No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story

by James Nathaniel Miller II

  Earlier in the hotel lobby, he had been handed a VIP pass to a premiere screening of a new Superman movie. It was showing at a popular mall near the hotel. The superhero film would have to do — anything to get his mind off the boredom and bad dreams.

  The rain had let up temporarily, so he took to the wet sidewalks and sloshed his way toward the mall four blocks away.

  Wearing his Wranglers, Payless tennies, and the Pirates cap and shirt, he blended well while passing through the lobby of the Cinema 18 in Maxstone Memorial Matrix. It wouldn’t have been this easy in Houston where he was already a celebrity, but in this mall, situated less than a mile from the Allegheny River, he was just a guy going to the movie on a Friday night without a date.

  He arrived at the Cinema 18 early and decided to visit the concessions. As he stood in line, he overheard a young woman engaged in a cell phone conversation with her father. He could not see her because she stood behind a freestanding bulletin board, but he was intrigued as he listened.

  “No, Daddy, Speedy broke up with me. We went out twice, and then he asked me to move in. When I told him I wasn’t going to sleep with another guy until marriage, he acted like I was violating his rights or something. Every guy I meet wants only one thing — to hit on me.”

  Cody strained to hear every word. His left ear had suffered hearing damage in Afghanistan, so he turned his head to get his right ear closer.

  “It’s been a horrible day. First, Tanner McNair canceled for my Sunday-night show. He’s leaving town right after the game Sunday ‘cause he’s a last-minute selection for the All-Star Game in Detroit.”

  Now Cody’s curiosity was piqued. Tanner McNair, Pittsburgh Pirates right fielder, was his best friend from high school. This chick must be well connected. What Sunday-night show?

  “Then this afternoon these creepy-looking guys followed me.” Silence. “Yes, I know, Daddy, but lots of editorial writers have death threats.”

  Cody wanted to maneuver into position to see her, but a rail stood between him and the bulletin board. Editorials? Threats?

  “I’m going to that premiere I told you about — the new Superman movie.” Silence. “I know, Daddy, but I can’t let them scare me. I just need to chill.”

  Normally in Pittsburgh at 6:00 p.m. in July, bright daylight would be in order. But today, with foreboding skies of black clouds and drizzle, Cody saw it as a picture of what his life had become — lots of rain and thunder and very little sunshine.

  Though he could not see her behind the bulletin board, something in her voice reminded him of sunlight and better days. She was going to the same movie, and she knew his best friend. I gotta find out who she is.

  But mingling made him nervous. He was a freak. His clothing hid most of his physical scars, but what female in her right mind would want to be seen with him at a beach or similar social event? And the scars on his soul went just as deep. Who would want to endure his mental state?

  Finally, she emerged. Stunning, early twenties, slender and athletic with long, dark brown hair, she reminded him of a Shakespeare quote — “I ne’er saw true beauty ‘till this night.”

  The O2 rushed right out of his chest. He tried not to stare as she passed, but his captive eyes could not resist.

  “Please, cowboy, leave something on me.” The sassy filly spirited away, hastening her steps, pink flip-flops flipping and flopping underneath her heels on the worn-out carpet. Something told Cody she wasn’t interested in meeting him — not now, not ever.

  As he approached the turnstile, the skies outside rumbled again — another storm rolling across the Allegheny. He handed his free pass to the attendant, a slightly-built young man with freckles, a wad of gum in his cheek, orange hair, and wearing a micro ruby nose ring.

  “Theater Five, sir, down the hall to your left. And what she really meant was, she’s dying to be rode.”

  Cody tightened his jaw, yanked his stamped movie pass back from the attendant, and followed about fifty paces behind the captivating mystery woman. He visualized how she would look with summer sunlight shining on her face and hair.

  She wore a dark brown summer blouse, the words “Coco Made Me Poor” written across the front in pink letters. With bleached cutoff jeans and a small leather purse barely large enough for her smartphone, she gracefully swayed before him like five feet, seven inches of heaven.

  Was she only an apparition? Despite her display of contempt, her heavenly presence had at least temporarily calmed his storms that lurked in the night, but he would need to work up some grit just to approach her. What could he possibly say to interest her in knowing him?

  Suddenly, his fantasy was shattered by a loud crash. Three men wearing ski masks had breached a nearby emergency exit from the outside. They raced into the building, brutally seized the angel of his affection, and began yanking her toward the door.

  “Leave me alone! Get away! Someone call the police! Help me!” She resisted, fighting, scratching, twisting, and screaming. Her tenacity angered the abductors, so they slammed her down and dragged her across the grimy carpet toward the exit. They pulled her by the hair and from behind by the neck of her Coco shirt, which squeezed off her windpipe and ripped the blouse.

  She coughed and gasped for breath while they tugged her closer and closer to the door, but still she resisted. They battered her with profane verbal abuse and extreme brutality — an apparent effort to intimidate her into submission.

  Like lightning striking desert sands, the attack on this innocent woman had detonated Cody’s beautiful dream into a molten rage. Adrenaline drove his legs forward like a runaway diesel. His steely forearms tightened. He was back in Afghanistan and ready to hurt somebody.

  Receptors on full alert, he heard every sound and saw every movement. The rush, the horror, and the intensity — a cocktail of emotions he had tried to forget for four years.

  And then he witnessed something remarkable. As though a cool breeze had swept across the young woman’s face, she stopped fighting and closed her eyes. Her settled expression suggested an uncommon resolve to remain collected and to gather her thoughts.

  As he charged forward, Cody never slowed, but he returned to his senses. Navy SEALs had taught him how to win — analyze, stay within yourself, don’t lose your head, finish it.

  He reasoned. They had specifically targeted her. They had it all planned out. They would have a getaway vehicle waiting in the parking lot on the other side of the exit. If they managed to get her through that door, she’d be gone forever.

  “Let her go! The police are on their way!”

  He had a plan — attempt to scare them off with the threat of police intervention. If that didn’t work, use force. He had only seconds to decide.

  Like his last mission in Afghanistan, showing presence failed to scare off the attackers. The three men ignored him. While two dragged and choked her, the third assailant attempted to place a white cloth over her nose and mouth.

  Cody leaped over a rail and positioned himself in front of the door, blocking their path.

  “I said let go of her!”

  His growling voice was now a command. “I’m not letting you get her through this door!” The words echoed in the hallway junction and resonated like that of five men.

  Cody had their attention. He was a threat. If he managed to delay their getaway, they would risk the arrival of authorities. Time was not their ally. A successful abduction depended upon speed.

  The individual holding the white cloth screamed a profane and loud ultimatum back at Cody — a command to either move or be cut to shreds. The shouting drew more people to the scene.

  The perpetrator swung around and faced the bystanders. He waved the white cloth above his head and pointed to the battered woman on the floor.

  “Let this be a lesson to anybody that friggin’ goes to war with us!”

  With her purse, phone and flip-flops scattered in the hallway, overpowered and held down by the other two men, she glanced up at Cody through dishevel
ed hair that clung to her face. She tried to speak but could only gasp for air.

  Cody was a coiled spring.

  The assailant flung the white cloth into the air and charged toward him, brandishing a cheap but deadly AK assault knife. Cody never flinched, and the attacker suddenly hesitated. Cody then swept the legs from under the offender, separated him from his knife and slammed him facedown against the floor with extreme prejudice.

  Cody turned. A second attacker, already charging forward with a knife, stopped when he saw blood and teeth lying on the floor in front of his unconscious predecessor. A grisly command from Cody put him on the carpet.

  “Sit and don’t move! Drop the knife and kick it away or I’ll make you eat it!” The wide-eyed would-be slasher backed away, kicked the knife, and fell backwards to a sitting position.

  The third man pulled his victim to her feet with a chokehold. His cold eyes snarled at Cody through the slots in his mask. He was tall and muscular, towering over her. She tried to free herself but couldn’t. Struggling just to draw a breath, her urgent gasping silenced all gathering witnesses.

  What remained of her Coco shirt was dangling from the front of her neck like a limp dish rag. The thin, stretchy left shoulder strap of her workout bra had been torn loose from behind and was swinging back and forth in front.

  Bystanders watched in disbelief as this large man, while holding his prey by the neck with his left arm, pulled a knife from his vest and cocked his right hand back to throw the weapon. Cody was a sitting duck.

  With the quickness of a cat, he sidestepped to his right to force the assailant to hit a moving target, but unexpectedly, the traumatized woman, with enough awareness, lunged slightly with all her might, threw back her right hand, and interfered just enough to misdirect the toss of the knife. It sliced a two-inch-long flesh wound one quarter inch deep into Cody’s left arm, but missed his heart by twenty inches.

  The big man then made a mistake. He backed up, used his victim as a human shield, held her at arm’s length, and forced her into Cody’s path. This allowed Cody to maneuver in between and administer a stunning right palm to the nose.

  The assailant lost his grip and staggered backward, his nostrils spewing blood and his ski mask turning scarlet. Cody followed with a left elbow to the throat, an excruciating kick to the groin and a brutal takedown. The large attacker wailed in agony, and bystanders could hear the gruesome sound of ribs cracking and air rushing from his lungs as he crashed to the floor.

  The instant this third man hit the carpet, several witnesses shouted, “Look out!”

  The perpetrator sitting had retrieved his knife while Cody’s back was turned. He charged, hoping to blindside Cody, who turned just in time to relieve the would-be backstabber of his weapon. He slammed him to the rug, retracted the knife blade, and then forced the handle into the mouth and down into the throat of this man to whom he had promised to feed his own knife.

  Now that all three assailants were down, Cody saw red flashes. Holding the knife, hearing his defeated foe choking, a bitter taste formed in his mouth. His veins protruded and his teeth clenched. These guys deserve to die.

  But just as suddenly as it had come, the rage passed. He pulled the knife handle away and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had wanted to kill the three men. What had stopped him? Never had anger overtaken him so quickly and then let go of him so soon.

  He took a step backward, then collapsed into a sitting position. The nerve endings in his right foot and lower leg were on fire, but that also passed within seconds. Thank God I didn’t kill ‘em all.

  Cody dragged all three perpetrators, barely conscious, into one pile. He pulled off their masks, checked them for more weapons, and then screamed into their faces a warning loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “I could have killed you, but after Afghanistan I swore I’d never take another life. Nobody dies tonight, but if I ever hear that you’ve bothered this woman again, you will never even see me coming, and no one will ever know I was there. Do you copy?”

  The witnesses stood in stunned silence and then broke into applause. Cody's eyes scanned the hallway until he spotted her. The badly bruised but gutsy woman who had narrowly escaped a violent end was now crouching in a corner near the entrance to Theater Five.

  Her neck and shoulders were dappled with red streaks — brush marks left by the ends of her blood-spattered hair. Tearfully attempting to compose herself again, she would not look Cody in the eye.

  Cody collected her purse, cell phone, and flip-flops from bystanders who had picked them up. He walked toward her and reached out his hand, but she moved away, lowered her head and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Because a large crowd had gathered, Cody became uneasy. Curious observers were now perilously close to three dangerous men. The police were still minutes away, and only one security guard had arrived, so Cody remained with the attackers, who were injured but conscious. He would help guard them until the authorities came.

  Soon, the police entered the hallway. Multiple witnesses came forward. As they described the events, it was clear that Cody had heroically prevented the abduction of Brandi Barnes, local talk show host and editorial writer.

  She’s Not Too High on Men

  “Sir, could I see your ID please.” Detective Terrance Dupree was chief investigator at the crime scene. Cody reluctantly obliged and gave the detective his driver’s license.

  “Mr. Musket, I see you’re from Houston. What’s your business here in Pittsburgh?”

  Cody breathed a sigh of relief. The detective had not discovered his celebrity status. “Well, sir, I’m a martial arts instructor, and I’m here for the weekend.”

  “How do you happen to know Ms. Barnes?”

  “Ms. Barnes?”

  “Yes, sir. The victim.”

  “I don’t know her at all. What exactly does she do?”

  “So you did not know her prior to this evening?”

  “I was behind her. I happened to see what was going on and couldn’t just stand by and, uh, you know. Afterward, I gave her shoes, her purse and phone to one of the female officers.”

  “Brandi Barnes is a writer and local sports talk show host. You’re here just for the weekend you say?”

  “Planning to move on by Sunday night. Uh, Detective, do you know the motive for the attack?”

  “Still trying to determine that. We should know after we ID the suspects.”

  “Well, sir, I overheard an officer mention a possible organized crime connection. If that’s the case, may I ask that you not release my last name to the press?”

  “We don’t know if — Stand by a moment please, Mr. Musket.”

  Dupree walked about thirty paces and gave Cody’s ID to an officer in a dark blue uniform. The two had a brief discussion. Cody could clearly read two words from the lips of the officer in blue — human trafficking.

  Dupree then walked briskly to Brandi, who stood with two female officers just a few feet away from Cody. The detective told her she should consider hiring a bodyguard.

  “I need to get out of here. I am not feeling well. I’ve told you all I know.” She shivered and fought back tears. They had given her a wraparound blanket to wear. One of the female officers accompanied her as she left.

  While Cody waited for his ID, he had the urge to call out to Brandi as she departed, but couldn’t bring himself to make a sound.

  Cody asked a nearby observer about Brandi.

  “She has a Sunday night sports show,” the young man responded. “She also writes in the paper.”

  “What does she write about?”

  A young woman wearing a gray University of Pittsburgh jersey emerged from the crowd and spoke up, “She’s been writing exposé articles on human trafficking here in Allegheny County. They’ve been published in the Gazette.”

  As she walked toward Cody, the words “This Sista Luvs Jesus” became visible on the front of her pink baseball cap. Charming, soft-spoken, presumably in her early twent
ies, she offered Cody a pleasant smile and warm handshake, but her soft and tearful brown eyes told him she had been crying.

  “I’m Sasha. I’ve been following Brandi’s career since she played basketball at Stanford. She also played one year in the WNBA until —”

  “Stanford?”

  “That’s right. I’m in law school here at Pitt. My older sister Latisha played with Brandi in college. If it hadn’t been for Brandi, my sister wouldn’t have graduated. Thank God for the rainout this evening. Without it, you wouldn’t have been here, and we would’ve lost her tonight.”

  Cody looked around nervously and then gently took her arm and ushered her away from the gathering crowd.

  Sasha lowered her voice. “She’s been doing editorials in the Gazette about a trafficking ring in Pittsburgh. Children have disappeared around here in the past year — about fifty of them.”

  “Children?”

  “Last week, she gave authorities a tip that paid big dividends. They raided a house in Peters Township. Saved seven little girls and four women and also arrested the bad guys. Now the traffickers have put a contract on her life.”

  “You mean she has a price on her head?”

  “I know one man they won’t be able to stop when he finds out about this — her father. He’s a decorated US Marine like you. Those three attack dogs who assaulted Brandi might not be alive right now if Captain Barnes had been there.”

  “Sasha, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell —”

  “Their plan is to force her to give up her informants and then torture her to death. After that, her mutilated body will turn up in a public place as a warning to anyone thinking of standing in their way. It’s happened before. That’s why nobody has the b — Never mind, here comes Dupree. Wanna get together for coffee later?”

  “Umm, no thanks. I…I have to meet someone. Sasha, I need to ask you —”

  “Shhh.” She placed one finger over his lips and spoke softly. “I know, Cody. I understand why you want to stay anonymous. Don’t worry.”