“Sorry, it’s not gonna be that easy,” Agent Ratliff called after her. “Not today.”
Two men converged, blocking her way like a steel wall. They towered over her.
“Keep it clean, boys,” Ratliff called. “And Mrs. Jones – Betty – if I may –”
“No, you may not!”
“No blades, please. Like I said. I don’t want you dead.” He slipped backwards, through the space between the converging soldiers.
“The sentiment isn’t returned,” Betty growled under her breath. She held up her hands as the six men surrounded her. “Gentlemen,” she said. Her lips curled into a beguiling smile. “I don’t see why anyone here should get hurt, do you?” No one replied. They had been given their orders and knew what she was capable of. Apparently, none of them took this task lightly. The man in front of her was closest, watching her with sharp eyes.
“Agent Grey, is it?” Betty purred. “Surely you wouldn’t strike a lady?” He didn’t reply. She spun to the soldier on his right. “Agent Simmons, this is all a terrible waste of time, isn’t it?” The soldier’s eyes flashed and inwardly, he had a momentary waiver of hesitance before his mind closed to her plight. He was a soldier. There was nothing personal in his attack. He had a job to do. And he would do it. “Agent Cardozo?” Betty batted her lashes. “No quieres lastimarme, ¿verdad?” The man didn’t budge.
“Tough crowd,” she muttered. Dinner was going to be late. The children were going to be alone at home, waiting for her to arrive. It was this singular thought, this inconvenience, that tipped Betty over the edge. “Alright then, gentlemen,” she said lightly, throwing her arms in the air. “This is your game, not mine. How do you want to play it?”
Whoosh! One of the six swung from behind, his intentions moving before his body. Like a shadow with immense weight, he slipped forward and slammed his fist across the space Betty was standing. In frozen time, she dropped, let his arm pass, then popped back up in time to add weight to his shoulder as he followed through. Smack! Betty’s palm hit his upper back in a heavy blow. He crashed forward into the soldier on her right.
Instantly, two men grabbed her from each side. They pinned her struggling arms behind her back until one of them shifted behind, his elbow tight in a choke hold around her neck. He was enormous, her feet barely touched the floor.
Boof! The punch came from straight ahead into her exposed belly, winding her. She collapsed forward, the soldier’s arm at her neck her only support. Boof! Another punch to her gut. Betty lurched against the choking elbow. Inside, her diaphragm spasmed in shock and pain seared through her chest. She heaved, unable to draw air into her lungs. Stars danced before her eyes. Breathe. Breathe. A tiny gasp of air made it past, despite her unwilling muscles. Her lungs exalted.
Snap! Betty’s foot shot out, hard Oxford cracking a knee in front of her and sending the man stumbling back.
Wham! Her elbow smashed into the face of the soldier moving in on her left. He stumbled. She was strung up like a puppet by the choke hold. Betty clawed at the forearm under her chin cutting off her air supply. No time. Still dangling, she was being attacked.
With a great heave, Betty swung her torso up and across, using the momentum of her legs to gain force, kicking off the bodies of the closest men.
Smash! A high kick to the right caught an incoming soldier’s throat. He fell back as another took his place and barreled her with a third punch to the gut. She was reeling. Hanging. She twisted and kicked back with her heels. Her captor’s grip tightened.
“I – never – gave – you – my – whole – dance – card –” she objected, strangling as she wriggled. Her shoe shot out again, with a front kick that cleared her path of a blue-eyed soldier. The side of her hand caught an Adam’s Apple to her left and the man buckled, clutching his throat, choking himself.
She grabbed a fist as it flew at her, redirected it into another’s face.
Slam! Her left elbow caught a jaw to her right. Now her captor had her so tight she could barely move.
“Enough!” Betty choked.
She wrenched her head forward, bending her captor downward, then Crunch! threw it backward again, slamming the back of her skull into his forehead. She twisted as his grip faltered and dragged his weight forward, throwing his huge body over her shoulder into a comrade. They smashed into a heap on the floor.
“Now I can really swing!” Betty croaked at the men standing. There were four of them now, circling her like sharks. “Everybody gets a turn!” They all rushed in.
It was a dance. Every kick fluid. Spin. Smash. Roll. Each blow resounded like a drum as effort met flesh.
Betty wove through the soldiers, dishing a beating for every one she received. She was panting, each breath a sharp pain, as the fighting machines kept coming at her. They were relentless. Find her limit, they’d been ordered. See what it takes.
A dark-eyed soldier brought his fist onto her chest in a vertical strike. Betty caught its force as she slipped sideways. She collapsed to the floor, got back up. His other arm was raised ready to follow. Betty’s wrist shot up to meet it, she blocked his high arm, leapt. Her forehead smashed into his face as her free fist smashed his lower hand away. An upper cut to the jaw and he was down.
“Next!” Betty cried. “Move your feet, boys! Double-time!”
Crunch! A powerful sidekick caught her out. Betty stumbled back, her head ringing. The soldier’s fist followed through and she grabbed it and wrenched it up high, then twisted.
Smash! Her hammer-fist caught him between his shoulder blades. He collapsed to his knees. With a great heave, Betty picked him up under the arms and tossed him above her head, jumping back. The soldier crashed to the ground in front of her, out cold.
Boof! Bam! Thump!
A roundhouse kick caught her back. She returned it with vehemence.
Front kick to the jaw. Her dance partner spun away.
Feint and jab. Strike. Blow.
A melody of pain.
Betty’s left arm shot up to block a blow, but the soldier caught her wrist with his own. His elbow stabbed her between the shoulders. Betty cried out with the searing pain. She twisted, grabbed the soldier by the collar and swung him around, then threw him skidding across the floor into Ratliff’s feet.
One final dance.
He was huge. A virtuoso of combat. A one-man orchestra with all the brass.
Betty danced like she had never danced before.
The soldier was a skilled match.
An elbow to her jaw. She ducked, spun and punched again. Sweat dripped down her back. Her hair had come undone and fell in bunches around her face. She seethed. Focused. Razor sharp. Her chest was heaving.
She slid as she circled him, kicked out her leg and wrapped it around his ankle. He fell with a crash, grabbed her by the arm, dragged her up. Struck again.
Betty caught his forearm and twisted it backward, bringing him to his knees. She brought her own knee to his chin. He pulled her in, she ran up his torso, kicked off his face and threw her body backward in a somersault. Her feet hit the ground as his head did.
The dance was done.
The room fell silent.
Across the room, Ratliff clapped. Betty squared her shoulders. Regained her poise.
“I’m impressed. Thanks for the show,” he grinned.
“Ask me for an encore,” Betty growled. Her eyes were like wildfire as she walked toward him, rolling her hair back into its pins. She sidestepped the unconscious body at his feet. “Your little test is over, Ratliff. Now tell your boss to leave me be.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.” Agent Ratliff indicated the unconscious men with his hand. “Especially after this. He wants to meet you.” Ratliff put his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. There was a phone number printed on it. No name. He held it up in front of Betty’s face. Too close. She snatched it out of his fingers.
“Tell your boss
I’m not interested. I have no time for his stupid games.”
“You seem to have time to chase your boyfriend around town while old Georgie-boy’s off firing a clip into Maggie’s drawers.”
Betty took a sharp breath.
“How dare you insult my husband,” she growled. “Leave George out of this. He’s fighting for his country, or at least, will be, any day now. That man has more honor in one toe than you do in your entire body!”
“He’s cannon fodder,” Ratliff said, dismissively. “I’ve watched him enough to know that. I’d say it’s in your interest to call that number.” He nodded to the business card in her hand with a grin. “Perhaps we can pull some strings - have him wrapped in cotton wool before he’s shipped out.”
“How dare you!” Betty seethed.
“I’m just saying,” Agent Ratliff raised his arms in mock surrender. “You oughta think carefully about whose side you’re on here. We don’t consider someone with your capabilities a game. There is a war on, Mrs. Jones. National security is under threat, and if you’re not with us, you’re against us. These are powerful people you’re turning your nose up at. And they know an awful lot about you, and your stripe-happy husband. Your little boy. That sweet girl, Nancy. Now, I would hate for something bad to happen to one of them on account of a misunderstanding about your loyalties. Just so we’re clear.”
Betty nodded slowly, her jaw set, the glint of a smile. “I see. Well, this lot earned a headache today,” she nodded over her shoulder, “but you just won the prize to take home.” She grabbed the FBI agent’s arm with one hand, twisted it back. Snap! Ratliff cried out in pain, then fell to the floor, whimpering. Betty raised an eyebrow. “That was for George. Just in case you had any misunderstanding about where my loyalties lay. Feel free to consider me a threat to your personal security, Agent Ratliff.”
Betty turned on her heel. She crossed the room, stepping over the soldiers she had knocked out cold. They’d carry their bruised egos home with them tonight, but they’d live. She could hear Agent Ratliff behind her, cursing. As she pushed open the door to leave, Betty turned back to him. “Never insult my husband, Agent Ratliff. And never, ever threaten my family.”
On the other side of the fence, Betty recovered her bicycle. She climbed on and began the remaining half hour ride home. She was horribly late. It was dark and the children would be worried. She was aching. Angry. Her mind flicked to the business card Ratliff had given her, now stowed in her cosmetic case. Another mysterious phone number with no name. Another secret meeting.
She still hadn’t called the number Pinzolo had pulled out of his book on a slip of paper. He’d offered it as a kind-of truce, an alternative to killing her, as the Tin Man had solicited him to. But Donald Pinzolo was the last person she wanted help from. She wouldn’t trust him to tie her shoelaces. The sheath of paper, with its handwritten phone number was still sitting on her dresser. Now, she had another to add to the pile.
It was after seven o’clock when she finally wheeled into her own driveway. Betty could see the kitchen light on through the window. Jacob’s car was parked out the front of Mrs. Porter’s house next door, no doubt visiting Adina for dinner. For once, she hoped he would not pop by. It had been an awful end to a long day and she was exhausted. It felt all Betty could manage, to feed the children and put them to bed so that she could collapse into a warm bath.
She parked her bicycle around the side of the house and dutifully slid the knives from her garters, dug out the spares from the false bottom of her bag and stowed them all safely under the loose paving stone outside the laundry window. She walked back around to the front steps, her eyes burning, and as tired as a worn-out shoe. But just as Betty reached the front door, two things happened simultaneously.
“There you are!” Nancy called, as she flung open the door. Her young face was flooded with sudden porch light, her expression both worried and cross.
“Betty!” called Adina from behind her. “Fancy a cup of tea?” She and Jacob were walking up the driveway toward her, the latter leaning on a stick, on account of his injured leg. They reached the porch steps as Betty was uttering apologies to her daughter at the front door. Though Betty was tired and in no mood for visitors, for a split-second, all was well.
Then it happened. Nancy’s mouth dropped. Her eyes grew wide. She stumbled backward and looked up at her mother in confusion and disbelief.
“I’m so sorry,” Jacob faltered behind Betty, on the steps. She spun around. Jacob was suddenly pale under the porch light, as if he’d seen a ghost. “It just popped into my head. I didn’t mean to –”
Betty’s heart raced as her mind caught up. “Nancy, please, let me explain –!”
But it was too late. With an anguished cry, Nancy pointed a shaking finger at Jacob and burst into tears.
“Him!? He’s my father? But daddy - you let me believe – you let me think – but it’s not true, is it? My daddy isn’t – it isn’t – it’s him! All along it was him! And you never told me!” She turned and ran, a flood of tears, up the hallway, her feet thumping on the stairs. A door slammed.
Down on the doorstep, Adina stood, mouth agape, looking between Betty and Jacob.
Their secret was out.
Episode Eighteen
A Jar of Pickles
“Explain yourself.” Adina’s voice was uncharacteristically dangerous. “Jacob? What is Nancy talking about?”
Jacob looked at her hopelessly. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Then opened it once more. He finally found his voice.
“It’s true,” he said. “I am Nancy’s father.”
Adina let out a huge breath, as if she’d been holding it for hours. She held up her hands in surrender, then turned her back on him to return to the dark lawn.
“It was a long time ago, Adina.” Betty offered quietly from the doorway. “Fourteen years ago. I’m not going to make excuses for it – because it’s one part of my life that I can never regret.” Betty exchanged a look with Jacob under the dim light of the porch. “I’m so sorry, Adina – but children come first. I must talk to Nancy. I hope we can discuss this later.” She gave an apologetic look to Jacob, then turned and stepped inside the front door, closing it softly behind her.
Jacob squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands. As desperately as he had wanted to get to know Nancy better, he’d avoided seeing her as often as he could, for this very reason. She was still young and vulnerable, and Betty had explained that despite her training, Nancy couldn’t always stop the thoughts of others reaching her own. When he did see her, Jacob went to great lengths to keep his thoughts as benign as possible. To limit his emotion. To ignore his growing pride that such a clever, strong girl was his own in a way he’d never expected. But this time, the moment Nancy had opened the door, the porch light had lit her face in such a way that he’d been almost overwhelmed with emotion. The sudden memory of thirteen-year-old Betty, Susie, had taken his breath away. Nancy had looked so much like her mother, even down to the disapproving frown on her face. He was struck with nostalgia, and by the realization that Nancy was indeed, his own daughter, even if she didn’t know it. But his pride quickly gave way to panic as Jacob realized his mistake. He’d told Nancy the truth, as clear as day, inside his head. And broken her heart.
“Adina.” Stepping down the front steps carefully with his stick, Jacob walked toward her. His leg ached. His night had rapidly gone awry. Adina was standing on the lawn, her face in shadow.
“It was fourteen years ago,” he said, gently. “I told you I’d known Betty all my life. That we’d been childhood sweethearts –”
“You said you were friends! You insisted there was nothing between you, then or now! How on earth can I believe anything you say?”
“Blast it, Adina! What do you want me to say? It was so long ago. I hadn’t seen her since she had – and we had – we were just kids.” He looked up at the sky, searching for stars that weren’t there, struggli
ng to find the right words. “Betty disappeared. I thought she was gone forever, for so many years, then out of the blue I found her again, just after you and I had met and begun stepping out. It’s all so complicated, Adina, you have no idea –”
“No, I don’t have any idea,” Adina spat back. “And whose fault is that? All these secrets and lies. Just when I think things are getting back on track –” Her lips tightened, stony-faced and cold with fury.
“Secrets and lies? Well, that’s throwing stones isn’t it? We both have a past, and I never condemned you for yours.”
“Ha! You don’t need to. Society condemns me. Here I am wrestling with my guilt every day over this damned, sordid affair with Brandway that ruined my career and reputation irreparably, and there you are, carrying the secret of an illegitimate child with not a single tarnish to your badge. It’s not fair!”
“Is that what this is about, Adina? Fairness? Because trust me, my life hasn’t always been fair either. You don’t know the half of it!”
“And who does? Betty?” Adina’s voice was scathing.
“As a matter of fact, yes!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Jacob regretted it. They hung there, like laden clouds ready to burst.
“I see.” Her tone was icy. “So, I get to spend my life in the shadow of the one who got away, do I?”
“That’s not what I meant –”
“But it’s true, isn’t it? Well, I’m sorry, I find that unacceptable. I’m worth more than being someone’s second choice.”
Jacob looked up, willing the cloud to burst, hoping it would wash him away. “I know you are,” he said quietly.
“Given you have a child together; Betty will always be in your life in some way or another,” Adina continued. “And you decided this was not worth mentioning to me?”
“Of course, I was going to mention it,” Jacob sighed. “I’m still getting my own head around it. I never knew Betty was pregnant. She was fifteen when she disappeared from my life. I was only seventeen myself, still in school. I thought she was – well, murdered, if you must know.” Even under the filtered porch light he saw her face whiten. “Yes, dead. I’ve thought she was dead for nearly thirteen years until I saw her again. So, of course, I had no idea about the baby, or about Nancy being mine. Then a few months back, after we finally got Pinzolo in jail, Betty told me the truth and I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you ever since. I could barely believe it myself. I’ve never thought of myself as a father, and now I don’t know my own child – not well enough to be anything meaningful to her.”
Lady Vigilante (Episodes 16 – 18) (Lady Vigilante Crime Compilations) Page 14
