Hybrid

by Ballan, Greg

  Nelson extended his hand with the envelope, and Erik took it. Without saying another word, Nelson headed for the doorway. As he approached the narrow hallway, he suddenly turned. “Oh, Mr. Knight, welcome aboard,” he remarked then quickly vanished down the hall.

  Erik stared at the envelope in his hand, still trying to recover from the sudden twist of good fortune that fell upon him.

  “Well, my friend, you certainly came out of that encounter under par,” Steve commented from the couch where he was still sitting.

  “So it would seem,” Erik answered. “Thanks for the support.”

  “Don't mention it, but I wasn't bullshitting. Nobody spends more time up in those woods than you, or knows more about the wilderness in general. That's an asset we need to exploit right now,” Steve replied as Erik wrinkled his brow. “Something's bothering you.”

  “Yeah, that missing person report you spoke of earlier. It's no coincidence that they're both around that particular area. This could be the beginning of a pattern.”

  “Erik, for Christ's sake, you're worse than an old lady. Worry about one case at a time. I'll review the statements tomorrow on my break and let you know if there's anything unusual. Take my advice and relax for the rest of the day. You're going to be an indentured servant to these people for the next week or two, so take the time to enjoy your last breaths of freedom,” Steve said as he headed out of the office.

  He stopped at the door. “One more thing, be careful. The woodlands higher up can be very dangerous and inhospitable; so watch yourself and keep me informed, please. I don't have much faith in those corporate suits. They'll probably all get a nasty case of poison ivy out there.”

  “Always. Now who's being the old lady?” Erik retorted.

  Erik waited until he was by himself before he opened the envelope from the Reynolds. He looked at the check for one thousand dollars and started to feel some guilt. He knew he needed money—everybody did—but taking money from a grieving family somehow didn't seem right. Erik struggled with his conscience for a few minutes and decided that he did work for them and he did find a lead. He placed the check in his wallet and headed out the door.

  “How did it go?” Alissa asked as he entered the main area of the restaurant.

  “It went very well. Better than I'd hoped, actually. Everyone enjoyed the food. Thank you very much,” he answered, causing Alissa to smile again.

  “If the door is unlocked, I'll get the dishes,” she offered.

  Erik considered her offer. It was obvious that she was trying to establish a friendship and that she had chosen him. She usually was amazingly shy and kept to herself. Erik wondered how long she had been trying to get his attention.

  “That would be a big help. Jeff has a spare key; tell him I said it's okay for you to go in there and get the stuff.”

  Alissa smiled again and turned away quickly.

  * * * *

  Erik deposited the check and took two hundred in cash. Shanda had showed him a good time last night and he felt like returning the favor. He stopped at a florist and picked out a dozen long stem roses and headed toward her store.

  As he walked in, he drew the gaze of many customers. He spotted Shanda at the cashier counter, heatedly discussing something with two large men. Erik could tell from Shanda's body language that she was angry. Erik was stunned when one of the men reached across the counter and grabbed her forcefully by the collar of her shirt. He dropped his flowers and quickly made his way to her.

  “I said Mr. Decinto would appreciate it if you would move some of his merchandise in your establishment,” the larger of the two men said as he tightened his grip on Shanda's blouse.

  Erik could clearly see the look of terror in her eyes. He quickly made his way toward the pair, pushing astonished employees and customers out of his way. He was directly behind the men now, and they were unaware of his presence.

  “Release her, now!” he commanded in a voice seething with anger. The smaller of the two men, who Erik quickly sized up at two inches taller than himself, turned and looked down at him. Erik knew the man had quickly determined that he was no real threat.

  “This doesn't concern you. Go away, punk, before you get hurt. Go be a Good Samaritan someplace else,” he responded as the larger of the two men tossed Shanda back behind the counter and turned to face Erik.

  “I can't do that,” Erik answered flatly.

  “Finally,” the big man commented, “one of these pukes found a pair.”

  Erik guessed that the larger of the two men was at least six feet nine inches tall, and had to outweigh him by 100 pounds easily. Erik knew there would be no way of talking himself out of this. The two men had already assumed offensive postures.

  “Take him down, Tank.” the smaller man commented.

  Tank, as Erik quickly surmised, was aptly named. He was gigantic. His body was built like an oil barrel, thick and solid, with a large midsection and a bloated stomach that, Erik guessed, was from a love of beer. His arms were nearly the size of Erik's legs. There was no clear muscle definition, just massive bulk of flesh and tissue. Erik would have to take Tank apart piece by piece, knowing that he would need a step-ladder to land a blow on the man's jaw.

  Tank moved with surprising speed for such a large man. He rushed toward Erik with his arms outstretched in an effort to simply tear his smaller opponent apart. As Tank's arms went to close, Erik ducked and, pushing off his back foot, met the Tank's charge with a swift uppercut into his sternum. Erik heard the breath escape from the Tank's lungs. He gasped as the air forcefully expelled from his body. Erik jumped back as his foe stumbled forward, trying to catch his breath.

  Tank collected himself and threw another series of blows. There was no finesse in his fighting style, just brute force. Erik easily avoided the series of punches and countered with a solid right cross to the man's large paunch. Erik felt his fist sink deep into the man's soft midsection. Tank buckled slightly but quickly righted himself. Erik ruled out hitting him in the gut again, there was too much fat cushioning that area. Tank lunged forward unexpectedly and caught Erik's leading arm. Erik felt the sheer power of the larger mans grip. Tank smiled, revealing large, uneven teeth.

  “You're meat now, shrimp,” he grunted as he tried to force Erik to the ground.

  Erik took a quick step back and pulled on his arm, causing the big man to step forward. He suddenly twisted his arm and applied pressure to several specific points on the larger mans forearm. As Erik found the desired locations, he dug his fingers into the man's flesh. Tank's face quickly went from a smile to a grimace of pain and discomfort. He tried to pull back, but Erik applied even more pressure on the arm, which was still clamped on to his.

  “I'll bet that hurts,” Erik commented as he doubled the amount of pressure he was applying. He felt the grip on his arm suddenly weaken and let go. He took this opportunity to slam a back fist into the side of Tank's face with his other hand. The resounding impact sounded like a thunderclap. Tank fell back, stunned by the force of the blow. Erik stepped in quickly and put all his strength into a solid right cross into his opponent's chest cavity. The force of his blow threw the large man off his feet and landed him, posterior first, on the floor. Erik stopped his attack, hoping that he had made his point to the two men.

  “Are we finished?” he asked while Tank still sat dazed on the floor.

  Tank picked himself up and shook off the impact. He reminded Erik of a gigantic bull elephant emerging from a mud pit. “Nobody knocks down the Tank and ‘gits away with it,” Tank answered, preparing to charge again.

  Erik summoned his latent gift of enhanced strength. His whole body tingled with vitality and energy. He wanted to end this fight as quickly as possible and was no longer in the mood to simply exchange blows with the large gorilla standing in front of him.

  * * * *

  Shanda quietly watched the battle, waiting for her moment. She watched Erik intently. His face was set like stone, his eyes narrowed like a predatory cat. />
  She sensed an almost inhuman quality about him. Something in his aura that wasn't always present suddenly appeared around him. It was almost comical to watch the large portly man try to catch his more agile opponent. Every time the fat man tried to attack, Erik skipped out of the way and punished the man for his efforts. Shanda could see that the large man was getting frustrated and angry. The man nearest to her began to look concerned.

  Shanda slowly stepped back; she saw her objective, a small red button underneath the sales counter. She silently reached underneath the counter and quickly pressed the button. Soon, the police would respond to the silent alarm and this nightmare would be over.

  Tank gasped as he took another rock-solid blow to his midsection, causing him to fall back several steps. He looked up at his opponent, amazed at the force of the blow he just absorbed. He managed to straighten up and raise his fists in a defensive posture.

  Erik stepped in and threw a blistering roundhouse kick, which impacted with the outside of Tank's knee joint. There was a loud crack as the joint splintered. Tank roared with agony as he lunged forward in an effort to grasp Erik again. Erik leapt, and, twisting in mid-air, smashed his back foot against Tank's face with a spinning back kick, driving Tank backward. Tank stumbled back and hit the floor with a resounding thud. He did not get up. He lay on the ground, holding his broken leg and moaning as blood poured from his broken nose.

  “You're a tricky bastard,” Tank's colleague remarked as he slipped off his jacket. “But you'll find me a more skilled opponent.” He said as he raised his hands and approached Erik.

  Erik didn't return the taunt. He just waited, crouching low, like a tiger, waiting for his new opponent to strike.

  The man was right; he was more skilled than Erik's previous opponent. He didn't lunge forward like Tank, but carefully threw well-aimed jabs and punches in an attempt to distract Erik. Shanda noticed that Erik was able to adjust to this man just as he had adapted to Tank. Erik didn't avoid this opponent. He met each blow with a block and counter strike. There was no mistaking the other man's skill, however, and at times both men were blocking and punching with amazing speed, neither man striking a clean blow.

  Erik surprised his opponent by changing his tactics, suddenly throwing a sharp side-thrust kick that caught his opponent completely off guard. The kick forced the man backwards, causing him to crash into a display shelf, knocking him and the shelf over. He slowly picked himself up, holding his left side with his hand. Erik again did something unexpected, he leapt across the eight feet separating them, crashing into him like a freight train and sending both of them to the floor, colliding with the fallen shelf and display items.

  As they stood, Erik began peppering the man with jabs of his own. His left hand struck like a serpent, at times only visible as a blur of motion. Each time he stuck a blow there was a resounding crack. The thugs face became puffy and swollen. He tried to counter, but could not establish any defense. Erik brushed aside his attempts at punches, and disdainfully blocked an attempt at a front kick. Erik threw combinations, left jabs, followed by quick rights, left hooks, and spinning back-fists. The man's eyes had that telltale glazed look, which indicated that he was on the verge of blacking out, and his legs were visibly buckling.

  The sound of sirens made both men pause. Erik smiled, while his opponent looked very scared.

  “Time's up,” Erik commented as he backed away. “You lose.”

  Both men looked out the large display window and saw several patrons and customers waving to the oncoming police car. The thug shook his head to clear away the dizziness caused by Erik's blows. He took a step forward, and stumbled as he nearly lost his balance. He slowly walked over to where Tank had fallen, and sat beside him.

  “Hang on, Tank, we'll get you to a hospital.” He looked up at Erik. “You didn't gain anything. We'll be out before you know it,” he remarked as the police entered the store.

  “But you won't be back here,” Erik retorted, “if you know what's good for you.”

  * * * *

  Two employees had cleaned the broken items, and replaced the fallen display case. Things had returned to normal. Shanda had filed a report with the police and an ambulance had taken Tank off to the Milford-Whitinsville Hospital. The other antagonist had been handcuffed and was on his way to the police station.

  Shanda escorted Erik to her office on the second floor where he had presented her with the somewhat ruffled rose bouquet. She placed the roses in a large vase that was now serving as a centerpiece on her small desk.

  Shanda explained to Erik and the police that for the past few months the same two thugs would come in weekly urging her to sell particular items that were not in line with her Newberry franchise. Today, however, her visitors were more insistent. Erik and the police wisely concluded that the goods were packaging for narcotics or other illegal substances. The products confiscated by law enforcement would be carefully examined. The two officers assured Shanda there would be careful surveillance of her store in the near future.

  Now the two sat in her office, suddenly unsure of what to say next. Erik began recapping what had occurred during his meeting with the Reynolds and their hired professionals.

  Erik had finished describing the events of the afternoon, recounting his excitement of working with a large agency and not being removed from the Lisa Reynolds case.

  “I knew those things belonged to her,” Shanda boasted.

  Erik nodded. “Yeah, deep down, I knew, too. Although I kinda’ wish we were both wrong. With every day that passes the odds of finding that little girl, alive or otherwise, decreases drastically.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence as Shanda stared at her roses and then back at Erik. “In all the six years I've known you, I've never seen you in a fight. I mean, I knew you were a fighter, I know you train; I've just never seen you in that light before.” She stood up and plucked a rose from the vase and inhaled the elegant fragrance.

  “When I saw that guy grabbing you, I was afraid he was really going to hurt you,” he confessed. “I didn't want that to happen. I still—” Erik stopped himself.

  Shanda smiled. “I'm glad you were here. You saved me from a probable beating, and most likely from having to file a large damages claim with my insurance policy.”

  Please, Erik, just say it. She had already read his feelings for her, and she knew of his self-doubt. If he would only come out and say something she could tell him how she felt about him.

  “I'm glad I was, too.” He turned toward the door. “I have to go,” Erik added quickly as he headed out of her office.

  Shanda watched him through the second story window as he headed for his truck and drove out of the parking lot.

  You poor soul. They took everything from you, including your self-confidence. I don't care about how much you earn, Erik. I only care about you. Why can't you just let go of the hurt? Shanda decided that if she wanted something permanent from Erik Knight, she'd have to make the first move. She smiled as an idea came to her.

  * * * *

  It was close to 9:00 p.m. Erik was preparing the equipment that he would need for tomorrow's expedition into the woods. He had sharpened his Jim Bowie hunting blade and chosen his LED compass, as well as other sorted hiking gear he would need.

  The Hopedale Forest surrounded a large hill. Some people called it a mountain because it was one of the highest elevation points in Central Massachusetts. There were no other large hills or peaks near it. It stood alone as a geological oddity. The woodlands surrounding this vast hilltop numbered in the thousands of square acres. Unlike other woodlands, some small dirt roads had been laid through various sections of the forest. Otherwise, the pathless wilderness was as secluded and isolated as any other wild land in North America.

  Erik was busy rinsing a canteen with water when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway to his apartment. He instinctively grabbed one of his Wilson 45s in the left chamber of his shoulder holster and listened intently as the foot
falls approached his doorway. To his recollection, the other tenant who had the adjoining apartment was away on vacation. Nobody should be here at this hour, yet his instincts were not alarmed by the footsteps. His door rattled with a light tapping.

  “Erik? It's me, Shanda. Are you there?”

  He flipped the safety back on the weapon and placed it back inside its holster. “Just a minute.” He unlocked the door and opened it.

  Erik was shocked. There was Shanda, but without the leather pants and wild make-up, and with hair all one color. The earring was missing from her nose, as were several other pairs that she wore in her earlobes.

  “Well,” she asked, “are you going to stand there gawking at me or invite me in?”

  Erik stepped back and gestured for her to enter. He did his best not to stare, but the change was so drastic from how he was used to seeing her. She had on simple blue jeans, worn black leather boots, a blue Van Halen concert shirt, and a faded, black leather jacket.

  “You look great,” he marveled.

  “I look like how you'd expect a normal person to look,” she retorted lightly. “This is who I really am. The other Shanda, the owner of Newberry, has to dress like that; that's part of my business. I put on a costume to go to work, the same way you wear that funky Miami Vice shoulder holster and those two hand cannons. That's part of your costume for your trade. This is who I am, Erik Knight. Who are you?”

  She reached up behind his head and undid the clasp that held his long hair in place. She gently let it fall over his shoulders. She undid the buckles of his double holster and slid it down his arms and around his torso. She held up the heavy weapons package of two guns and four clips, and tossed it onto his couch. “That's not you.”

  Shanda knelt down and lifted the right leg of his jeans and reached inside his faded Frye Cowboy boot, pulling out a leather sheath, which contained two throwing knives, which she knew he kept there. “This isn't you either,” she added. “Nor is this,” she continued as she tugged the 45th battalion combat ring from his finger. “There.” She smiled. “Now you don't have a costume on either.”