Shadow Girl

by Gerry Schmitt

  Hack turned to Narong. “Can you drive that truck that’s parked out back?” He pantomimed shifting gears. “Drive a five-speed?”

  Narong bobbed his head. “I can drive that truck, yes. But I have to follow you. I do not know directions.”

  “No problem,” Hack said. “So we’ll just split up the team and take both trucks.”

  Narong gestured at Terrell and Snell, who glared at them from their perch on the sofa. “What about these people? The robbers.”

  Hack gave a nasty chuckle. “I think we’d better take them back to the mother ship with us. As to what their fate will be, well . . . we’ll let the old lady decide.”

  • • •

  WHEN they rolled into the casket factory some thirty minutes later, Mom Chao Cherry was shocked but also very pleased.

  “We picked up your cargo plus a couple of damn crooks,” Hack told her. He led her over to the van, where Terrell and Snell were gagged and tied.

  “Who are they?” Mom Chao Cherry asked.

  Hack tipped a thumb toward Terrell. “The girl there is Odin’s daughter.”

  Mom Chao Cherry sucked at her upper lip and took a step back. “No.” Then, “So thievery runs in the family.”

  “Looks like, ma’am.”

  Mom Chao Cherry waited a few moments as the large corrugated steel door rolled down, then she carefully inspected the pickup truck. “It is all here? You’re quite positive?”

  “We have your shipment,” Narong assured her.

  “Show me.”

  So Hack and Narong pulled open the back door of the camper and showed her the wooden boxes that were stamped KITCHEN APPLIANCES—KANTANA INDUSTRIAL GROUP.

  “Open the boxes,” she ordered. “All of them.”

  “Sure thing,” Hack said. He grabbed his pig sticker and pried open every one of the boxes. When they’d finished, they had two hundred plastic bags. All were packed with pure white cocaine and each bag weighed a kilo. Once the dope was cut with laundry detergent or baby laxative and then repackaged into G-rocks, eight balls, or half pieces, the street value would easily be over five million dollars.

  Mom Chao Cherry’s eyes danced with delight. “Very good. You have done an excellent job.” She repeated her words of praise in Thai and the three young men bobbed their heads, pleased that she was so pleased.

  “What do you want to do with our two passengers?” Hack asked her.

  Mom Chao Cherry gave an imperceptible shrug. “Put them in the basement for now. I must think about this.”

  “I could kill them right now,” Narong said.

  Mom Chao Cherry shook her head. “Just . . . wait.”

  “Of course,” Narong said. “Now we should all rest. Tonight we must drive a long way to make the exchange.”

  But Mom Chao Cherry was already drifting upstairs, a faint smile on her face.

  • • •

  ONCE they’d stashed Terrell and Snell downstairs, Narong pulled Hack aside.

  “We must go now,” Narong said.

  Hack stared at him. “What are you talking about? No, man, we ain’t supposed to head out until tonight.”

  “I need to take care of that woman.”

  Hack touched a hand to his forehead. “Man, oh man. Are you serious?” He’d almost forgotten about the stupid woman. “Can’t you let it go?” Now that they had the drugs and had captured the two people, Hack wanted to limit his exposure. After all, the end was almost in sight and he was anxious to get back to Duluth. Without being there to prod his hookers into doing serious business, who knew what would happen? Once, when he was gone for a full week, two of his best girls had run off with a Winnebago full of drunken car salesmen on their way to Canada for a fishing trip.

  But Narong was insistent. “You promised.”

  “Shit.”

  Narong reached out and touched Hack’s shoulder. “Please. You are my friend.”

  Hack sucked air between his front teeth. “Awright. But we better move fast.”

  “You still have the address?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then we go now.”

  • • •

  THEY took Hack’s car right through downtown and into the Powderhorn Park neighborhood of South Minneapolis.

  “Pretty here,” Hack said. “Lots of parks and stuff. Imagine how nice it’ll be when the trees start to leaf out. Kinda picturesque.”

  “Too cold,” Narong said, giving a little shiver. He’d had it with Minnesota’s chilly weather and the strange, bland food Hack seemed to relish from the drive-through places. He was more than ready to head back to Thailand, where the average temperature was a steamy eighty-six degrees and the food had a decent kick to it.

  Hack maneuvered down one street, then another, passing a playground and then a neighborhood coffee shop called the Bean Scene. Two people in North Face parkas were sitting outside on benches drinking coffee.

  Finally, they closed in on Afton’s house.

  “There it is, up ahead,” Hack said. “Them’s the house numbers I got. The house with the arch over the front door and the white shutters.”

  “Now we go in and kill her,” Narong said. “Kick down another door.” He’d very much enjoyed kicking in Snell’s door earlier.

  “Hold everything,” Hack said. He reached over and pressed his hand against Narong’s chest to quiet him down. “It looks like we got here too late.”

  The front door had just opened and two little girls and a small black dog had just emerged. They ran down the front walk, heading for a big black Lincoln Navigator that was parked directly in front of the house.

  “Going somewhere,” Hack said, as a blond woman in a blue pullover and black yoga pants bounced out the door and locked it behind her. “Looks like we just missed them.”

  “No,” Narong growled. “Looks like we follow them.”

  45

  BULLDOGS barked, poodles strutted, Great Danes loped along. And in the midst of all that canine wonderment, Afton, Tess, Poppy, and Bonaparte were having a ball. There had to be at least a hundred people out this early Sunday afternoon for the Jog Your Dog charity walk. Poppy had brushed Bonaparte’s black coat until it shone, and Tess had saved up her allowance to buy a snappy red leash.

  The day was chilly, only about fifty-five degrees, but a bright yellow sun blazed down. The paved trail they were following wound its way through the verdant Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden, where early blooming wild iris and jack-in-the-pulpit were putting in stellar personal appearances. Then, after making that loop, they crossed Theodore Wirth Parkway and entered something called the Quaking Bog.

  “What exactly is a Quaking Bog?” Poppy asked. She’d worn her mermaid costume, and she shimmered like a little angelfish whenever the sun hit her just right.

  “I think it’s mostly moss and tamarack trees and ferns,” Afton said as they stepped onto a narrow wooden walkway that took them over a water-soaked bog. “According to the sign we just passed, this bog is thirty-seven hundred years old. It’s basically a layer of sphagnum moss that’s suspended atop a five-acre acid bog.”

  “Acid sounds dangerous,” Tess said.

  “I don’t think it’s that kind of acid,” Afton said. “It’s more like the proper pH balance that’s good for growing wildflowers and saplings and things. So it’s perfectly safe. In another month this place will be alive with frogs and dragonflies.”

  “It is kind of pretty here,” Tess said. They were walking single file on the wooden walkway and she was at the back of the line, leading Bonaparte. “And kind of scary, too, like the Haunted Forest in The Wizard of Oz.” Towering trees rose up to form a tunnel and they could hear small rustlings in the heavy undergrowth of chaffweed and violet wood sorrel. So far there was no sign of flying monkeys.

  “How far do we have to walk?” Poppy asked. “Two miles? Or twenty miles?”

  “We’re just doing the short track,” Afton said. “So that’s only a single mile. Think your little legs can handle it?”

&n
bsp; “Mermaids don’t have legs,” Poppy said with all seriousness. “They have fins.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to swim for it,” Afton said.

  They stepped off the wooden walkway, plodded their way through a muddy low-lying area, and then were back on another walkway. The woods grew thicker as the wind whooshed through stands of browned cattails. Hunks of fallen trees lay everywhere, reminders of a not-so-long-ago ice storm that had pummeled trees all over the area and brought huge branches crashing down.

  “I’d say we’re earning our money today,” Poppy said.

  “But the pledges aren’t our money and the walk is for a good cause,” Tess said. “Right, Bonaparte?” She held his leash as she continued to walk along behind Afton and Poppy.

  “A good cause for homeless animals,” Poppy said. “Because all animals deserve to have a forever home, don’t they, Mom?”

  “That’s for sure,” Afton said.

  They were looping back toward the last five hundred yards of the winding pathway, heading for the parking lot, where grilled hot dogs and ice cream bars awaited them, when Tess called out, “Hold up a minute.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Afton asked. She glanced back to see Tess holding the leash as she hopped around on one foot.

  “Got something in my shoe,” Tess said.

  “Do you need my help? Can you balance okay?”

  “No, I got it.” Tess slipped off her shoe, shook it, and was about to put it back on when a bird shrieked loudly overhead.

  Poppy’s eyes went big. “What was that?” she asked. “A vulture?”

  “More like an owl,” Afton said. She tilted her head back, wondering if she could catch sight of the noisy bird. “Maybe he’s got a nest around here.”

  But there was no more screeching, just the snap of a twig nearby. The sudden quiet of the forest seemed to magnify the noise.

  “Mommy, I’m scared,” Poppy said.

  Afton put a hand on Poppy’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to be . . .”

  The words died on Afton’s lips as Narong exploded out of a dense thicket. Dipping his right shoulder, he came at her sideways, hitting Afton with all the power of a freight train. Afton’s head snapped backward so hard, she could almost hear an audible click in her neck. A jolt of pain shot through her entire body and she was knocked backward, into sticky mud.

  “Mommy!” Poppy shrieked.

  Afton saw the flash of a knife in Narong’s hand and knew she was in terrible trouble. The worst trouble of her life. Then, like an eight-track tape instantly clicking over, she felt paralyzing fear for her kids’ lives.

  “Run!” Afton screamed at the top of her lungs, even as she was sprawled on her back, kicking wildly, trying to pummel this crazed Asian man with her feet. “Run for help!”

  But the kids stood rooted to the spot, transfixed by this strange man who’d sprung from the bushes and knocked their mother flat. He was not only screaming wildly, he was waving a knife and trying his best to get close to their mother so he could stab her.

  Go!” Afton shrieked again. “Run!”

  But the kids only backed up a few steps, mouths gaping, completely in shock. Narong bent toward Afton, an evil grin twisting his face into a bizarre mask.

  Frantic to defend herself, Afton smashed a fist upward as Narong leaned toward her. She connected hard and fast with Narong’s nose, the impact stunning him for just a few moments.

  That’s when Poppy suddenly raced to Narong and began to pummel him with her tiny fists, flailing at him with all her might. Though she was brave, she only served to anger Narong.

  “No!” Afton shouted.

  Narong grabbed Poppy by her ponytail, spun her around hard, and threw her to the side of the trail.

  For Afton, who was still spread-eagled on her back, time stood still. She blinked, like the click of a camera’s shutter, as quick-cut images registered in her brain. Poppy’s small body flying through the air, Narong’s maniacal snarl, the flash of cheap sunlight on his steel blade. All this in a split second as hot rage exploded within her.

  Afton cranked her head right, saw a gnarly hunk of damp wood, the size of which one might toss in a fire pit, and grabbed it. Holding her breath, she reeled the wood in fast, knowing she might only get this one chance. Then she rocked to a sitting position and whipped the wood forward as hard and fast as she could, mimicking the action her practiced muscles made when driving an ice axe into a frozen waterfall.

  Gotta make it count, Afton told herself. She focused all her strength, all her energy, on this one single blow.

  Whomp!

  Afton was both thrilled and horrified when the wood connected solidly with Narong’s forehead and sent him reeling backward.

  Gluts of blood flew from his damaged face. Dazed and angry as a scalded cat, he yelped in a language Afton didn’t understand.

  Afton’s last-ditch defense had worked. Sort of. She’d stunned her attacker and bought a miniscule bit of time.

  But Narong was fighting hard to shake off the terrible blow and pull himself together. He shook his head, snarled, spit blood, and came at her again for a final, balls-to-the-wall assault.

  That’s when everything went kapow crazy and a growling, black ball of fur launched itself like a rocket-propelled grenade. Bonaparte literally flew through the air, his hackles raised and his sights focused directly on Narong. The little dog’s ears were plastered flat against his head, his eyes were black buttons of fury, and his teeth were savagely bared like nothing Afton had ever seen before.

  Bonaparte hit Narong hard, causing the man to let loose a high-pitched yodeling scream. The dog was a growling, rolling thunderclap, snarling and battering Narong with his front paws as the man recoiled and wriggled and tried to fight him off.

  Then, with one mighty snarl, Bonaparte’s jagged teeth clamped down hard on Narong’s left arm!

  “Ai son teen!” Narong screamed at the top of his lungs. Then, “Get off!” He batted at Bonaparte with his knife hand, stabbing at him, trying to dislodge the beast. But Bonaparte held on tight, sawing down savagely, his bulldog scissors bite as powerful as that of a giant snapping turtle.

  That’s what turned the tables, of course.

  Narong backpedaled a few steps, screaming loudly as Afton came at him again with her hunk of wood. Grasping the wood with both hands, she swung hard and smashed Narong right on the bridge of his nose, hitting both eyes, battering his brain, and causing more blood to spew from his nose. Tree bark, sharp splinters, and bits of green moss flew everywhere. Narong flung his head away in pain, stumbled hard, and started to hobble away. He swore loudly as he swatted helplessly at the brave little dog who refused to let go of his arm.

  Afton chased after them, limping down the trail, seeing a flash of silver that marked the line of cars parked nearby. Then, suddenly, Bonaparte dropped off Narong’s arm and crumpled to the ground. Afton screamed as she rushed forward, buckthorn and willow branches swatting at her face. She scooped up Bonaparte and clutched the bleeding dog to her chest.

  “Brave baby,” she cried. Through a veil of tears, she saw Narong, almost a block away now, limping fast toward a red car. There was the sound of an eight-cylinder engine revving up and Afton, still carrying Bonaparte, ran into the street just in time to see the tail end of a faded red car disappear down the road.

  “Hey!” a woman yelled at her.

  Afton turned to see a woman in jogging clothes with two schnauzers on a leash. The woman was maybe fifty yards off to her left.

  “Are you okay?” the woman called out.

  “No,” Afton said. “I’m not.”

  • • •

  HACK and Narong careened onto Highway 55. Hack was driving as Narong shouted angrily in his native Thai language. “Shia! Shia!” Damn it! Damn it!

  “Did you get her, did you get her?” Hack cried.

  Narong’s answer was a muddle of Thai and English as he continued to scream and curse at the top of his lungs.

  “Ta
ke it easy,” Hack warned. “Pipe down. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”

  Narong held up his arm. “Look at this,” he yelped. “Filthy dog.” Two sets of bite marks on his lower arm were turning purple. Skin had not only been punctured, it had been ferociously ripped.

  Hack glanced at Narong’s arm and was stunned by the damage. “Dude, you really got bit. You’re gonna get rabies!”

  “What are rabies?” Narong asked through clenched teeth.

  Hack shook his head. “You get really, really sick and then your jaws, like, lock together so you can’t eat.”

  “I need doctor,” Narong said, cradling his arm and looking terrified.

  “Yeah, well, let me think about that.”

  46

  LUCKILY, the Mill City Emergency Veterinary Clinic was just a mile down the road. That’s where Afton and the kids took the bleeding and battered Bonaparte. And where, after handing Bonaparte over to a med tech, Afton called Max in a blind panic.

  “That asshole came after me!” Afton yelled into her phone. “He came after me and my kids!” She was so mad she was shaking as she stuttered and stammered, trying to explain what had just happened.

  Max was stunned. “He was there? That same Asian guy? He attacked you?”

  “He attacked me at the Jog Your Dog walk,” Afton screamed again.

  “Are you hurt?” Max demanded.

  “No. Well, I don’t think so. Not seriously. Bonaparte got hurt pretty badly.”

  “Are the kids okay? Do they need medical attention?”

  “They’re okay. We all are. For now anyway.”

  “What about the dog?”

  “Bonaparte was cut by that madman,” Afton said, trying to hold back a sob. “On his shoulder. When he came to my rescue. The people here at the vet clinic said he needed emergency surgery.”

  “Jeez,” Max said. “So they’re doing it . . . ?”

  “Yes. But, Max . . .” Afton gasped for air. “Max, we need to move on this right away! I mean, I saw the car. I . . .” She gulped in another mouthful of air and tried to pull herself back from the brink of panic. She knew she had to think and communicate clearly and not get hysterical just because her kids had been in such terrible danger.