by Leila Adams
Light and darkness rotated, silver-white and flat-black, as the overhead street lamp reflected on the steel edge of a knife.
Chapter 5
THE SHROUD OF MIST pulled back washing the street with light.
What the hell were these gangbangers doing out at this hour? Everything about them screamed mayhem. There would be no walking past these men, no negotiation. I had to take care of this quickly and quietly before anyone noticed.
The predator in me roared to life. Fuck 'em. Let's get this over with.
Fat Man raised a hand and thumped a short metal pipe in his palm. I angled my body in a protective stance with my back toward the building. "Morning boys," I said initiating the conversation. "Out a little early aren't we? You seem to be lost. Can I give you animals’ directions back to the hole you crawled out of?"
"Who the fuck you think you talkin' to, Bitch?" said Tall Man in a thick Spanish accent. "Me and my homies are gonna teach you some manners."
He was wrong if he thought he could intimidate me. "Gentlemen, what we have here is a case of mistaken identity. Now let me tell you how this is going to go. You," I pointed to Fat Man, "that pipe in your hand, I'm going to use it to crush your fucking skull. That knife there," I darted my finger at Blue Bandanna, "I'm going to take it and cut your fucking guts out. And you," I motioned to Tall Man, "that gun you're carrying in the back of your pants, I'm going to use it to put a bullet between your eyes. Unless, all three of you...walk...the fuck...away...now. If you don't, I promise you, this will not end well." Dropping my purse to the ground, I raised my hands in defense.
The three men looked at me, then one another in disbelief and burst out laughing.
"Man you are one motherfucking, smart ass bitch. Vato, can you believe this pinche puta?" Tall Man sneered, his head wobbling up and down like a bobble head. He laughed and glanced at the other men.
"No way, Jefe. We gonna enjoy this," said Fat Man, grabbing his crotch and shaking it.
Simultaneously the three men came at me.
It took two seconds to formulate a plan. In the first second, I assessed the situation. They made the mistake of getting too close. Had they kept their distance they would have had the advantage, but they hadn't. At this range, I could disarm them. The gun wasn't out yet. Tall Man would need a moment to brandish it. A gun was easier to take than a knife—that being the more difficult maneuver requiring precision to avoid the blade. I'd neutralize the knife threat, then the gun, and finish with Fat Man. By the next second, I'd begun execution and instinct took over.
I turned to see Blue Bandanna come at me from behind wielding the knife overhead. Pivoting, I dodged the blade as it sliced through the gray mist. I grabbed his fisted hand on the downswing and jerked it back hard enough to snap his wrist. Letting out a bone-chilling scream, he stiffened in pain. I removed the knife from his crippled grasp and drew the blade across his throat quick and efficiently, severing the carotid artery. Blood gushed from the open wound scenting the night. With bulging eyes, he clutched the slippery flesh trying to hold it closed. Blood seeped through his fingers, and wet gurgling sounds bubbled out of his shredded windpipe. He stumbled for a moment, then fell to the ground.
I turned to the other two men. They stood frozen in disbelief, rage contorting their faces. "Qué chingados?" cried Tall Man. His shoulders rose and his chest expanded. "You gonna fuckin' die. But not before I make you pay." He reached for the gun in the back of his pants as he spoke. Anticipating the move, I was already in motion. In a single action as he brought the gun around I grabbed the outside of his wrist, lunging to my left, blading my body from the line of fire and pulled him forward, throwing him off balance to my right. Holding his wrist in a vice grip, I threw his arm high as I turned to face him. Still holding the knife with my other hand I plunged it into his gut, ripping it across his belly. Clasping the gaping hole in his stomach Tall Man's knees buckled and he crumpled to the sidewalk.
Thud! The sound of metal meeting a solid surface rang through the darkness. Searing pain exploded across my back, ribs splintered, and I flew forward, stumbling over the men that lay unconscious around me.
"Fuuuck!" Fat Man screamed the smell of fear thick on him.
Dropping the knife, I whirled around to see Fat Man staring at the pipe, a look of shock on his face. I took two steps in his direction and snatched the offending implement from his hand. For an instant, before I brought the piece of lead down on his skull, wild, terror-stricken eyes pleaded with me. I pulled the swing and metal connected with a sickening crunch across his chest.
The three men lay sprawled in a growing suffusion of blood around me. I looked down in horror at the carnage. My heart sprinted in my chest and I gasped for air. Shock and fatigue set in as the adrenaline dump coursed through my veins. I brought the back of a trembling hand up to my mouth to wipe the blood spray from my lips, and a pungent, metallic odor hit me. I stopped short at the sight of dark red leather. Nausea roiled in my stomach forcing me into motion.
I couldn't walk away covered in blood. I tore off my wet gloves and shoved them into my pockets, then removed the coat and turned it inside out. I picked up my purse, grabbed a tissue and rubbed my face. I looked around. No homeless people slept in doorways nearby, and no cars or pedestrians had passed. It was still early and dark. The incident was over in less than three minutes. There were no gunshots to sound an alarm. I searched for incriminating evidence. The weapons lay on the ground, but my fingerprints would not be on them. Footprints would be a problem; I was standing in blood. I took off one shoe, stepped backward out of the pool, then removed the other. With one last look, I left the scene running in bare feet.
Minutes later, I entered the hotel and rode the escalator up to Bay Level. Afraid someone might see me, I rushed down an empty hallway scanning the area for a house phone. At the far end, I found what I wanted. I picked up the receiver and made the call.
Chapter 6
BY THE TIME I made it back to my suite it was 6:30. A block away three men lay on the street, possibly dead. If someone saw me come in and connected me to the crime, the police would find everything they needed to arrest me in the room. The evidence had to go. Removing the white plastic laundry bag from the closet, I dropped my shoes inside and drew the string tight, tying it several times. My coat and dress followed on a hanger outside the closet.
Licking my lips unconsciously, I frowned at the taste of contaminated blood. I needed to wash the stench off. In the shower, I let the warm water flow down over my tight muscles until they began to loosen. I was numb and in shock, going through motions I was barely aware of. I lathered my hair and washed my body, wondering if I would ever feel clean again. I turned off the faucet and had just enough time to wrap a towel around me when my cell rang.
"I'm fine, Ethan," I answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID.
He let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I thought so. I just wanted to make sure. But God dammit, Olivia, why the hell didn’t you run? Did you have to fight?”
"You try running in stilettos." My shoulders slumped; I didn't need a lecture. Exhaustion claimed me and I hurt all over. "I didn't think I had any options."
"Yes, you did. And did you have to provoke them? Now I'll have to deal with this."
"Ethan you weren't there," I insisted.
"I saw everything from the moment that dirtbag jumped out in front of you. From my vantage point, you could have run."
"Again, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Should I be worried?”
"I don't know yet. Someone called dispatch right after it happened. It's a cluster fuck out there right now. Fire and ambulance are on scene. The area's been taped off, and they're looking for witnesses. The Medical Examiner, Crime Scene Investigators, and Gang Task Force have all been called in. As soon as they contact businesses in the area they'll check for video. Forensic evidence should be minimal. You had gloves on so there won't be any fingerprints.
"This has already hit the news. Reporters a
re having a field day with it. They'll tie this into gang violence and that'll be a problem for holiday shoppers. My guess is merchants in the area will be up in arms demanding the mayor and PD give some assurances to the public that this is an isolated incident. Shit. Do you have any idea who you were dealing with?"
"Judging by the tattoos it looked like MS-13 gang members,” I said. Gang violence had escalated lately and it was in the news almost every night.
"Yeah. And those guys were straight up out of prison. I can’t figure out what the hell they were doing downtown at 6:00 in the morning. This whole thing feels wrong. They could have killed you. Some of those assholes carry machetes. They've been known to decapitate their victims. MS-13's all about violence. It might have been drugs at one time but now it's pure aggression and raising status in a clique."
Ethan was right about the danger, but it hadn’t occurred to me when it was happening. Self-preservation wasn’t something I’d worried about in a long time. Maybe I should have been a little more concerned. "Are they all dead?"
"One is. Two are in surgery at SF General. I don't have any information beyond that. Give me a couple of hours and we might have ID by then. Hope those sons of bitches code blue on the operating table. By the way, I'm glad you didn't mark them. That would have complicated things."
"I wasn't even tempted. Got a whiff of their blood. It smelled rotten."
"Don't even think about keeping the clothes you wore. There's blood on them. You don't want anything around in the rare event something turns up on video. Take the clothes home and burn them. If you do it now you'll still have the rest of the day with Benjamin."
I couldn't argue with him. I didn't see any way around it. "You're right; I'll take care of it."
"You need to be careful," Ethan said, making it sound like a command.
"Alright, I hear you. Call me when you have an update."
"You can be sure of it." He hesitated for a second then added, "And, Olivia, I'm glad you're okay."
"Thanks, Ethan," I said as he hung up.
The phone rang again before I set it on the bathroom counter.
"Liv, are you alright? We were so scared," Lizzie said, her voice choked with emotion.
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine, really I am. It's alright, sweetheart," I replied, trying to soothe her.
"I knew you'd be okay," Terra's voice cut in. Apparently, they were both on the line. "How's your back?"
I'd almost forgotten about the broken ribs. "I don't know. I haven't looked yet, hold on a minute and let me see." I turned around to look in the mirror over the sink and lowered the towel. A large rectangular contusion marked my back. The ridges on the welt were red, and the center had darkened to an angry black and blue. There were no lacerations, or maybe they had healed already. I rotated my shoulder blades up and down to assess the damage. Piercing bolts of pain radiated from the fifth, sixth, and seventh ribs along my spine. "I’m bruised up pretty well, but healing. Should be good in a day or two." My mind shot forward remembering Benjamin was in town. This complicated things.
Terra groaned, "Shit, that hurt."
"Nearly knocked me to the ground," Lizzie added.
"We were in Printemps when it happened. The saleswoman must have thought we were crazy. The two of us just froze. We saw it all. Smelled it too," Terra said as if she had a bad taste in her mouth.
"Sounds like you felt it also. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
Terra clarified, "Well, we didn't exactly feel it, as if it happened to us, more like you felt it and we knew what you were going through. That skinny guy—there was something wrong with him. He smelled bad. I know; I've smelled it before when I was sick."
"Yeah, that's what I thought," I replied.
Lizzie asked, "Liv, why were you out so early in the morning dressed like that?"
"I was on my way back to my hotel."
Terra teased, "Ah, the walk of shame."
"Are you alright?" I knew Lizzie wasn't asking just about my physical health.
"Yeah, I guess so," I murmured. "I can't believe I did that. I don't know what came over me." I’d never acted so ruthless before, didn’t know I could. The brutality left me queasy.
Terra explained, "It was survival instinct. Mirror neurons. A keen understanding of human nature. Remember you acted in self-defense. Force with like force. They could have killed you. You didn't start it."
"That's not what Ethan said."
“What do you mean?"
"Ethan gave me a bad time and told me I should have run."
"It was three on one. You were surrounded. That's easy for him to say after the fact. I think you did the right thing. Even if you had run, they would have chased you down. At least this way you had control over the situation. Nice defensive tactics, by the way. I'm guessing you didn't thank Ethan for the training?"
"Absolutely not! After the way he berated me, I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction."
Terra chuckled. "I positively agree with you. After all, no one likes to be berated."
Ignoring her comment I continued, "I'm sure he recognized it for what it was. He was emphatic that I burn everything I wore. I was about to run home and take care of it."
Lizzie moaned, "I'm sorry."
"I guess he's right. Two are still alive, so potentially this could come back to haunt me."
"Terra and I were talking about it afterward; couldn't you have looked at your reflection in a car mirror or a window so we could see the whole picture?"
"We're dying to see what you look like," Terra interjected.
"I guess we're all in for some surprises, Myrina." The three of us laughed, relieving some of the tension.
"Well, we're glad you're okay, Liv," Lizzie said.
"You'll pick me up Tuesday morning, right?"
"We'll both be there," Terra answered. "If you need to talk later call us."
"Thanks, I'll remember that. If you don't hear from me before then, I'll see you Tuesday." Brief goodbyes followed and we hung up.
I mixed myself a double cocktail. Sipping the drink, I walked over to the clothes hanging on the back of the closet door to examine them. The shoes, coat, and gloves, without question, would have to go. I picked up my dress and inhaled. The tainted odor was there. I repeated the process with my nylons and found they too reeked of disease. Now that I had washed the blood off I could smell it easily on my clothes.
It became apparent my best course of action was to go home and follow Ethan's advice. Opening the closet, I removed the plastic travel carrier my new dress had come in. I gathered the contaminated items and placed them inside. Grabbing jeans, a heavy sweater and pair of boots, I dressed quickly. Picking up my clutch, I fumed when I saw the dark irregular stain across the back. Irritated, I shook the contents out on the bed, pulled a large travel purse out of a drawer and dumped everything inside. Shoving the clutch into the garment bag, I grabbed the hanger and walked out.
Taking the escalator down to street level, I found a cab, gave the taxi driver my address, and ducked into the back seat.
Chapter 7
IN LESS THAN fifteen minutes the cab pulled up to my house, I paid the fare and got out. I looked up at the 1935 Spanish Mediterranean building with its creamy-white exterior, red clay roof, and colorful Talavera tile. The property was prime real estate located on a corner of Marina Boulevard across the street from the Greens, with a view of the bridge and harbor. A young woman in running gear emerged from the side gate of the home next to mine, spinning like a top to avoid tripping over the leash attached to a bouncing Golden Retriever. Neither of us made eye contact. How sad. We had passed on the street many times but never spoken. I didn't even know her name though she had lived next to me for several years. I shrugged it off. For that matter, I didn't know any of my neighbors. The girl slipped little white discs into her ears and kicked up her heels, hitting the asphalt at a measured pace.
I juggled the awkward carrier up the steps, biting pain flaring across my back
under its weight. I found my keys and unlocked the door, stepping into a brightly lit hallway. Setting my purse down on a short leather bench, I hung the carrier in the hall. I went to the bay windows and opened them wide, welcoming the scent of the Pacific.
I stood there gazing at the Greens, organizing what I needed to do in my mind. I built a fire in the hearth using the paper, kindling, and small logs I kept in the basket next to it. Within minutes the flames began to leap and crackle.
Piece by piece I fed my shoes, purse, and clothes to the fire gods. I stood before the pyre, fuming at the world. I hadn’t gone looking for trouble. All I had done was walk down the wrong street at the wrong time. It wasn’t my fault.
I wasn’t being honest with myself, though. I could pretend to play the victim, but I knew otherwise. I had killed a man and severely injured two more. I had taken a life. A life that God had placed on this earth. The life of a man that lived and breathed, and had a soul. I had ended his days and made the supreme decision to divest him of his human privileges. Never again would he experience the joys and sorrows of human existence, know the simple pleasures of life, have a chance to do good or wreak havoc on another. And he would never have an opportunity for atonement. I had assured his place in hell and denied him a stay. I had taken what only God should take.
