by Susanne Beck
I watched as Ice’s long fingers gently probed an area in his neck, obviously searching for a pulse. "Is he ... ?"
She looked up at me, eyes simmering with anger. "He’s alive. Just badly beaten." Shifting her gaze from me, her eyes lanced through the gathered crowd. "Who did this."
The men and women looked at one another, their feet shuffling uncomfortably against the dusty ground.
She came slowly, gracefully to her feet, a giant among dwarfs, filling the area with her intense presence. "I won’t ask again."
From the back of the crowd, a young man stepped forward, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "Three or four guys, I think. I only heard ‘em when the glass started breaking. By the time I got here, they were driving off on their bikes. He was like that when I got here." The young man shrugged, face flushed pink with what I guessed was embarrassment.
"Anyone else see anything?" Ice asked, her face set in lines of anger.
No one came forward.
Pop moaned, and Ice squatted quickly back down again, offering what comfort she could, which was, in truth, not very much.
A thought came into my head. "Did anyone call an ambulance?"
Again, an embarrassed silence.
I turned to Millicent, the only face I knew. "Would you ... ."
She held her dog in front of her as, perhaps, a shield, though against what, I didn’t know. "Oh, I couldn’t possibly ... ."
Ice looked up from her position at Pop’s side. "Call an ambulance. Now."
"I’ll do it," I said, stepping forward to head this particular argument off at the pass.
"No. I need you to stay here." She looked back up at Millicent. "Do it."
"I’ll do it," the young man who’d made his sheepish report interjected, moving off toward Pop’s destroyed office before anyone had a chance to stop him; no doubt interested in redeeming himself in the eyes of his neighbors.
Giving a short nod, Ice again rose to her feet, giving one last menacing glare to Millicent before turning away and stepping out of the circle of bystanders. "Stay with him," she said to me.
"Where are you going?"
"To take care of some business."
"Then I’m going with you."
She rounded on me, then, eyes hard as diamonds which glittered with both anger and anticipation. I stood my ground, arms crossed tight over my chest, not giving an inch. "There are more than enough people to look after Pop until the ambulance comes," I reminded her. "And I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do."
That got a slight smile out of her. "Even if it means cracking a few skulls?"
"That wouldn’t be my first choice, no." I cleared my throat. "But if a few hormonally challenged idiots want to prove how macho they are by beating up an old man, then they deserve whatever’s coming to them." And boy were they in for a rude awakening when they found exactly who, and what, was coming to them.
"Let’s go then. I’ve got some asses to kick."
As she began to walk away again, I stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Ice?"
She turned. "What now?"
"Um ...where are we going, exactly?"
Her eyes twinkled with a mad sort of mischief. "You’ll see."
"That’s what I thought."
Goody.
* * *
We arrived at our destination with alacrity, if not in style, riding as we were in another one of Pop’s old junkers, which had seen better days several decades ago, and new a decade or so before that. Another classic, Ice had said. A classic what, she didn’t exactly reveal, but a classic nonetheless.
Who was I to doubt her?
I stepped out of the car after pulling on the rusted door handle for several frustrating seconds, wiping dust and other accumulated, and thankfully unknown, debris from my shirt and pants as I did so. We had pulled in front of a run-down old shanty which, by the sign above the door, also doubled as a tavern.
"The Rusted Nut. Charming." A misnomer if ever there was one, of course, since the establishment, from the outside at least, was anything but charming. I had my doubts that the view from the inside would be any more so.
On the weed and glass strewn lot in front of the building stood four motorcycles of the type my father used to call ‘hogs’. I laid my hand on the gas-tank of the one closest to me. "Still warm." I looked over at Ice, who was assessing the building with expert eyes. "How did you know?"
I received no reply as my partner stepped silently onto the rotten, sagging porch which ran the length of the bar. Prudently, I stayed where I was as she crossed to the door and eased her hand around the thick knob that jutted out from the weathered wood. After a moment, she stepped away, giving the building another assessing glance.
Then, without word or warning, she drew back her leg and launched a truly spectacular kick, literally blowing the door inward in a squealing shower of wood splinters and rust. She followed the door into the building, and I came in right behind her, attaching myself to her left shoulder.
Four young men and one older bartender looked up, comical astonishment frozen on their faces, and upraised beers frozen in their fists.
"Hello, boys," Ice rumbled, her voice low and sensual. "Worked up a pretty big thirst, have you?"
"We’re closed, lady," the bartender said, a bar rag in one ham-sized fist. "Get the hell outta here before I call the cops."
Perching one hip on the corner of a more or less solid table, Ice fiddled with the thick silver bracelet on her left arm, a gift from me several months back, and one she hadn’t taken off since the giving. "Oh, don’t let me stop you," she replied, eyes seemingly absorbed in her task and not bothering to look up at the no-doubt dangerous men sharing space with her. "I’m sure the police would be very interested in hearing why your young friends here seemed to have worked up such a sweat so early in the day, hmm?" The smirk on her lips was quite knowing, and I’m sure I saw at least one of the men pale at the implication.
The other three, however, clearly weren’t as observant. The largest of the trio, a stout tree with bendable appendages, stood, slamming his mug of beer down on the table and managing to douse his pants with the sudsy liquid. "What the fuck are you talkin’ about, bitch?"
Since I couldn’t resist, I didn’t. "She’s talking about the trip you made into town this morning." I met the man’s angry stare dead on, hands on my hips. "I’m sure it took a lot out of you, beating the crap out of a defenseless old man like that."
"You die, bitch!" The behemoth tossed aside the table in front of him as if it were made of balsa.
Ice stepped in front of me, and I whirled around, grabbing the first weapon that came to hand, which happened to be an old and splintered pool cue keeping lonely watch on a rack just inside the now useless door.
I didn’t have time to be scared, didn’t have time to wonder what would happen if the bartender followed through on his threat to call the authorities. Adrenaline rushed through me like a speeding train, spurred on by the memory of Pop’s crumpled and bleeding body lying amidst the shattered ruins of his shop.
The man lumbered forward, his fists clenched and his face beet red, even beneath his short, red-blonde crew cut. His advance was stopped cold, however, by a solid right to his jaw which sent him stumbling back toward his compatriots, arms pinwheeling for balance and failing in their task.
The other men seemed too stunned to move, and when he crashed through their ranks, they let him fall backward, turning another table into kindling. Jumping back to his feet, he pushed his useless buddies out of the way, swiping at the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand and examining it closely. His muddy hazel eyes rose slowly to meet Ice’s. "Ya know," he said in a conversational tone, "you and your little friend there are mighty fine pieces of ass. I wouldn’t have minded fucking you both senseless after I taught you your lessons. But now ... ." His voice trailed off as he reached for an empty beer bottle standing on one of the few remaining tables. Hefting the bottle by the neck, he
smashed it against the edge of the table, leaving a deadly, if crude, weapon in his hand. "Now, I think I’ll just see how many other holes I can poke in you before you die. Then I’ll fuck ya." He grinned, lips bloody and twisted. "How’s that sound to you, bitch?"
"Like you don’t go out on very many dates, maggot." She smirked. "At least, not outside the morgue."
Bellowing in rage, the man rushed my partner, swing the broken bottle wildly as he did so. At the very last second, Ice side-stepped his charge, allowing his momentum to carry him into the lone pool table and double over on top of it, though not before he had managed to use his weapon to slice her above her left elbow.
Her smile was glacier cold as she rubbed the blood between two long fingers. "That wasn’t very nice," she purred to the man who managed to straighten up and turn once again to face her.
His eyes sparkled with glee as he noticed the damage he’d done. "There’s more where that came from, bitch."
"Let’s see whatcha got then, handsome." She beckoned him with her hands, waggling her fingers enticingly.
Before he could get more than two steps away from the pool table, the man suddenly found himself quite weaponless as a booted foot snapped his wrist and sent the jagged bottleneck flying across the room to shatter completely against the front of the bar. He dropped like a head-shot deer, grabbing his wrist and howling in agony.
That, apparently, was the impetus needed to finally kick the brains, minute though they were, of his companions into gear. As a unit, they turned toward the both of us, expressions of anger stamped heavy on their faces. One reached into the pocket of his tattered jeans and pulled out a butterfly knife, which he opened with a series of fancy moves that would have been truly impressive, had he not almost cut his own leg off while performing them.
They started forward, all attention completely on the dangerous menace that was Ice and ignoring me completely.
Which was just the way I liked it, though not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.
My own safety wasn’t something that interested me right then. Helping my lover was.
Like a lion culling the weakest antelope from the herd, I stepped in, cue in hand, and turned one of the onrushing thug’s attention to me. He grinned a little, shrugged, and obliged me by balling up one huge, freckled fist and launching it in the direction of my face.
Dodging my head to one side, I allowed his fist to rustle the air past my ear, then used my ersatz staff to deliver a hard, stinging blow to his forearm. As he yelped in pain, I swung the thicker end of the cue up and across, cracking it against the side of his head and using just enough strength behind the blow to stun him. I’d learned my lesson well with Peter, and had no intention of traveling back down that particular pathway to Hell ever again.
His eyes went glassy and he staggered as his hand slapped against the rapidly forming welt I’d raised on his scalp. Weapon still to hand, I ushered him backward until the edge of the pool table smacked against his behind, then pressed hard until he was half standing, half laying across the table on his back. Then I placed the butt of the cue between his nipples and pushed.
Hard.
"Stay down."
He didn’t respond, but by the look on his face, I knew he was considering doing something stupid. A quick jab to the sternum, however, seemed to change his mind, and he relaxed back against the table, settling for what I imagine he thought was an intimidating scowl.
Which, of course, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. To me, anyway.
Now, I realize that turning my back to the action was not the brightest of things to do. But if experience taught me anything, it was that Ice was more than capable of protecting my back, and her own as well, without any help from me.
When the butterfly knife wielded so inexpertly by one of the men came skittering to a stop next to my right foot, I grinned, knowing my trust in my partner was indeed well-placed. So, instead of turning back around to view the action, I continued to keep watch on my ‘prisoner’ and played a game with myself, imagining the actions that went with the sounds I was hearing.
Two grunting exhales meant twin blows to overfed bellies. The distinctive sound of fist against flesh, followed by the sound of yet another table being splintered to firewood could only be an uppercut to the jaw, launching the unfortunate up and away. A high pitched squeal just had to be a knee to the privates.
Even I winced at that one, then bestowed a sweet grin upon my suddenly sweating captive. "Bet that hurt, huh?" I couldn’t resist rubbing in.
The sound of bone hitting bone, followed by twin thuds, meant that Ice had finished Act Four of her martial ballet by slamming her two friends’ skulls together, as promised, and allowing them to drop, undoubtedly unconscious, to the floor.
The space beside me was suddenly filled with her warm, energy-filled presence, and I took a step away as a tanned hand reached down and grabbed the idiot I had dealt with by his ragged collar, introducing him to the far wall in a way that was all her own.
She held him there easily against the splintered wood, his toes barely in contact with the floor beneath his feet. She smiled, a slow, dark one that was full of vengeful promise. "Since you’re the only one awake at the moment," she began, thrusting him harder against the wall for emphasis, "I’m gonna explain a few things to you, alright?"
Staring wide eyed at my lover, the man could do little but nod. Emphatically.
Ice’s smile broadened. "Good. Looks like you’re the brains of the outfit." Her expression then became deadly serious. "First thing. If you ever so much as think about touching one of my friends again ... ." Her voice trailed off as she leaned in close. "I’ll kill ya. Understand?"
The man nodded again, fat beads of sweat dripping down from his wrinkled forehead.
"Second thing. If I ever see you or any of your buddies in my town again, I’ll kill ya. Am I making myself real clear, maggot?"
"Y-yes," the man squeaked.
"Alright then. As long as we understand one another." She set him on his feet again, then brushed his wrinkled shirt smooth with the palms of her hands. She made as if to turn away as a huge sigh of relief gusted from the man’s lungs, then turned back again, the smile once more on her face. "Oh yeah. Here’s the third thing." Pulling her arm back, she cocked her fist and drove it into the man’s nose, flattening it in a nauseating crunch of shattered cartilage. "Pop says hello."
Eyes rolled back in his head so only the whites showed through, the man slumped peacefully to the ground, out for the count.
Shaking her head in disgust, Ice stepped over the fallen body and walked toward the shattered door. Then she looked up at the bartender, who was still standing behind his bar, frozen to the floor as if he’d been lacquered there, bar rag dangling from one useless hand. "If you’re thinking of calling the cops over this little disagreement, I suggest you think again. I have twenty witnesses back in town who saw what your friends did to Pop and his shop." She quirked a grin at him. "And I’m sure I can dig up twenty more who will swear on bibles that my partner and I were rescuing babies from wells around about the time we were supposed to be making a mess of your fine ... establishment." A shrug of broad shoulders. "So be smart and put paid to this, alright?"
The bartender didn’t respond; just continued to stand there, frozen, staring at us both through glazed eyes.
Snorting and shaking her head, Ice stepped over, around and through the debris she’d made and out into the sunshine once again.
* * *
The ride back into town was quiet, as I’d known it would be. Not the most loquacious of women even in the best of circumstances, I’d learned the hard way that Ice really shut down after a fight. It was her way, I suppose, of taming the beast she’d unleashed lest it turn on her and seek its bloody sport among those undeserving of its vengeful wrath.
My only remark, a question about the cut in her arm, was answered in a monosyllabic grunt that I had no trouble translating.
Besides, it had alrea
dy stopped bleeding.
Our arrival in the town went unheralded, as the crowd from earlier had dispersed, most going back to their day jobs, no doubt. The only one who remained was the young man who’d witnessed the attack. He had appropriated a janitor’s broom from somewhere and was sweeping the glass from the ground in long, if somewhat morose, strokes.
Tom Drew, one of the plumbers, was putting the finishing touches on the plywood he’d put up in lieu of a window, and turned around to greet us with a smile as we stepped out of the car. Wiping his hands off on his ever-present red handkerchief, he walked toward us, his eyebrow furrowed as he took in the cut on my partner’s arm, as well as our state of general dishevelment.
"Out grizzly huntin’?"
Ice smiled slightly. "Nah. Just took out some trash."
After a moment, he nodded sagely, stuffing the handkerchief back into one pocket of his overalls. "Would have tended to it myself if I hadn’t been standing hip deep in old Mrs. Symmond’s waste water at the time." He shook his head in disgust. "Damn pipes picked one hell of a time to burst."
My partner shrugged. "I took care of it."
"Did Pop get off ok?" I piped up from my place beside Ice.
Tom nodded. "Yeah. I got here just as the ambulance pulled up. He was awake and grousing, like he always does. I’m sure he’ll be fine after a sleeping pill or two."
"That’s good to hear," I replied, relieved. I looked at him more closely then, sensing that he knew more than he was telling us. "Is there something else?"
He looked at both of us, then over where the young man, whose name, I later learned, was Richard, continued his sweeping duties, before returning his gaze to us again. "Want to go inside the station for a cold drink? I know I could use one."
