. You made it easy on me, I'm gonna make it easy on you. You come into the car, nice and easy, and I'll tell Vito you's a good guy. He won't rough you up too much. But you make it hard on me, then you making it hard on Vito. You hear me?"
The blood pounded so loudly in Beauregard's ears he had a tough time hearing over it. "I...I have been trying really hard to pay it all back. I don't want to die."
Frankie B. patted his chest. "Die? Did I say die? I never said die. I said you make it easy on me, I make it easy on you. Now," he pulled open the door. "You coming, or do I gotta get you?"
Long minutes passed. Beauregard tried to swallow but felt nothing in his mouth worth gulping. He needed a drink. Something. He looked up at Frankie B. "I...I think I'm coming into the inheritance."
"Good for you. I remember that story. Told it to me a few months ago. Lots of money your brother was going to leave you. Didn't it all go to your kid?"
"How did you know that?"
Frankie B. tugged his ear. "I hear things. I hear that if you wanted to really make money, you would of bet on your boy. He took down those four goons you brang him in three minutes. How's that for apples, eh?"
A feeling of mute horror filled Beauregard, and he could only gape at Frankie's words.
"I also hear you're wanted for arson, hit and run, and conspiracy to commit murder times two. Them's some big charges. But don't you fret, once Vito's done with you, you'll want the safety of prison. Now," he indicated the other car. "Your move, Beau."
He had lost. Again. Darius had taken down four hardened criminals- two with murder charges- and he'd done it in under three minutes. Vito turned the tables on him, increasing his debt three-fold. The house had been vandalized. The accounts were empty. Darius would win everything, damn his rotten soul.
Amazing how a fifteen-foot walk felt like the last mile.
Chapter Fourty-Three
"Finally getting married, eh?" The judge he'd known his whole life said with a smile and wink. "Before you do, come with me. There's something you need to see." He glanced at Jess and cleared his throat before addressing Darius. "You, um, may want to see this in private, first."
"No way." Darius wrapped a possessive arm around her waist and drew her to his side. "No secrets. I'm through with secrets."
He shrugged. "Very well. This should be...perhaps...the last of them, I'm sure."
Perhaps? Darius exchanged an uneasy glance with Jess before following Amos into his office.
Judge Abel slid a wooden panel aside in his office and turned the dial on the hidden safe therein. "Your uncle was a great friend of mine, Darius. Great friend. And Ollie wanted to share this with you for your wedding. I've had these in here," he flipped through a stack of CDs, "for almost three years. I'd hoped you'd remember to come to me to marry you." He winked as he produced a CD, labeled with Ollie's handwriting as "Darius Wedding, JS."
"With a name like Amos Abel, how could I forget?"
Curiosity made Jess incline her head to see the disks. "Are those all for Darius?"
"Most, more or less."
Now Darius tried to look. "May I see them?"
Amos had pulled out the TV/DVD player combo while he spoke and set in the disk to play. "No, son, those are to be doled out as your life or life-changing events warrant." He gave a wink to soften his words. Then his face softened to accompany his question. "Oh, he also had his urn delivered here. Would you like that now?"
Darius inhaled a deep breath before nodding. Amos nodded and headed into another room, coming back with an enormous red Chinese urn with a raised yellow dragon curling around the body.
It was heavy
.
Like his heart.
In the ensuing silence, Amos pressed a button to start and motioned to the chairs. As they sat, he turned off the lights and tried closing the blinds to the early morning light. "Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. I'll be three doors down on the left when you're through."
Darius schooled himself as best he could. The look Amos had leveled him gave him concern. How bad could it be?
The screen flickered and suddenly Ollie's smiling face stared straight at him.
"Ollie." He felt the tension leave him at that smile, just like always.
"Darius, my boy, if you're seeing this video then I'm dead and gone and my heartiest congratulations to you are in order. I'm so glad you and Jessie worked through your differences to get to this point."
Wide-eyed, Darius looked at her and mouthed, "Jessie?"
Jess suppressed a groan. "The only one to call me that."
But Ollie plowed on. "She's a fine, fine woman, my boy, and I'm glad to see your childhood flame fanned back to life." Ollie leaned toward the camera in a conspiratorial way and whispered, "Jessie, he moped for months after my brother yanked him away from you."
Darius felt his face burn. "I didn't mope."
"And don't listen to whatever refute he's feeding you," Ollie continued. "He loved you then and he loves you still."
Well, he couldn't argue that, so he wrapped an arm about her and drew her in.
"In case you haven't figured this out, my boy," he stroked half of his handlebar moustache and winked, "I orchestrated this whole Will change to get you two back together. With you avoiding your father by being overseas, and Jessie burying herself in her work- which, by the way, is fantastic, Jessie, don't let anyone tell you otherwise- I knew you two were never going to get back together. So I played you, my boy, played you like a great poker hand. But you kept going for a full house, or a royal flush, when in reality you both could win with a two of a kind."
Ollie winked at the screen, and Jess squeezed Darius' hand where it rested on her knee. Through a closing throat, Darius whispered, "He loved his card metaphors."