Shadow Girl

by Gerry Schmitt

  That was all Afton needed. She poured on the speed, running after him, hoping to drive him out onto one of the paved streets that crisscrossed the campus. Drive him out to a waiting cruiser where there’d be officers with drawn guns waiting for him.

  Afton flung herself around the corner of Morrill Hall and was rocked to the core to find the man right there, his arm swinging toward her in an arc, knife blade flashing. She literally slammed on the brakes and ended up standing on her tiptoes and sucking in her gut as his knife slashed past, missing her by a fraction of an inch.

  Damn, that was close!

  She took a hasty step backward, dodging and ducking as he came at her again.

  “Help!” Afton shrieked at the top of her lungs as she tried to manipulate the rake in front of her. “Police!”

  He slashed again as she danced to her right. Then, just as he missed a second time, just as he was thrown slightly off balance, she jabbed at him with the rake, a swift, dead-on jab that packed as much power as she could muster.

  And she connected! Poking him right in the eye!

  Her adversary exploded with an angry string of words in a language she didn’t understand while she let out another shrill scream for help.

  Then he was rushing at her again. And this time Afton was stunned at how strong he was. She tried to parry him with the rake handle, but he dove in close, whipping right up against her, his chest butting her chest while he enveloped her in his arms. A split-second later, he tipped his head back and then brought it forward with horrific force, slamming her in the forehead.

  An entire constellation of stars exploded before Afton’s eyes and she let out a cry of pain as his right foot crashed into her right knee, causing her to crumple to the ground.

  Struggling for breath and trying desperately to remain conscious, Afton struck out wildly. She jabbed the rake upward and, through sheer luck, connected solidly with the man’s elbow. That was the single break she needed. The knife went flying from his hand and landed with a dull, metallic clatter a few feet away.

  They both scrambled for the knife, Afton wrenching herself across the sidewalk on all fours, the man diving desperately for his knife. They fought and rolled, a pig pile of grappling hands, flying spit, and gnashing teeth.

  In Afton’s vision of herself as an Amazonian warrior, she grabbed the knife, twisted around to her attacker, and sank it deep in his chest.

  Didn’t happen that way.

  The guy wrapped his hand around the knife and slashed out wildly as Afton’s left arm came at him. She’d lost the rake somewhere, so she pulled her hands into claws, hoping against hope to jab him in the eye and rip the hell out of it. But when the knife suddenly sliced into her, the pain was so excruciating, so acutely sharp, that she lost all sense of purpose.

  Cut me? I’m cut?

  Her brain blipped out a warning to the rest of her jangled nerve endings that something had gone horribly wrong.

  Afton rolled away from the man, kicking frantically as she did. Her arm was going numb and she knew her feet were her best and only weapon now.

  Gotta kick him hard and then get back on my feet.

  But everything was happening in slow motion. She wasn’t moving as fast as she hoped.

  I think I’m in big trouble.

  Just as she was about to scream for help, a shuffle of footsteps on pavement sounded just behind her. And a young man called out in a querulous voice, “Are you okay?”

  A faint light poked at Afton and her attacker. A flashlight? No, the light from a cell phone.

  “Of course she’s not okay,” a girl answered in a disdainful voice. “She’s squirming around on the ground with that guy. Does she look okay?”

  “Watch out!” Afton croaked, as her attacker, momentarily startled by the intrusion, took a step forward, thought better of it, and then drew back. He peered angrily at the two young students who’d just emerged from the darkness, then seemed to make a hard, anguished calculation and took off running.

  “Help her up,” said the young woman, suddenly taking charge. “C’mon, give her a hand.”

  Together, the two students pulled Afton to her feet.

  “Phone?” Afton said. She was having trouble making her words coherent. As if there was a faulty connection between her brain and her mouth. Signal interrupted.

  The young woman held out her phone. “Who do you want to call?”

  “Jeez, are you cut?” the young man yelped. His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as he stared at the wet, dark stain that was spreading on Afton’s jacket.

  “Nine-one-one,” Afton gasped. “Police.” She was on her feet now, legs feeling like rubber, arm hanging useless at her side. Then she mustered her inner fortitude, spun around, and lurched away from them.

  “Hey, where are you going?” the young man called out.

  “Hospital,” Afton said over her shoulder.

  • • •

  IT was five blocks back to the university hospital and Afton figured that she could make it. It would be better than just lying on the ground, waiting for the University Police (who still hadn’t come!) while blood oozed out of her arm.

  Her arm. How bad was it? Well, it hurt like hell, so that gave her some kind of clue. And there was a sticky mess from the cut on her upper arm all the way down to her wrist, so she was definitely losing blood.

  No, don’t think about that right now. Just focus on Poppy and Tess. Get patched up so you can go home. Live to fight another day.

  Her kids needed her, and there was no way she was going to let that son of a bitch get the better of her. It just wasn’t in the playbook. But as she walked along, a strange sense of warmth began to creep over her. She could literally feel warm blood trickling down her arm, then spilling over her fingers to drip on the ground as she walked along. Just like Hansel and Gretel, she thought, leaving a trail.

  Or like a wounded animal.

  Just a few more steps, Afton told herself as she kept moving, stumbling along toward the bright lights of the hospital off in the distance. But now darkness was beginning to cloud her vision and she could feel her knees begin to quiver like jelly.

  A few more steps.

  There were more sirens now. Off in the distance and close by, too.

  That’s good, Afton told herself. They’re gonna catch that asshole. Make him pay.

  But it was getting more and more difficult to focus. To keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  Just as Afton emerged into a puddle of light on Washington Avenue, a loud buzzing sounded in her ears, like a nest of bees gone wild, and she felt her vision begin to close in on her.

  Like walking down a long, dark tunnel, she thought. Just gotta keep going, no matter what.

  Afton stopped and blinked. Realized that she wasn’t making any forward progress. Then her next thought was, I think I’m going to fall.

  Someone screeched loudly in her ear. A god-awful noise that sent her mind reeling.

  Shh. I’m way too tired for that.

  “Oh my God, Afton!” Max cried.

  Max?

  “I got ya! I got ya!” He scooped her up in his arms and started running. “Doctor,” he said. “Gotta get you to the ER.”

  Afton felt herself being carried along. Her mind drifted peacefully but her body felt like it was being jostled like crazy. That’s Max, she told herself. And she could hear him screaming for help.

  Max nearly stumbled as he carried her out into the street, but he managed to catch his balance and regain his footing. Afton heard him grunt loudly as he hoisted her back up in his arms.

  A siren screamed. The volume increasing as it drew closer and closer.

  Through half-opened eyes Afton saw approaching headlights and a galaxy of flashing red and blue lights. Then a cruiser squealed to a stop and Max shouted, “Gotta get her to the hospital. She’s lost some blood.”

  Afton could feel herself being placed gently in the backseat of a cruiser, then Max slid in alongside of her
.

  “I lost him,” she murmured in apology. “Got away.”

  “Faster,” Max said to the cop who was driving. “Lights and siren all the way.”

  Two minutes later they screeched to a halt outside the ER. Afton felt practiced hands reach in and carefully lift her up. She was gently placed on a gurney, felt it go bump bump bump through some sort of doorway, and then they were speeding smoothly down a long hallway, lights flashing by overhead.

  “Max?” she called out.

  “Right here. I got your back.”

  She was wheeled behind a pair of billowing white curtains.

  “Sleepy,” Afton murmured. Then she felt a slight pinprick and really did go to sleep.

  • • •

  WHEN Afton woke up, she was propped upright in bed with an IV in her right hand. There was a bandage on her right upper arm and a large, beeping machine on her left. Max was sitting next to the bed in a lounge chair reading an issue of the Minnesota Daily.

  “Max,” she whispered.

  That startled him. He jerked his head up and practically dropped the paper. “Holy shit,” he said. “You’re awake.”

  “Odin?” she asked.

  “Dead,” Max said.

  “Damn. Did they get the guy?”

  Max stared at her. “No.”

  “No? All that for . . . ?” Afton exhaled slowly and focused on trying to get her bearings. “How long was I out?”

  Max got to his feet. “I don’t know.” He checked his watch hastily. “Maybe thirty minutes? You needed a couple of stitches.”

  “How many?”

  “Six.”

  “Not so bad.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Max said. He was jabbering now, burning off pent-up nervous energy. “You remember Petrie, who used to work in Robbery? He tangled with a pit bull once and had to get twenty-two stitches in one leg.”

  “That was no pit bull,” Afton said. “He banged himself with a Weedwacker.”

  “They were still stiches,” Max said. When he saw she was back with the living and tracking fairly well, his face clouded over and he said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What?” Afton said. “Gone after him?” She shook her head. “We should have known right away. That guy’s name tag read Sanchez, but he was no Sanchez. He was an Asian guy. Probably the guy who fired the rocket last night. And, Max, I was freaking on him until he cut me!”

  “Jeez, Afton, you went after an armed guy without benefit of a weapon or radio.”

  “You gonna issue me a citation?” she mumbled.

  “Something like that.” Max pulled out his phone and punched in a number.

  “Oh no,” Afton said. “You’re calling Uncle Thacker.” Just what she didn’t want to happen.

  “Already talked to him once. I told him this was partially my fault, since I let you come along. He wanted me to call back once you woke up.”

  Afton cringed as she listened to Max’s one-sided conversation. From what she could glean, Thacker was sending a crime-scene team over to the hospital and had already called Sunny to notify her that her husband had been murdered. Max and Thacker went back and forth for a few minutes and then Max finally fell silent and seemed to just be listening. Then he threw Afton a meaningful glance.

  “Is he talking about me?” Afton asked. She thought she was whispering but she was really talking loudly.

  Max looked away from her, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Yeah, she’s hanging in there.” He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Well . . . maybe.” Then he handed the phone over to Afton. “Thacker wants to talk to you.”

  Afton hesitated. “Is he going to yell at me?”

  Max sighed. “Just talk to him, okay?”

  When Afton came on the line, Thacker didn’t waste a single breath. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “That was a very foolish stunt you just pulled.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not really meaning it.

  Thacker berated her a little. Max as well, but not too much. And every time Afton attempted to croak out an explanation, he overtalked her.

  “Max should never have taken you along tonight,” Thacker said.

  “Yeah, but the good thing is . . .”

  Thacker interrupted her again. “There’s actually a good thing?”

  “Even though it was dark, I got a fairly decent look at the guy.”

  There was a soft intake of breath. “You think you could do an Identi-Kit?” Thacker asked.

  “I could do one right now if you thought it would help.”

  “You go home first and get some rest.”

  Thacker talked to her a little longer and then they both hung up.

  “What’d he say?” Max asked.

  “He told me to take it easy.”

  “You should do that.”

  “Maybe.” Afton gazed at the white bandage that was wrapped around her arm and saw that a bright red line had already begun to seep through. It was growing now, like a random blob on a Rorschach test. “But not if I want payback, I won’t,” she growled.

  15

  MOM Chao Cherry sat at a low table across from Hack. Candles flickered while music, something low and mournful, oozed out from the suite’s sound system. At first glance, the two of them looked as if they might be playing a friendly game of mah-jongg, one of the old lady’s favorite pastimes. But no. When Narong looked more closely, he saw that they were each doing a line of coke.

  Of course they were.

  He didn’t disapprove of his employer’s drug use, but he didn’t completely approve of her fraternizing with Hack. The man was her employee and a temporary one at that. He knew that, if they were not in America, a woman so highly placed as Mom Chao Cherry would never associate with a man who was a thug and common dockworker.

  When Mom Chao Cherry heard Narong enter her suite, she turned and fixed him with a questioning gaze. “Did the old man tell you where my drugs are being held?” she asked.

  Narong shook his head. “No.” Then he dropped his head slightly to show a small amount of contrition. “I used my knife, but he held out. Long time he held out.” He trembled slightly, keenly afraid that he’d disappointed her. That was the last thing Narong wanted to do, especially after she’d brought him to America and opened his eyes to this strange new way of life.

  She licked her lips. “His heart gave out?”

  Narong nodded. “As was expected. He was very sick.”

  “And the coup de grâce?”

  “Yes, of course.” She’d meant the bloodletting, the final slitting of Odin’s throat. She’d insisted on that. She’d made him promise, said it would make for good theater.

  “That pig and his associates stole from me,” Mom Chao Cherry spat out. “My merchandise, coming in through Vancouver, trucked across Canada, hijacked before Thunder Bay. He must have paid off many people.”

  “Yes,” Narong said. He didn’t really want to know the details, just wanted to work with his guns and knives.

  “We have been talking,” Mom Chao Cherry said, nodding at Hack. “Formulating an alternate plan.” She turned a meaningful gaze on Narong. “Perhaps an easier and more clever plan.”

  “Of course,” Narong said.

  Mom Chao Cherry held out her hand. “Telephone, please.”

  Narong picked up a mobile phone from the side table and handed it to her. He’d already decided there was no need to tell his employer about the chase with the policewoman. He would take care of the woman himself once they recovered Mom Chao Cherry’s goods. It would be his pleasure.

  The old lady dialed a number from memory. When the phone was answered, she said, “We have business?” She listened for a few moments and then said, “Yes, it will be available to you shortly.” Her eyes slid over to Narong. “Of course,” she continued. “We look forward to making the exchange. I will be in touch.” She stabbed at the Off button, cutting off the voice on the other end of the line. She
smiled to herself as she set down the phone and leaned back in her chair. Tonight she was wearing slim black slacks, a black leather jacket of supple lambskin over a hot pink silk blouse, and diamonds. It was the height of Thai chic, and a style especially copied by the younger women who frequented upper-crust nightclubs in Bangkok.

  “Our reinforcements are on the way?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Narong said. “I have been in touch. The three men you requested will arrive soon.”

  Mom Chao Cherry lifted a hand as she gazed around the luxurious suite. “Time to move.”

  “When?” Narong asked.

  “Soon.”

  “Where?”

  “Mr. Hack has already found a place for us.” Mom Chao Cherry smiled across the table at Hack. She was growing fond of this insane redneck who liked to toot up as much as she did. “A building that is deserted and very much private.”

  “Someplace we won’t be disturbed?” Narong asked. He knew that this time he could not fail. This time he must extricate the information from his subject.

  “I’ve already inspected the place,” Hack said as a wide grin split his face, an expression that was both mirthful and terrifying. “Nobody will be able to hear a single scream.”

  16

  AFTON’S sister, Lish, met her at the door.

  “You okay?” Lish asked. She was a no-nonsense type of girl who shrugged off most problems. But tonight, along with her Minnesota Wild sweatshirt, black leggings, and fuzzy socks, she wore a very worried look.

  “Max called you?” Afton shut the door behind her and felt instant relief, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was finally back home in her little craftsman-style bungalow in South Minneapolis with the saggy couch, faux Tiffany lamps, and bookcase full of well-read books and old-timey games like Clue, Candy Land, and Monopoly.

  “Well, yeah, he called,” Lish said in a flat, almost Valley girl voice. “With all the pertinent nasty details. He also told me to send you directly to bed. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”