One Rule - No Rules

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "No way," Thalma muttered. "No fucking way."

  She watched herself dispatch the third dude with a front kick. The German Shepherd slunk out of her path on her way back to her pickup.

  Louis zoomed the video to full-screen and they watched it again. Thalma's heart sank as the camera followed her to her pickup before jerking back to the men sprawled on the driveway. It returned again to her pickup as it backed out and drove out of view.

  "They got the license plate," she said in a flat voice.

  "Yeah. And everything else."

  Thalma found herself reliving the moment on the mountain ridge as tiny alarms tinkled in the back of her brain.

  "On the plus side, you didn't commit any crime," said Louis. "The people – even the police – would probably see you as a hero."

  "But then there's the negative side."

  "Right. The whole fucking world can watch a video of you kicking butt." Louis dragged a hand over his beard, looking at her. "You know, that's the first time I've actually seen you do your martial arts thing. I almost feel sorry for those guys."

  "That would be a waste of compassion."

  "You're kind of scary." He snorted. "Dirty Harriett."

  "Funny - I even asked the moron if he was feeling lucky."

  "Huh. That is funny." He didn't sound amused. "I should download it and really blow it up. The quality might not be high enough to make out your license plate numbers."

  "I'm pretty sure they – meaning the police – wouldn't have any trouble doing that."

  "Assuming they see the video."

  "You know as well as I do that's just a matter of time."

  Louis closed his computer and sagged back against the headboard. "So how should we handle this? And please don't tell me 'run for the hills.'"

  "I don't want to run anywhere. I happen to like it here. A lot."

  "It's way beyond just liking for me. I fucking love this place. I love what I'm doing. I love the mountains and the beautiful lakes and the way the air smells. I don't even mind the winter here. It's not as bad as South Dakota's, anyway."

  "I feel the same way," Thalma groaned. "It's not the local cops I'm worried about. Our identities would pass their superficial check. It's them I'm worried about."

  "The World Security Group people or the feds?"

  "Either one. But maybe more World Security Group International."

  "I remember how they convinced me waterboarding is my least favorite sport." Louis touched his throat. "You think they're still looking for you?"

  "Not actively looking. But I think it's safe to assume they have their ears to the ground."

  "Would that include wading through thousands of YouTube videos looking for a Kung Fu chick?"

  Thalma shook her head. There was no way of knowing. As always, the safe thing was to assume the worst. She'd tried on occasion during the last year to make inroads into discovering who Mr. Murphy's employers were, and she'd developed some theories, but she knew from experience that when you poked around in clandestine organizations they tended to poke back, so she'd stopped digging.

  "I don't know," she said. "We'll just have to keep our eyes and ears open, I guess. If someone shows up with an unhealthy interest in us, it will be time to run for those hills."