by L. L. Foster
More children remained, climbing in and over the old tires, bouncing on the broken springs of the couch, risking hazard on the rusty, ruined playground equipment. Most of them were unattended by adults.
So, Gaby thought. She had children aplenty, and obvious drug dealers claiming real estate. This was a perfect opportunity for her to shake off her introspection.
Alive with anticipation, Gaby started across the street. The tattoo parlor could wait.
She needed this. Oh yes, she did.
Before she could reach the men, someone caught her arm, startling Gaby so that she swung around in a defensive stance.
The petite girl, who looked to be twelve or thirteen, wore a comprehensive expression of worry far beyond her immature years.
“Lady,” she said in a frantic whisper, “what are you going to do?”
Strangers seldom got explanations from her, but the girl’s lyrical accent, long dark hair, and dark eyes softened Gaby. “What I do best—get rid of trouble.”
Putting a delicate hand to her forehead, the girl mumbled in frustration before saying to Gaby, “You should not do that.”
Intrigued by her daring, Gaby crossed her arms and gave the child her full attention. “Why not? You going to tell me those punks aren’t trouble?”
The girl’s eyes darted to the men; fear clouded her expression. “You should not mess with the likes of them. They are very dangerous.”
Gaby leaned down close. “Here’s a secret for you, kiddo. So am I.”
A small, thin hand clamped on to Gaby’s arm. “You do not understand. They do not like interference. They will . . . retaliate.”
Gaby scoffed. “They’ll try.”
The girl rolled her eyes and her whisper went harsh. “Do not be foolish. Please. They will . . . burn you.”
That took her aback, not in fear but in curiosity as to what this child had been through. “Burn me, huh?”
Nodding, the girl again glanced at the men. They were currently harassing a boy close to the girl’s age. The boy strained away, anxious to escape, but they kept him in place with a painful grip on his shoulder and a lot of mean-mugging intimidation.
That in itself, the physical detainment of a young boy who wanted to be free, was reason enough for Gaby to intervene, to execute her own form of devastation. But she wanted details on what the girl meant, and at present, the boy didn’t look to be in immediate danger. Scared, yes, but they wanted something from him, so they wouldn’t hurt him. Yet.
If things changed, well then, Gaby would be on the men in a heartbeat.
“How about you explain to me—real fast—exactly what you’re so afraid of.”
“And then you will go?”
“Then I’ll understand.” No way was Gaby leaving.
The girl nodded. “There are few places for children to play, and they often gather here. Then the men showed up and began selling their drugs. Things were not the same. There were gunshots and loud arguments about who could sell here and who could not. A man was beaten, and another was cut with broken bottles. When they started to bother the children, my aunt asked them to sell their drugs at another block, to leave the children here alone.”
“Other than the obvious danger, how were they bothering the kids?” Gaby already had an idea, but she wouldn’t mind having it spelled out.
The girl looked down at her clasped hands. “They get the children to be lookouts when they sell their drugs. My aunt did not like that.”
Had they tried to force the girl? Oh yeah, she’d bet on it. And now Gaby would make them pay. “Your aunt sounds like a gutsy lady.”
Remembered heartache added pain to her tone. “After my aunt complained, they attacked her. Her house was burned to the ground.” Her stark gaze came back to Gaby’s. “She and my uncle both died.”
Pain as sharp as her blade sliced deep into Gaby’s conscience. Why hadn’t she been called on to help the aunt? God knew she couldn’t be everywhere at once, but for this child to have suffered such a loss . . .
“Damn it.” Gaby looked up at the sky. “You know, You could have let me know.”
The girl backed up a step, and Gaby realized she’d scared her. Around here, few probably talked directly to Him.
Around the tightness in her throat, Gaby asked, “When was this?”
“A few months ago.”
Had the girl been living with her aunt when the fire happened? If so, where did she live now?
Gaby didn’t like the probability of her on the street. “The police did nothing?”
“There is nothing that they can do. They try, but they never catch the men doing things they should not. There is no way to prove that they set the fire.”
“But you know they did?”
She nodded, and a weighty maturity showed in her stiff-shouldered posture. This girl had seen life’s uglier side, and nothing would ever negate the bitter reality.
She looked at the men with angry hatred. “I know.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Gaby straightened with commitment. “What’s your name?”
The girl shrank back. “I am no one important.” New concern crumpled her pretty face. “I . . . I only wanted to warn you.”
“And I appreciate it, I really do.” Because Gaby well understood the need for secrecy, she didn’t push the girl. “Do me a favor, will you? Head on home and leave the creeps to me. I promise you, I can handle them. After today they won’t bother you again.”
The child took in Gaby with experienced scrutiny, noting her lack of bulk and no doubt finding her inadequate for the job.
She shook her head with sad acceptance. “You refuse to listen.”
Gaby touched the girl’s cheek, surprising herself with the affectionate gesture, given that affection of any kind seldom had a place in her life of deleterious persuasions.
It was Luther’s influence, and she wasn’t at all sure she liked it. “When I’m through here, maybe you’ll trust me just a little.”
“I wish you to be careful, please.” She looked beyond Gaby to the men. “They have terrible friends. You cannot imagine how scary.”
Gaby winked. “They don’t have anyone who is scarier than me, I promise you.”
The girl’s voice went faint. “But . . . there are some who . . . ” She trailed off.
“What?”
After an audible swallow, she looked down at her feet. “Nothing. I have said too much already.”
“No problem.” She hoped the girl would share her fears later, after Gaby reassured her of her abilities. “I’ll probably have to split after I dispatch these goons. But I would like to talk to you some more. Do you come here pretty often?”
“Yes. My sister likes to play here.”
“Good.” Gaby couldn’t preset a date to meet again, just in case the girl shared that info with the cops who were sure to get wind of this. But Gaby wanted to see her again, to know that she was safe and in good care.
Children in general had such pure hearts that Gaby always felt an exceptional urge toward protecting them. Gaby sensed that this girl had already suffered far too much.
“I will see you again, then?”
With a nod, Gaby said, “Count on it. Now scram before you really get scared—by me.” She turned and strode directly for the men.
The boy looked up and saw her first.
Gaby stared at the youth. “Go home, kid.”
Alarm widened the boy’s eyes, and he strained away, but didn’t get far with the tight hold one man had on him. The bullies didn’t like her intrusion, which suited Gaby just fine. Even as the dogs spit and growled and strained against the leashes, she kept walking.
When the men focused their entire attention on Gaby, the boy jerked free and ran hell-bent into the playground area. He disappeared amid the other kids who were all now gawking.
Gaby locked eyes with one foul individual. He looked clean-cut enough, with close-cropped hair, a pricey diamond in his ear, and immaculate clothes. But a mu
rky, sick aura hung like a wet blanket around him and his cohorts. They were malevolent, unconscionable men, but apparently not sick enough to warrant a call to duty.
Again she glanced up at the sky. “I think I should start picking.”
One of the men laughed. “Baby girl, who you talkin’ to?”
God’s lack of response didn’t matter. Looking at the three of them sickened Gaby, and at the same time, it sent her antagonism surging to the surface.
She gave her icy rage free rein. “Hey, bitches.”
That got their attention.
“It takes a real pathetic bully to push around little kids. And you three look about as pathetic as anything I’ve ever seen.”
One man, taking the role as leader, smiled at her. “You play a dangerous game, sweetness. My dogs are hungry for fresh meat.”
Gaby didn’t even bother looking at the vicious animals. “I’m not playing, asshole. And a word of warning—if you let the dogs loose, they won’t make it, and that’d be a shame, because I have nothing against animals.”
Antagonism brought one of the guys forward. “Bitch, are you stupid or insane? Cuz if we turn even one dog loose, you’re fuckin’ hamburger.”
Gaby stayed a mere inch beyond the reach of the dogs’ snapping jaws. “So on top of being a wimp, you’re a coward who needs animals to protect you. What a laugh.” But Gaby didn’t laugh; she didn’t even smile.
Most times, she wasn’t sure she knew how.
Dark eyes flared, and a strong jaw locked. “J.J.,” the man said in an ominous but commanding whisper, “maybe you ought to show her how we deal with stupid bitches who don’t know the right way to use their pretty mouths.”
Showing large white teeth, J.J. stepped around the dogs with a swaying walk and a shitload of attitude.
Exhilaration sizzled along Gaby’s nerve endings. She let him get close enough to take a swing, which she ducked without effort.
Having a strong propensity toward violence, Gaby relished the attack.
She loved to fight, especially at times like this, when she knew she fought against rampaging cruelty and injustice.
Hoping the girl had left the scene, Gaby came back up with a punch to the guy’s balls. Then she planted another, just for good measure. Given the unnatural force of her fisted strikes, he’d be lucky if he ever pissed again, much less fathered children.
And that, too, she figured to be a public service.
He doubled in on himself and would have fallen forward in a pain-induced stupor if Gaby hadn’t planted a solid kick to his face, sending him backward.
She saw a tooth go flying, sprayed by blood and spittle. His jaw hung loose, clearly dislocated. One eye bulged grotesquely from the socket.
Well. She’d done adequate damage with that one. Old J.J. went down and he wasn’t going to get back up anytime soon.
Smelling the blood and seeing the violence, the dogs jerked at their restraints with berserk fever. They concerned Gaby because if they got loose, they could be a threat to the children who remained nearby, held in place by gruesome curiosity.
It broke Gaby’s heart to hurt an animal, any animal, but these beasts had been raised for barbarous aggression. They were a threat to the children, to anyone who got within their reach, and she couldn’t have that.
Looking up at the remaining two men with incandescent fury burning in her eyes, she grated, “You’ll fucking well pay for what you’re about to make me do.”
Jaw slack and face livid, the head honcho stood there staring at J.J.’s bloodied, unconscious form.
He regained his focus with a burst of indignation and theatrical antics. His face contorted as he stormed forward.
“Fucking whore!” he shouted. “Now you done it. You fucking well deserve what you get.” And with a toss of the leashes, he let loose the dogs.
Gaby had her knife out before the first dog reached her. The animal didn’t get a chance to get his teeth into her flesh before she cut his throat in a wide arc that opened to reveal muscle and sinew. The wound smiled wide, gushing blood and limiting the dog to mere gurgles before he stumbled, crumpled, and fell to his side.
Leaping in the air, fangs bared, the second dog tried for her throat. A kick to the muscular head staggered him, giving Gaby enough time to sink her knife into the thick chest. She planted the blade hard enough to lift the dog off the ground, and as he descended again, she twisted the knife, ripping through the canine heart.
With no more than a faint yelp, the poor creature fell back, twitched, and went still.
Gaby’s chest ached and her heart squeezed tight with the awfulness of what she’d just done, what she’d been forced to do.
Sadness suffocated her, making it near impossible to swallow around the clogging anguish and remorse.
Even now, in death and sticky with blood, the dogs were beautiful animals—and they’d never had a chance, thanks to the inhumanity of men.
Tears burned her eyes.
“Whore! Fucking cunt!” Strutting toward her, the leader drew out a gun and took aim. “You’ll pay for that, bitch. I’ll bury you!”
Gaby spun to the side—and the bullet grazed the middle of her right forearm. Heat exploded and a strange numbness tried to settle in.
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it matter.
The burning pain only served to incite her inherent response.
Knife still clasped in her hand, she threw it with venomous accuracy and it sank hilt-deep into the shooter’s shoulder. Pain forced him to drop the gun from his slack hand and it scuttled over the paved lot, out of his reach.
“Tylek,” he hissed through his teeth to his cohort, “kill that crazy bitch for me. Make her pay. Make her fucking suffer.”
Tylek looked a little wary of that order, but he dutifully mustered his courage.
Duty, Gaby thought. It ruled so many. It made some do the most foolhardy things—like challenging her.
“That’s right, Tylek. Come make me pay.” Using the fingertips of both hands, she beckoned Tylek closer. He was the biggest of the three, but he posed no legitimate challenge.
Not for her.
Balancing on the balls of her feet, Gaby took a loose limbed stance. When Tylek leaped at her, she went to her back with him, rolling and using her feet to launch him away. He landed on his back, giving her an opportunity to move over him in a dominant position.
With a knee planted squarely in his groin, she took aim and punched him in the throat. He gagged hard, wheezed for air he couldn’t get.
Somewhere in the distance, police sirens split across the gray, depressing day with shrill intrusion. No way in hell did Gaby intend to be anywhere nearby when the cops showed up and started asking questions. Luther would have a fit, but she could deal with him.
Being arrested she couldn’t abide. Not ever.
She rose from Tylek and kicked him in the temple to ensure he wouldn’t get back up. Dispassionate, Gaby watched him go blank; his eyes rolled back in his head and he lolled to the side.
Knowing the shooter, despite his incapacitating wound, would scramble for his weapon, Gaby made a point of beating him to it. She kicked the gun out of his reach, but ever aware of the children, she didn’t move it so far that any of the kids might get hold of it.
“You’re making a big mistake, bitch. I swear to you, I’m going—”
Without real effort, Gaby stomped his chest, cutting off his threats and knocking him back on his ass. “I’m getting tired of you calling me a bitch.” Another kick to the chin leveled him flat.
Relaxed, comfortable, Gaby knelt over him. “So big shot, what’s your name?”
“Fuck off.”
Gaby stared down at him, and with the knife hilt in her hand, she worked her fingers tight around it and bore down steadily until she felt the tip of the blade meeting bone.
He howled in agony, trying to fend her off without success.
Dispassionate, she studied him, saw his state of shock brought on by loss of
blood and amplifying pain. Softly, she said, “I won’t ask again.”
Breathing in compact, gasping breaths, he nodded with grudging reluctance. “Bogg.”
“You shitting me? What kind of stupid name is that?” Knowing the extent of his injuries, Gaby didn’t really expect an answer. She studied the ink on his neck. “And your gang?”
“Crazy Crypts.”
“You guys aren’t real big on creative names, are you? I think you should be called Whiney Wimps.”
He coughed out a moaning complaint, and managed to say, “Bitch.”
“A bitch who kicked your sorry ass, huh?” After opening his jacket, Gaby retrieved an assortment of drugs and paraphernalia. Some of it she recognized; some she’d never seen before. “I’m not real up on this shit. What is it?”
Through a haze of pain, Bogg blinked at her. “It’s the popular stuff, woman. Crack, weed, meth.”
Gaby held up a pill between finger and thumb. “What about these?” A mixture of pills and tablets in pretty colors and shapes filled several plastic sandwich bags.
Not that long ago she’d been deliberately drugged by a psychopath, and Luther had been put at risk. Looking at the pills now, at any drugs really, set Gaby’s teeth on edge.
“Just ecstasy, speed, Viagra. I don’t know. I carry a lot of shit.” And almost bragging, he added, “Anything you need.”
“Like you actually think I’d ever need anything from you?” She snorted, but studied the pills again. “What’s Viagra do?”
He choked on an anguished laugh. “You don’t know Viagra? Shit, lady, where you been living?”
“In hiding, mostly.” Not that it was any of his business. “So what is it?”
He closed his eyes in an effort to control the physical torment of his injury. “You loopy cunt, the cops are coming. We’re all gonna be in trouble if we don’t get the fuck out of here.”
“Wrong.” Gaby checked the rest of his pockets and relieved him of a large roll of bills, a switchblade, and a lighter. “You’re a drug dealer, Bogg. I don’t like it that you exist, but I especially dislike it that you drew animals into your fucked-up dealings, and that you were here by the kids. What were you doing with that boy anyway?”
