by Molly Greene
She left the office and went back into the main facility. It was a huge, open room that was separated into a series of roped-off mats. A group of women in workout gear was gathered around the largest area, and the instructor stood in the center.
He’d already started his opening spiel.
“My name is Rick,” he said. “Thank you for coming. As you can see, this class is specifically for women. This time out we’re not going to talk about how to overpower an attacker, because the truth is, most of you wouldn’t be able to do that without a heap of practice.
“So today we’re going to cover the concept of stun and run. You will learn how to inflict enough damage to make your assailant think twice about coming after you when you run away. Understand?”
Twenty-five heads bobbed up and down.
“I need a volunteer.”
Half a dozen hands went up. The instructor pointed, and a fifty-something woman in knee-length leggings and a loose t-shirt came forward. She looked the kind of determined that said she was scared but willing to risk embarrassment.
“What’s your name?”
“Pam Schroder.”
He turned sideways to the crowd. “Okay, Pam, I want you to put about three feet of space between us and face me.”
As soon as she followed his instructions, he reached out and grabbed her left forearm with his right hand and began to drag her toward him. She bunched up her free fist and dug in her heels, then struggled to maintain her position. She screamed, but she didn’t try to strike him.
He overcame her easily, and in less than a second had her flipped around and clutched to his chest with a hand firmly across her mouth.
He addressed the class. “That’s exactly what most of you will do when faced with this kind of a situation.” He released Pam and gave her a warm smile. “We’re going to change that. Are you ready to try again, Pam?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Rick reached for a hard plastic goalie’s mask, the kind hockey players wore. He strapped it on. “This time when I grab you, I want you to remember three important things. Number one, do not scream. Screaming labels you as a victim and makes your attacker feel even more powerful. It feeds his ego. Instead, I want you to yell ‘no!’ like you frigging mean business. You got that?”
Pam nodded. “Yell ‘no’ at the top of my lungs.”
“Number two, when I grab your arm, drop your elbow, fast, and pull your forearm toward your shoulder. That should put your attacker’s hand in an awkward position and draw his attention to this side, so while he’s trying to figure out what to do over here, you do number three, which is flatten the palm of your free hand and smash it up under his nose with all your strength. Throw your weight into it. Now is the time to do as much damage as you can. After you accomplish that, I want you to run away. Don’t stick around. Are these instructions clear?”
If Pam was determined before, now she was resolute. She nodded and took up her previous position. Her fists relaxed into open palms and she shook her hands out like she was getting ready for a fight.
Gen imagined Rick smiling inside the helmet.
His hand shot out.
Pam screamed, “No!” as he’d instructed, and then in a semi-fluid movement she dropped her left elbow, snapped her forearm toward the side, and jammed the flat palm of her free hand so hard against the mask it made Rick’s head snap back. The minute he released her, she spun around and raced away across the mat.
As the crowd parted to let her through, the women roared and clapped their approval. Gen joined in. Rick removed the mask and applauded with them. “And that, ladies, is how it’s done.”
Pam re-joined the group and took a bow.
“Okay, let’s move on,” he said. “You with the eye, are you willing to be next?”
Gen flushed, but nodded and came forward.
“So what happened?”
“A guy snuck up from behind and grabbed me, just like you grabbed Pam. When I struggled and scratched him, he threw a punch.”
Rick’s eyebrows went up. “You’re lucky that’s all he did. Your eye will heal. That’s why you’re here today?”
“Yeah, that and because everybody in my life told me I better get ready for the next time.”
The women tittered.
Rick grinned and said, “Sounds like you hang out with smart people. What’s your name?
“Gen Delacourt.”
“Okay Gen, what are you going to do different next time?”
“Avoid his fist and kick the douche in the balls.”
The group laughed aloud and rewarded her with a smattering of applause.
“You’re right,” Rick replied. “Of course, it would be even better if you learned a lesson and the minute you heard a sound behind you, assume it’s bad news. Don’t turn around and expect the Easter Bunny to hand out candy and pat your head and shoo you on your way. More likely, it’ll be the big bad wolf, and he won’t be after any basket of goodies. You with me?”
Gen nodded.
“The most common mistake women make is to stand still during a confrontation. You have to do the opposite. Do the unexpected. If someone is trying to mess with you, be quick on your feet. Move around.
“You only have a few seconds before it’s been decided who controls the fight, and you want to be in the driver’s seat. You’re the one who has to be ready, you’re the one who has to make it happen. You decide here” – he pointed to Gen’s head – “before you decide here.” He held up one of Gen’s hands.
“That means be ready the minute you feel you’re in danger. You don’t turn around at all, you rabbit to one side, decide your getaway route, and don’t even look over your shoulder until your path is clear and you’re sprinting away.”
Gen added, “And your stun gun is turned on and in your hand.”
That got her another laugh, but Rick ignored it. “Okay, Gen. Show me your back.”
She faced the crowd. Rick approached and cleared his throat when he was two feet away. Gen hunched her shoulders and slid to the right, but he grabbed her left bicep and stopped her.
“Perfect, Gen. You moved to the right, and that protected your right arm – your strongest arm – from me. Now rotate your right shoulder slightly toward me and bring your elbow up, then bring it in like a hammer and use it to crack me under the chin or in the throat or the face. Give it your best shot.”
She twisted toward him and slammed her elbow back against his mask. He rolled his head to avoid the worst of the hit, and in the process loosened the grip on her arm. She turned farther and brought her knee up toward his groin but thought better of it, and instead rammed her foot down like a piston on his instep, then took off.
When she looked back, Rick was bent over at the waist and catching his breath.
“Too bad you didn’t use that move before,” he said. “Chances are the other guy would be sporting that eye right now.”
“Next time he will be,” Gen replied.
The ladies in the class roared their approval.
Chapter Thirteen
“How long has your dog been missing?” Gen drummed her nails on the desktop and wondered at the odds of finding a stolen Bichon in a city the size of San Francisco. “An hour. Hmm. Have you called the shelters? Have you put up signs in the area?”
She listened as the woman on the phone explained why she had not done these things.
“Look, I’d like to help, but it wouldn’t make sense to hire me until you’ve exhausted those other avenues. It’s a good bet Pookie will turn up. She could be down the way at a neighbor’s house. You need to get outside and drive the streets, knock on doors.”
While the distraught dog owner was agreeing, finally, she heard the outer door open.
“Call me back when she shows up.” She said good-bye.
Gen pushed away from the desk and walked down the hallway. Luciano stood in her reception area, studying a nice print of Provence that was hung on the wall.
“Giovanni.
This is a surprise.”
“I was hoping we could have another chat. Is this a good time?”
“Of course. Come on back.”
Luciano followed her to the office. He was casual about it, but he stopped in the doorway to inspect the room while she resumed her position behind the desk. Gen saw his eyes rest on the picture of the Eiffel Tower that hid her case board. After that, he panned the space and skipped across to the books in the shelves behind her head.
She could tell not much escaped him.
“I bet you’re here to get my answer about your offer. I should have called you, but I’ve been busy.”
“I am here to bring you a check. A retainer for your services.” He slipped a hand inside his sport coat and came out with an envelope, then placed it on the desk and pushed it toward her.
Gen picked it up, unsealed the flap, and pulled out a check for five thousand dollars. Her eyes widened as she looked from the signature to Luciano. “This is signed by you, Giovanni. I thought you said your department wanted to hire me.”
“I did not want to wait for the bureaucrats. They will reimburse me.”
“I hope so. That’s a lot of money.”
“And now it is yours.”
She returned the check to the envelope and slid it back across the desk. “I’m afraid I can’t accept it.”
Luciano’s face darkened. Only for a moment, but it was long enough for Gen to see he didn’t like her answer.
“Why?” he asked.
“Several reasons,” she replied. “I’m busy, for one thing. I’ve got a couple of cases pending and one or two I should start. And bottom line, my sentiments lie elsewhere. Vitelli might be what you think, but I don’t want to help you put him in jail. And frankly, after I thought about it, I decided I’d rather not be on the same team as your partner.”
“Ah. It’s a female issue.”
That pissed her off, but Luciano’s face was impassive now. He sat calmly, apparently unaffected by the obvious surge of irritation pulsating across the desk. “Do you fancy yourself like this character young girls read, this Nancy Drew?”
When he waggled lazy fingers toward the bookshelves, Gen felt her temperature spike even higher. She opened her mouth with a reply designed to sear the hair off his eyebrows, but stopped herself just shy of delivery. No good would come of burning bridges, however arrogant the bridge might be.
They were silent for two beats, then Gen heard the outer door open and close once again. “Back here,” she called.
“Excuse me, Giovanni.” She left the room to see who had come in. Mack met her halfway as she strode down the hall. She shot a thumb over her shoulder and mouthed the words, Someone’s here.
Mack mouthed, Should I wait out front?
She shook her head vigorously and did an about-face. Luciano was once again standing near the door, perusing another framed print, this one of a French vineyard. She was surprised to see him there; she hadn’t heard him move around, and her first impression was that he’d been trying to eavesdrop. She resumed her seat and Giovanni followed her to the desk.
Mack came in and leaned a hip against the doorframe, then crossed his arms.
“Mack Hackett, meet Giovanni Luciano.”
They exchanged nods. “Sorry to interrupt,” Mack said.
“You’re not interrupting anything,” Gen replied. “Mr. Luciano was just leaving.”
Giovanni picked up the envelope, then leaned toward her and offered his palm. When she reached to shake it, he turned her fingers down and brushed his lips across the back of her hand, then raised his eyes.
His lips curved into a smile. “I will see myself out.” Giovanni turned and nodded again as Mack pushed off the jamb and stepped aside to let him pass.
When they heard the front door close, Mack took the seat Luciano had vacated. “Did you make a new friend?” he asked.
Gen’s cheeks pinked. “That was the male half of the Italian squad. They’re called Carabinieri, I think I told you that. You met the female half outside Vitelli’s last Sunday. You remember her, don’t you?”
Mack’s gaze didn’t waver. “I remember. What did he want?”
“He tried to hire me to trail Vitelli. I said no.”
“Hire you?” Mack pulled a face. “That’s weird.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You wanted to hire me, too. Everybody can see how good I am.” She smiled. “So what brings you by today?”
“I thought I’d take you to lunch. And I looked into Vitelli and I wanted to tell you about it.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t find much. He’s a U.S. citizen. Emigrated from Italy about thirty years ago. He’s been in San Francisco most of that time. Owns the house.”
“Thirty years? He sounds like he just got off the plane. How about family?”
“Came over with a wife and daughter. No idea what happened to the girl, though, I couldn’t find anything.”
“And the wife? Any idea what happened to her?”
“I got nothing.”
So he was alone, like Luca. Which brought her thoughts around to the boy. “What’s Luca up to today?”
“He’s planting fall vegetables. He asked me to, so I stopped and bought some six-packs.”
“What’s with these Italians, they all have gardening in their blood?”
“They seem to,” Mack replied. “As opposed to the French.”
She ignored the jibe. “What about school, Mack? The kid should be in school. What are you going to do, just let him hang out and dig in the dirt forever?”
“Genny.” Mack’s voice was calm and steady. “He’s smart, he’ll figure it out. It’s only been five days. I thought I’d give him some time to tell me what he wants to do. I think he needs to be left alone to come to his own conclusions. He isn’t just digging in the dirt, he’s thinking. ”
“And what if he’s content to let things go on the way they are?”
“He’ll figure it out. The kid’s okay, I can tell. We have to trust him.”
Gen took in some air and pushed away from the desk, then turned the wheeled chair toward the bookshelves behind her. She was annoyed by Mack’s unconditional support of the kid.
“What are you going to do about Vitelli and the coin?” he asked.
“I’m going to try to figure out who it belongs to.”
“Maybe you should just turn it over to the Italians. Or better yet, Homeland Security. Let them determine ownership. It’s not like they can keep the dang thing if it’s the old man’s property.”
Gen slowly turned the chair back around. “I believe that’s the first time you have ever even remotely told me what to do.”
Mack shrugged. “I’ve been thinking.”
“And?”
“ICE should be on deck here,” Mack said, “not the FBI. The woman, you said she mentioned they had the blessings of the FBI.”
“Ice? What, you think we should freeze them out?”
“I-C-E,” Mack replied. “Stands for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Homeland Security’s investigative unit. These guys are pretty new on the scene, only been around since early 2000, but they take on cases that involve trafficking of cultural properties.”
“And you think they should be involved.”
“Seems like it to me.”
“Well, I’m not going to quit. The situation is so screwed up it interests me. I like Vitelli, and I want to know if he’s really doing what these Italians are accusing him of. So I think I’ll keep my hand in for now, try to find out.”
“From a cop’s point of view, whoever looks like the bad guy usually is.” Mack’s voice had deteriorated to sarcastic.
“Could be.” Gen matched his tone. “But I’m a good kid, too, so you’re going to have to trust me to figure it out, just like you want me to trust Luca.”
Mack kept his expression neutral and his eyes on her, but he didn’t reply. Two beats later, he stood. “Lunch?”
“Not today, but thanks,” Gen said. “I’ll see you out.”
He reached for her when she came around the desk. She hesitated, then walked into his embrace and draped her arms around his waist. He hugged her and rested his cheek on top of her head.
“Don’t let this be about you and me.”
She stiffened. “Why do you say that?”
“I get why you’re irritated. My house guest threw a wrench in the works.”
Gen started to protest, but gave up. “Yeah, I was patient about it for what, three days? Now I miss you.”
“You have me, I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean, Mack.”
“What I know is that this is only temporary. Come on, Genny. Have lunch with me. You need to laugh.”
“Okay.” She picked up her purse. “You convinced me, but no shop talk.”
“You’re on,” he said. “I’ll tell you about my class this weekend.”
“Oh yeah? What, how to pick up strays?”
“No.” He held her hand as they went down the hall. “I’m teaching an introductory welding class.” Mack opened the door for her, then waited on the sidewalk while she locked up.
“I swear, Mack. What else can you do that you haven’t told me?”
He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Time will reveal all.”
“It better.”
Mack laughed and gave her another hug. “There’s something else,” he said. “I’m having an exhibition of my metal work in a couple weeks. Will you do me the honor of attending with me?”
“I’d love to,” Gen replied. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
Mack opened the passenger side of his truck and held her elbow while she climbed in, then went around and angled himself behind the wheel.
“That’s good,” he said. “Then it’s a date.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Fine Arts Museum opened at ten o’clock on weekday mornings. On Friday, Gen was outside when the guard unlocked the huge double doors. “I have an appointment with Dr. Grayson,” she said.
“The Curator’s office is down the main hall.” He pointed. “Left side. Her name is on a plaque on the wall.”
