by Dara Girard
Greta felt her gut clench, but kept her voice calm. "What about her?"
"The guy she's seeing is bad news."
"They always are."
"I mean this one’s real bad news. She needs to cut him loose. I'm not one to tell people what to do, but that's how I see it. He's connected to a lot of crap, and he’s in deep. And I'm not talking shovel deep, Sweetness. I'm talking forklift."
Greta nodded, taking his information to heart. A warning, coming from a drug dealer who also had a prostitution ring on the side, meant a lot. "Thanks."
"No problem." He left.
Greta returned to the man who was already changing his tire. "You better work fast."
"Trust me, I'm going as fast as I can." He removed the flat tire and replaced it with the spare.
He moved with a confidence that reminded her of someone, but Greta couldn't imagine who. She shook her head. She was just trying to place everybody because of the reunion, he was a stranger and it was best to leave him alone.
"So where are you headed?" she asked, just in case he needed directions.
"Home."
"If you have a map I can--"
"I can find my way home."
Yes, he clearly wanted to be left alone and she would oblige him. Greta turned.
"Thanks," he grumbled.
"You're welcome." She walked back to her car and was about to pull out her keys when she felt something hard strike the back of her head. She stumbled forward then spun around and whacked her assailant with her purse, stunning him. But when she looked at his eyes she realized she'd made an error. His pupils were dilated. He was high on something and now he was both enraged and fearless. Unlike a regular thief, she knew he wouldn't disappear into the darkness for another prey. He would stay and fight and she was no match for him.
The man grabbed for her throat and she clawed at his hands. Greta thought about her grandmother having to bury her and got the strength to fight back, but she started to see dots as oxygen left her. Then she was slammed to the ground--his hands no longer around her neck. She glanced over to the side and saw two blurry figures fighting on the ground. She scrambled and grabbed for her glasses, which had been knocked off her face. For a moment she couldn't decipher the two figures as they rolled in the darkness. But in an instant, she saw one of them gain dominance. She noticed the cut of his jacket, and knew he was the owner of the BMW. But this was no ordinary businessman. He had the moves of a street fighter-- a raw lethal energy--and the mugger was no match. But even with her glasses on the two figures suddenly became blurry and the world began to spin.
"Sweetness, you gotta get up."
"High Flyer?" she said, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.
"Come on you gotta stay awake."
Greta tried but she couldn't get her mouth to move anymore, then darkness descended.
Chapter Three
In seconds it was over. Vance Minton saddled the thief who was scrambling to escape, clawing the ground like a wild animal.
"Call the police," he said to the man kneeling beside the woman who had helped him.
"They won't come, man. You might as well knock him out or let him go."
"Let him go?" Vance turned and looked at the man, who was still struggling. He punched him hard and the man went limp. Vance stood flexing his hand. "I'll call then."
"He's not worth your time, man."
"He tried to kill her."
"He tried to steal her purse for easy drug money, there's a difference."
"He's dangerous."
"He didn't have a gun. Look at him, he probably just started to shave."
"I don't care how old he is. He's a menace."
"Misguided."
Vance folded his arms. "Are you his attorney or something?"
The other man frowned. "She's hurt bad, man."
Vance rushed over to the woman on the ground and swore. The mugger had done more damage than he'd thought. What was worse was that he knew who she was, although he'd pretended not to. Anger blinded him. He spun around and glared at the fallen man. "I'm going to kill him."
The other man leaped up in front of him and grabbed his arm. "Forget him. I'll take care of business. Get her to a hospital. The police won't come here and neither will the ambulance. At least not in time. We're all she got."
Vance knew the guy was right. It wasn't a section of DC that the police liked going to. They might come eventually, but it was a risk. He lifted the unconscious Greta up and put her in the back of his car. “Follow me in her car. I don't want to leave it here."
"It’ll cost."
"I know. Charge me when we get there."
***
She smelled leather. Greta slowly opened her eyes, trying to get a grasp of her surroundings. She was moving, but she wasn't in her car. She glanced up and saw a man driving. Why was he driving her car? No, that was wrong. Her car didn't have leather seats. What was she doing in his car? She remembered a fight and then nothing.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice sounding like sandpaper.
"If you feel sick there's a plastic bag in the back near your head."
"I don't understand."
"I'm taking you to the hospital. I didn't want to wait for the ambulance."
"I don't need an ambulance."
Greta noticed his jaw twitch. "You got hit pretty hard."
"But --"
"You need to be checked out. You could have a concussion. It's not smart to street fight with a guy high on something."
"I didn't know that." She lay her head down, she felt a little woozy.
"You could tell by his MO. You were in an open space, he could easily be seen, and there weren't many escape routes. Why didn't you just give him your purse?"
"He hit me on the head. I was defending myself."
"Next time just give him what he wants."
Greta felt herself getting angry then noticed how the man’s hands gripped the steering wheel. Was he tense because of her? Then she understood him trying to bait her. He was trying to keep her focused on something else, besides her injuries.
"I'll be okay," she said. "Wait. Where's my car?"
"Behind us."
She slowly sat up and turned. "High Flyer is driving my car? It's going to be expensive." She sighed, resigned. "Better than having it stripped, I suppose." She turned to him. "I don't need the hospital."
"This is not a discussion." Before she could argue he said, "What's your name?"
"Greta Rodgers."
She saw his shoulders tense. "What's your middle name?"
"Why?"
He shook his head. "Because I can't call you Greta."
"Why not?"
"It's just wrong for you. A black girl from a southeast DC high school with a Swedish name. What was your mother thinking?"
Strange? How did he know she was from a southeast DC high school? Maybe because he'd seen her talking to High Flyer and assumed she grew up in the area, in which case he'd be right. "My mother didn't name me. My grandmother did. She was also the one who took me home from the hospital.” She added softly. “She loved old movies and her favorite actress was Greta Garbo."
"That's a nice story. Now what's your middle name?"
"I don't have one."
"I'll call you Reta."
"No."
"Why, not?"
"That's too close to my mother's name. Rita."
"Didn't you ever want to change your name? Didn't kids tease you at school."
"My name was only one reason."
"Hmm...fine I'll call you Tera."
They made it to the hospital in less than fifteen minutes and Vance drove Greta to the emergency room entrance. It wasn't a busy night, so Greta got seen quickly. She wondered if her rescuer would still be there when she was released.
***
"What on earth were you doing in that part of town?" Sylvie screeched on the other end of the line. "Do you have a death wish?"
Vance paced outside the hospit
al regretting calling his girlfriend. It was not a fun night. First a flat tire, then he was out three hundred bucks because of a guy with a name that reminded him of air travel. "I only called because I didn't want you to wait up for me."
"Your mother's here."
"Why?"
"She dropped by to visit and to remind you about tomorrow."
Vance knew his mother had stopped by to remind him about a luncheon she wanted him to attend. "I won't forget."
"She wanted to make sure."
"Just don't tell her about this."
"She already knows," a new, but familiar voice on the other line said. "Sylvie, let us talk."
Vance softly swore, he should have guessed his mother would be waiting on the line. His girlfriend was trying to be as close to his mother as possible. It was understandable, since they were expected to get married. He'd been seeing Sylvie for four years and he knew the writing was on the wall.
"What have you been up to?" his mother asked once Sylvie had hung up. Her words were more an accusation than a question.
"It's nothing."
"You've been acting strange lately, leaving work and not telling anyone where you were going."
The whirl of an ambulance filled the air. Vance wanted to go back inside before Greta was released. "I have to go."
"Where are you now?"
"At the hospital."
"Which hospital? Are you hurt?"
Vance looked down at his hand and flexed it, vaguely wishing he could have done more damage to the mugger. "Southeast General. No, I was just helping someone."
"A woman?"
"Yes, but--"
"I knew it," his mother said, sounding satisfied with herself. "You were trolling for hookers and one got sick on you, right?"
"Mom."
"And you thought you had to save her."
He sighed. His mother always thought the worst of him. "No, she's not a hooker. I don't go for that."
"Your Uncle did."
"I don't."
She gasped. "Oh God, is it drugs?"
"No."
"Then what were you doing in southeast?"
"There's more to southeast than drugs and hookers. You know that. We lived here for a few years, remember?"
"You know that's something I never want to remember," she said, her tone cold. Vance knew he'd hurt her, because that time of their lives had been a painful one. It had been due to one of his father's bad dealings and it had been one of the reasons he'd learned to fight. After leaving a top prep school to attend one in the inner city, Vance knew he and his brother would be prime targets, so he’d made sure that no one would. Or that if they did, they would have regrets.
"I simply made a wrong turn."
"Really?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease his anger. "Why do you always think the worst of me?"
"Because I don't understand you. You have no business being in the city that I know of, let alone southeast ."
"You can relax. It was a simple error."
"You're lying to me and I plan to find out why."
Vance shrugged. She was right. He'd been lying, but he wouldn't explain unless he was forced to. He wouldn't tell her that he'd impulsively decided to attend his high school reunion. A high school he'd barely graduated from. He'd wanted to show his old classmates how far he'd come. To show them how he'd turned his life around. No one had expected much from him. He hadn't expected much from himself. He'd been a top basketball player in school and also made it his hobby to charm as many young women as he could. He and his friends made a game of going out with virgins and ‘popping their cherry’. He'd been arrogant, cocky, and at times, heartless--until he'd been forced to change, but he wouldn't think about that now.
No, he didn't want to tell his mother about going to his class reunion or that he'd bumped into the last person he'd expected to see--Greta Rodgers, one of the girls he'd tormented. She didn't recognize him. That was a good thing. She hadn't liked him much and in truth, he hadn't liked her. She'd been so full of herself and he felt she looked down on him. A little nobody like her, looked at him as if he were a weasel. It had irked him, so he'd made her life miserable.
He hadn't recognized her at first. He’d just thought it funny for a young woman wearing an outdated, sheer, green ruffled dress and a pair of big glasses, offering him assistance. It was her smile that did it. She'd smiled at him and then helped him get some ‘eyes’ for protection. She'd been that way in school, too. Always willing to help others, despite the fact she was a social outcast. He'd tried to be brusque so she'd get annoyed and leave, but she didn’t. Then he'd half expected her to recognize him, but she hadn't done that either.
She fascinated him. She wasn’t what he expected. He liked her boldness. How she looked him squarely in the eye. She both terrified and excited him. No woman met him eye to eye that way. Like a lioness to a lion. A recognition of equals. Yes, that was it. She was his equal and didn't mind expressing it, even though now he had a better car than she did, finer clothes and even better looks. And that was what tore at him, seeing her lying helpless on the ground just because she'd stopped to help him.
"Van, are you listening?"
"No. Gotta go, talk to you later." He turned off his phone and put it away, then headed back inside. At first he'd wanted to get rid of Greta but now she was the only person he wanted to be with. He had to make sure she was alright.
***
After enduring a series of tests and five stitches later, Greta was bruised but she would be okay. She was released and sent home with some pain medication.
"Your friend is in the waiting room," the discharge nurse told her as she helped her get dressed.
"Friend?"
"Yes, the man who brought you."
High Flyer had waited for her? That was out of character for him, he must have been paid well. Greta walked to the waiting room then stopped when she saw the stranger. He saw her and tossed his magazine aside and walked towards her. The bright lights of the hospital allowed her to have a clearer view of him. He was as tall as she remembered but he was a dark figure of a man--big and powerful. He looked like he'd brought the city streets with him. He was handsome with dark intense brown eyes. And he seemed oddly familiar.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Greta smiled. "Better than I look."
"Let me take you home." He held up his hand. "It’s not a request. I'll take you in your car."
"But what about your car? How will you get home?"
"I'll take a taxi back here and pick it up then."
"But that's a lot of effort."
He flashed a quick grin. "Stop worrying about me. That's what got you into this mess."
"Getting mugged wasn't your fault."
"If you hadn't stopped to help me you'd be home safe right now."
"Then it could have been you."
"I would have preferred it."
"You don't mean that."
He gently took her arm. "Yes, I do. Now come on."
"But--"
"I told you not to worry about me. I'll be fine."
Greta bit her lip. She was glad for the help, so she wouldn't argue. "I don't even know your name."
He hesitated. "Vance Minton."
Chapter Four
He was going to say no. They were minutes from her house and Greta knew that if she asked him in for coffee, he was going to say no, but that didn't stop her from wanting to ask him. She didn't want the night to end, or her time with him to end. But she knew he would say no. He'd say that he was busy or that he had a wife waiting for him, or something. She quickly glanced at his left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She figured he'd say he'd prefer to wait in the car until the taxi came. It was a shame, because she really liked him. He was easy to be with. He didn't question how she knew High Flyer, he had stayed with her at the hospital and instead of putting her in a taxi or just walking her to her car, he'd driven her home.
Vance Minton.
She liked his name. And, like his face, there was something familiar about it, but she couldn't place it or him. She'd never see him again and he didn't seem to know her, so she might as well forget it. Greta saw her house come into view and sighed. Time to say goodbye. He pulled up into the driveway and parked.
Greta unlatched her seatbelt and opened the door. "Would you like to come in for coffee?"
"Sure."
She got out of the car. "Of course I understand. It's been a long evening...wait what?" She turned to stare at him over the hood of her car.
He closed the car door. "I said sure."
"Really?"
He flashed one of his quick grins. "Yes."
"Oh good." He'd said yes. He had actually said yes. Greta felt like skipping, but she had to play it cool. She had to play it as if she'd invited men for coffee all the time, even though this was the first time in her life. She didn't see her mother's car in the driveway, so that was a reprieve. Greta stepped inside her house pleased that it was clean. Her mother must have been out most of the day. They passed through the living room. He pointed to her music stand and clarinet case.
"You still play the clarinet?" he asked surprised.
"Yes, I play in an orchestra. It's not professional, it’s just for fun." She stared at him. "How did you know I played the clarinet?"
He blinked. "It's just that most people who learn an instrument start as a child and then stop as an adult. I just assumed you'd started early."
"You're right. Very observant."
"Hmm."
"The kitchen is this way." He followed her but when they reached the kitchen he gently pushed her into a chair and said, "I'll make the coffee just tell me where things are."
"Okay." She sat and watched him. "So what do you do?"
"I'm a contractor."
"How exciting."
He looked at her unsure, as if he was trying to figure out if she was being serious. "You mean that?"
She nodded. "Building things and creating things have always fascinated me."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Me too."
Vance found what he needed and made the coffee then poured some into two mugs and set one in front of her. Greta smiled at him, wishing he would be more talkative. "Thanks Van."
