by J. R. Rain
Mercifully, the animal blood kept my hunger in check, but I wondered for how long. Would there come a day when animal blood would no longer suffice? I didn't know, but that thought alone was enough get me rocking in my front seat, holding my aching stomach.
A few minutes later, with my stomach still doing somersaults, I pulled away from the curb, drove past the strip club, and was soon trawling through some pretty rough-looking neighborhoods. Most homes here were surrounded with low, wrought-iron fences. Most windows were barred. More wrought iron. Clearly, iron work was alive and well here in Colton.
Five minutes later, while waiting for a light at a mostly empty corner, I watched a boy on a bike ride up to three young men lounging near a liquor store. The boy gave a tall black guy an envelope. The black guy gave the boy a baggie.
Bingo.
I pulled up next to them in a no-parking zone. I parked there anyway and got out. They stared at me. I was wearing jeans and a light sweater. They were wearing jeans and heavy jackets. The heavy jackets reminded me of the Michelin Man, or maybe something astronauts might wear in deep space. This wasn't deep space. This was a hood in Colton and I knew what was inside their jackets. Drugs and guns. I had to act quickly.
"Hey pretty lady - " one of them said, turning to me.
But that was as far as he got. I punched him hard enough to lift him off his feet and into the liquor store wall behind him. While he was busy passing out, I turned and punched the lone Hispanic guy square in the nose. His head snapped back so violently that I thought I might have broken his neck. One moment he was standing there. The next, he was on his back and bleeding.
The third guy was making a move to reach inside his too-thick jacket when I slapped him hard enough to get his attention, but not so hard as to knock him out cold. A few encouraging smacks later, followed by a knee to the groin, and I had the information I was looking for.
Their boss was guy named Johnny. And he was here. At the liquor store.
I smacked the third guy again, this time for selling drugs to kids, and sent him spinning into my minivan's front fender, which he promptly bounced off of, leaving a skull-sized dent. He lay unmoving on the sidewalk.
Now, how the hell was I going to explain that to my insurance agent?
I headed into the liquor store.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was empty, except for an old black man sitting behind the counter. Apparently, he hadn't heard the ruckus outside. He was casually flipping through a newspaper, safe behind his bulletproof glass which sported two deep fractures. Bullet impacts.
I scanned the store. There was a back room, from which I heard voices. I headed toward it, passing a glass cooler and a Red Bull display along the way. The smell of weed grew steadily stronger as I approached the back door, which I promptly kicked in.
There were two of them, both smoking and drinking and playing cards. Rap music played in the background. The room was just big enough for the two goons to sit comfortably. On the far wall, an open door led down a short hallway. Two big handguns were sitting on the table. They reached for them. I did, too. Unfortunately for them, I was faster.
I pointed both weapons at them. "Don't move," I said.
They didn't move. I left the room and headed down the short hallway. There was a shut door at the far end. Yellow light under the door. I heard frantic shuffling inside.
I picked up my speed, and threw a shoulder into the door and spilled into the room, rolling, coming to my knees and holding both handguns out before me as the only man came up from behind his desk holding a shotgun.
He saw the weapons pointed at his face and made a very smart move. He set the weapon down on the desk and held his hands up. He was a handsome black man. Young, maybe twenty-five, maybe a little older. His teeth were perfect and he was wearing a nice suit. He looked, if anything, like a young man trying to be taken seriously. Trying to be something he wasn't.
"Sit down," I said.
He sat, watching me closely, curiously. Since there was nowhere for me to sit, I went around and sat on the corner of his desk, next to him. Our knees were almost touching. I heard some noise down the hallway, but I wasn't worried about the noise down the hall. My inner alarm was not ringing. There was no real danger here. At least, not yet. The smell of weed was not so prevalent in the back room.
"We have a problem, Johnny," I said.
"What problem?" he asked easily, smoothly, confidently.
Johnny didn't sound like a kid from the streets. He was well-spoken. Enunciated his words crisply. He also watched me carefully. No doubt his brain was having a hard time processing what he was seeing. A woman. A white woman. A lone white woman. Here in my office. I'm sure it wasn't adding up. No doubt it wasn't computing. And so he stared and waited and processed.
"You've been threatening local businesses," I said. "Extorting money from hard-working people. "
His eyes narrowed. "You a cop?"
I swung my feet a little. My sneakers just missed hitting the ratty carpet. "Nope. "
"You with the feds?"
I smiled. "Just little ol' me. "
"Who are you?"
"Now, if I told you that I'd have to kill you. "
He stared at me. I smiled sweetly. Sweat rolled down from inside his hairline and made its way into his collar. This wasn't looking good to him, and he knew it. In fact, I could almost see the moment where he went from thinking this was surreal, to thinking his own life might actually be in jeopardy.
"What do you want?"
"You're going to stop extorting from local business. Got it?"
He sat back in his chair and relaxed a little. He said, "You're kind of a badass, huh?"
"Kind of. "
He was handsome and he knew it. He gave me a bright smile and did something with his eyes that made them sparkle even more somehow. As if he could flip a switch.
He chuckled. "You come in here, kick in my door, and tell me how to run my business. "
"That about sums it up. "
"You might be the craziest bitch I've ever met. "
"Maybe. "
"Now, why is that?"
"Let's just say I've got mad skills. "
Now he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh, and showed a lot of teeth. Nice laugh. Nice smile.
"Mad skills," he said. "That's good. Who are you working for, baby?"
"An interested party. But I don't say 'goo goo gah gah' and I'm not wearing diapers, so I'm not a baby. "
"Okay, I get it. Now, if I don't suspend operations?"
"You'll be seeing me again. "
He held my gaze. I think I swallowed a little harder than I intended to.
"Maybe that ain't such a bad thing," he said.
"Just ask your boys outside. "
He laughed again, shook his head. "You're one freaky lady. Okay, you win. No collections. For now. "
"Smart move. "
I got up, headed for the door. As I was about to exit, he said, "Can I have my guns back? I do, after all, have a business to run. "
I paused at the door and thought about it, then turned and set the pistols next to the shotgun. I said, "I'm watching you. "
His eyes flashed. "I hope so, pretty lady. "
I turned and left.
Chapter Twenty-nine
"Your son was in a fight today, Ms. Moon," said Principal West.
I was in his office with Anthony, who was sitting next to me. Anthony smelled of fresh grass, sweat, and blood. His clothing was torn, and there were grass stains along his shoulders and knees. There was a small spot of blood on his shirt. He breathed easily, calmly, staring straight ahead. He didn't appear the least bit upset. This coming from a boy who used to cry if his sister gave him a noogie.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Your son, Ms. Moon, beat up a young man so severely we had to call an ambulance. "
I gas
ped and faced Anthony. Now I could see the tears forming in his eyes. I didn't have much access to my son's thoughts, but I could read auras and body language, not to mention I just knew my son. Knew him better than anyone. And he was scared. Perhaps for what he had done. Perhaps for the harm he had caused. Perhaps for who he was becoming.
The principal continued, "From what I understand - and this has been confirmed by nearly a dozen other students and teachers who witnessed the fight - the school bully, a kid nearly twice the size of your son, and two of his friends were picking on a girl. Grabbing her. Apparently one tried to kiss her. And that's when your son stepped in. "
Now my son looked at me for the first time. Tears were in his eyes and there was some dirt in his hairline, but what I saw most was the defiant look in his eyes.
"She was crying, Mommy. She kept asking them to stop. But they wouldn't. They kept picking on her. And no one would help her. " He looked forward again, clenching his little fists in his lap. "Everyone's afraid of them, but I'm not. "
No one said anything. The principal stared at my son. In complete disbelief, judging by the look on his face. A moment later, the principal continued the story.
Anthony stepped in, pulled the main bully off the girl. And not just pulled. Threw, apparently. The other boys jumped my son. The fight was chaotic. Fists swinging, bodies rolling. No one would help. No one would jump in. It was a third grader against three sixth graders. And then something miraculous started happening. One by one, the sixth graders started falling by the wayside, rolling out of the melee, bleeding and groaning and hurt, until finally my son had ended up on top, leveling punch after punch into the older boy's face. It had taken three teachers to pull him off.
The principal's voice trailed off and he looked again at my son with complete awe. Myself, I had never been prouder.
"The leader is in the hospital. Apparently they're stitching his mouth and replacing some teeth. "
Outside, I heard some excited voices in the various offices. The principal rubbed his face and kept staring at Anthony. Finally, he sat back in his chair.
"I've never seen or heard anything like this in my twenty years in teaching, Ms. Moon. What your son did. . . was very brave, very selfless, very admirable. But I have to suspend him. "
"For protecting a girl?"
He smiled gently. "For fighting, Ms. Moon. We have a strict policy on that. The other boys will be severely dealt with, trust me. But let's let things cool off for a few days. Your son has caused quite an uproar. And, of course, there could be legal consequences. "
A few minutes later, as Anthony and I exited administration offices, I couldn't help but notice everyone staring after us. The principal, secretaries, students and teachers.
Staring at the freaks.
Chapter Thirty
We were at Cold Stone Creamery.
The place was empty. No real surprise there since it was the end of January, still cold even for southern California. Of course, the cold weather didn't stop the sun from searing my skin as I dashed across the parking lot. Now, as Anthony hungrily ate his bowl of ice cream, I sat huddled as far away from the windows as possible.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," said Anthony, in between mouthfuls of ice cream, a masterful concoction of chocolate ice cream, brownies, and Snicker bars, all prepared on a cold stone which, apparently, made the ice cream magical. I wouldn't know, but I think the brownie and Snicker bar had something to do with it.
"Sorry for what?" I asked.
"For fighting. "
"Are you sorry for helping the girl?"
"No. She was crying. "
"Are you sorry for hurting the boy?"
He thought about that. There was ice cream on his nose. "Well, yes. I didn't mean to hurted him so bad. "
"Maybe you can apologize to him someday for hurting him so bad then. "
"Okay, Mommy. "
He went back to his ice cream, which was nearly gone. How he could eat ice cream so fast, I hadn't a clue. I distinctly recalled a little something called brain freeze. Anthony, apparently, powered through it.
"Tammy tells me that you can wrestle seven boys at once. "
"Sometimes ten. "
I think my eyes bulged a little, but Anthony was too busy dragging his plastic spoon along the inside edge of the bowl to see my reaction. His little face was the picture of concentration. Ice cream was serious business.
"That's a lot of boys against just one boy, don't you think?"
He shrugged. "I guess. I dunno. Maybe I'm just stronger. Can I have another ice cream?"
"One's enough. I'm making dinner soon. "
He stuck out his lower lip the way he does when he wants something. He hardly looked like a kid who just sent the school bully to the hospital.
I said, "Do you like being so strong?"
He gave me a half-assed shrug, since he was still officially in pouting mode. "It's kinda cool, I guess. " Then he began poking his fingers through the Styrofoam bowl and wiggling them at himself, then at me. "Ice cream worms!"
I took the bowl from him. His fingers, I saw, were now covered in chocolate ice cream. He pouted some more.
I said, "Do you wonder why you're so strong?"
He shrugged, though some of his pouting steam was dissipating. "Not really. "
I looked at my son. He was still quite little for his age. Too little to be beating up three school punks. Too little to be wrestling a whole group of kids. His dark hair was thick and still a little mussed, no doubt from the fight. He showed no signs of having fought three older boys, although he had put one in the hospital. I suspected a legend was being born about him as we sat here at Cold Stone, whispered throughout school. His life, I suspected, was about to forever change.
No, it changed seven months ago, I thought. When you changed him.
When I saved him, goddammit!
I took a deep, shuddering breath. Presently, Anthony was using his fingertip and a few chocolate drips to make shapes on the table. Circles. Happy faces. Sad faces. Such an innocent boy.
What have I done?
"Anthony," I said. "I need to talk to you about something very important. "
He looked up, terrified. "But you said you weren't mad, Mommy. "
"I'm not mad, baby. This is about something else. "
"About Tammy?"
"What about Tammy?"
"Because she smells so bad?"
And he started giggling, so much so that he passed gas, too. This led to more giggling and a scowl from the Cold Stone manager. And when a wave of gassy foulness hit me, I leaped up from the table, grabbed his hand and we made a mad dash to the minivan, where Anthony continued giggling. Myself included.
Laughing and burning alive.
Chapter Thirty-one
Anthony knew the drill.
He knew that Mommy had to have the shades drawn in the car. He also knew that Mommy tended to shriek when sunlight hit her directly, so as I faced him in the front seat, as I pulled my knees up and kept my arms out of any direct sunlight, he didn't think much of it. Mommy, after all, was sick.
Or so he thought.
It's time, I thought. Time to tell him the truth.
Easier said than done. At least eight different times I opened my mouth to speak, and at least eight different times nothing came out. While I sat there opening and closing my mouth, Anthony played his Gameboy. There was still chocolate on his nose.
I pushed through the nerves and fear and got my mouth working. "Anthony, baby, I need to talk to you about something important - and, no, it's not about Tammy's B. O. "
He giggled a little, then looked over at me, suddenly serious. "I'm sorry about those boys, Mommy. "
"I know you are, honey. Put the Gameboy down. I want to talk to you about something serious, something related to what happened today. "
"Related?" he asked, scrunching up his little face.
"It mean
s 'connected. '"
"Like how relatives are connected. "
"Yes, that's right. You see, Mommy is. . . " Except I couldn't finish the sentence. I paused and thought long and hard about the wisdom of continuing it. I paused so long that Anthony looked up at me, squinting with just one eye the way he does sometimes.
He needs to know. He has to know. It's only fair. He can't grow up not knowing. But he's so young. So young. . .
"Are you okay, Mommy? Is the sun hurting you bad?"
"I'm okay, baby. " I took in some air to calm myself, then plunged forward. "Anthony, I'm not like other mommies. "
He nodded. "I know. Because you can't go in the sun. "
"That's part of it, honey. You see, I'm different in other ways, too. I'm stronger than other mommies. "
"Stronger?"
I raised my arm and flexed my bicep, although I don't think much of anything flexed. "Yes, stronger. In fact, I'm stronger than most men, too. "
"You mean strong like me," he said.
"Yes. "
"Well, duh, Mom. I'm only your kid. Kids have the same stuff their mommies have. But only half of the daddy's. "
Now I was confused. "Only half of their daddy's?"
"Duh, Mom. Kids come from their mommies, not their daddies. "
"I see," I said. "Very logical. "
Anthony nodded as if he'd spoken the truth. Then he turned to me, squinting with one eye again. "Is Tammy strong, too?"
"No. She's not like us. "
"Why not?"
I shifted in my seat. I wanted to look away. I wanted to avoid his innocent stare. How do you look a little boy in the eye and tell him what I was about to tell him? I didn't know. I didn't know anything. He had to know. He had to. I believed that with all my heart and soul. My dead heart and damned soul.
I said, "Do you remember when you were sick last year?"
My son nodded absently. Mercifully, he looked away and was now playing with the zipper to his jacket.
"Well, last year you were very, very sick, so sick that Mommy had to make you stronger. "
"Why?"
"So that you could fight the sickness. "
"Oh, cool. " He stopped playing with the zipper. He stared at it for a few seconds, then his little face scrunched up the way it does just before he asks a question. "But how did you make me stronger?"
The question I knew he would inevitably ask. Baby steps, I reminded myself. He needed only to be made aware that he was different. . . and why he was different. Baby steps for now. More later, when he's older.