Hunt for a Phantom

by Stephen L Brooks

  He gave the bag one last killing blow, ignoring the fact that it simply came back for more, and let out his breath in an exultant “hoo-ah.” He looked about him, wiping his face with a towel. Some skinny college age kid was attempting the big weights; trying to impress some cute co-ed, probably. Yes, sure enough, there she was on the treadmill, legs and arms pumping in good rhythm, working an already terrific body to make it better. She was smiling at his struggles with the weights, but not condescendingly; she obviously had a real liking for him. Banning smiled. If the boy had a little more meat to him, maybe he could do better. Who knows; maybe for their next date she was going to cook him a good steak, her goal being to do just that.

  There was a boxing ring over toward the other side and he wondered if a live opponent might be available. He decided against trying to find a likely suspect, however; with what he realized still boiled inside him, he might kill the poor schmuck.

  There was a pair in the ring already and he decided to just watch and punch out somebody vicariously. As he drew closer he realized the two were rather small. At first he thought it was a couple of kids; then he knew that it was two women. And they were wailing the hell out of each other. It wasn’t just boxing; it was kick-boxing. It fact, it was somewhere between extreme fighting and borderline brawling. Clad in cut-down T shirts and shorts, both wore heavy gloves and headgear, not to mention protection over certain other more rounded body parts.

  Whoever these two were, he thought, they must hate each other. Both were putting up terrific fights, though one seemed to have more technique than the other. But the novice was learning, and some of the tricks her opponent used on her were returned with interest. They punched, kicked, sometimes rolled on the floor, the fists and feet still working. The novice had just knocked her mentor down and dropped into a straddle on her. She raised her right for a last blow, but the timekeeper blew a whistle and that last punch was never launched.

  They rose, checking themselves out a moment, catching breath, before suddenly throwing themselves together into a hug. At first he thought they were about to go back into it, but it was indeed simply a hug. Two women who had seemed to be committing attempted murder on each other were suddenly BFF’s. Banning shook his head; he’d never understand women. But then he knew a multitude of fellow members of that club. It included pretty much every male on the planet.

  The woman who had seemed better trained removed her headgear first and shook loose a mane of reddish hair. Banning blinked; he knew her. It was Peggy, Taylor’s partner. While Taylor ogled in astonishment her opponent had removed her headgear and came over to Peggy to speak to her. He even felt it as his eyes grew wider: her opponent was Betsy!

  Peggy was of course required by regulations to keep fit and practice martial arts. And he knew Betsy went to the gym. But he didn’t know the two were friends, much less sparring partners.

  Betsy spied him and openly laughed at his surprise. He had to laugh too, as she ducked the ropes and jumped down from the ring. She came over to him, unlacing her gloves with her teeth; a most unladylike gesture, but then nothing she had been doing in the ring for the last few minutes had been at all ladylike.

  She saw he still wore his gloves and hesitated. “What’s with the gloves? You looking for someone to beat up?”

  “Yeah; I just finished taking him down, but he’s still standing,” he said, gesturing with his head to the heavy bag. He started unlacing his own gloves.

  “Too bad; thought you might be looking to take me on next.”

  “That wasn’t my plan, no.” He removed the gloves and they put the gear on a nearby cart for cleaning and storage.

  “You finished for the night?” she asked.

  “I guess. Why?”

  She started walking and he matched her stride. “Well, Peggy was telling me the guy who is usually the attacker in the self defense class had a personal emergency and couldn’t make it.”

  “And?” He was almost afraid of her answer.

  “Think you might like to give it a try?”

  “This is a women’s self-defense class?”

  “Yeah. They teach us how to fight off perverts and rapists and the like. You’d be a natural to pinch-hit for him.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You know what I mean. They have gear you can wear; headgear and things like a catcher’s pads.”

  “Tell you what; I’ll come in and observe. Maybe one of the other students can play attacker.”

  “What, because it’s sexier to see two girls going at each other?”

  “Let me tell you, what you and Peggy were doing a few minutes ago didn’t look like fun at all. That looked serious.”

  Betsy was suddenly serious as well. “Peggy’s been teaching me. And that’s how she wants me to be; do it for real, even when we’re sparring. That way I won’t hold back when it’s the real thing.”

  Banning nodded. “I guess that’s the right way to go.”

  They were at the classroom. Betsy strode right in and greeted one or two friends. When Banning hesitated just outside the door, she took him by the arm and brought him in, introducing him.

  The trainer was a woman, tall bronzed and blonde, her tank top and shorts complementing a perfectly toned figure. She ran them through some warm up exercises, though Banning figured Betsy had already had more than enough warm up. Then they paired off for a few simple moves. After a few moments the inevitable happened; just as Banning had feared.

  “Mr. Banning,” the instructor said, “we need a victim --- I’m sorry, an attacker for our next round of practice. Our regular man is out tonight. Would you like to take his place?”

  Banning was trapped; to refuse in a roomful of women would show fear. Still, he hesitated.

  “Come, Mr. Banning;” the trainer goaded, “you’re not afraid of what a woman can do to you, are you?”

  Betsy stood up. “If it’s OK with you,” she said to the trainer, “I’ll go first. Maybe Mr. Banning will be more comfortable with me.”

  Now he couldn’t possibly turn them down. They offered him the protective gear but he waved it off. It was a manhood thing now. There was no way he was going to seem afraid that he’d get hurt.

  Of course, as they took their positions, he remembered what she had done to Peggy in the ring and wondered if marching into battle without armor was such a wise thing after all.

  As he had been told, he came up behind her and wrapped his arm around her neck.

  Suddenly her right elbow thrust hard into his stomach and he bent over. Her left fist struck his jaw, and the right one followed through. He staggered as her voice stabbed his ears with “HELP! HELP! 911!” Her knee was poised to finish him, but he backpedaled, desperately trying to catch his wind.

  “You all right?” Betsy asked.

  “Sure. Uh, Betsy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you help me with that protective gear?”

  As the afternoon continued, he reflected that this might be considered totally humiliating. Instead, he relaxed and was both surprised and dismayed that he actually enjoyed spending the better part of an hour being beaten up by one woman after another. When it was over they all thanked him for being a good sport.

  Betsy and Banning picked up some bottled water from a cooler nearby and headed for the locker area.

  “Hope I didn’t beat you up too badly,” she said.

  “Of course you realize I let you take me,” he replied.

  She nodded in mock agreement. “Ahuh. That’s your story and you’re sticking with it, right?”

  “I should have figured after the way you handled Peggy that you meant business.”

  “Peggy told me that any guy who says he isn’t afraid of being hit by a girl has never been punched by one who knows what she’s doing and isn’t afraid to do it.”

  “Words to live by.” He took a long pull from the water bottle. “Well, if you’d ever like a rematch...”

  “Maybe sometime; when there are no witnesses.�
�

  They both needed showers, which adjoined the locker rooms. Just before separating for the Men’s and Women’s showers a look passed between them, conveying a mutual thought: Damn, I wish they were co-ed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Rick rang the bell again. The door was opened by a thin, grey haired woman about his mother’s age. “Mrs. Porter?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Rick Fleming. I don’t know if you remember me; I’m Grace’s brother.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t get to speak to you after... after the funeral.”

  “That’s all right. I was wondering; is Gail home?”

  “Why, yes. Come in and I’ll call her.” She let him in and locked the door behind him. There was a stairway at the end of the entry hall and Mrs. Porter first waved Rick to the living room on the right before calling up the steps. “Gail? Rick Fleming is here to see you.”

  “I can’t see him,” she said.

  Mrs. Porter didn’t like to argue with her daughter, particularly not through the medium of a stairway; but this was against her sense of proper etiquette. She adjusted herself instinctively and joined Rick in the living room. “She’s been delayed, but I’m sure she’ll come in a few moments. May I get you anything?”

  “No; no thank you.”

  “Well then, if you will excuse me I’ll go see what’s keeping her.”

  “Thanks.”

  He heard murmurings upstairs that were obviously an argument, but the louder of the voices was certainly Gail’s. Her mother’s voice remained calm and persuasive, though Rick only sensed the tone and not the words of either of them. After a moment or two Gail’s voice calmed as well and he heard two sets of footsteps descending the stair. He turned as Mrs. Porter led her daughter in, glanced warnings at them, and discretely withdrew. Rick had the feeling, however, she wasn’t too far away.

  Gail was wearing a halter, flattering the nicely rounded twins that it supported, and cutoff jeans. Her hair hung wild, and Rick swallowed the urges that were coming on him. He was here on serious business, not for a date.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  “Yes. Something’s been bothering me, and there’s things you’ve got to tell me.”

  She came into the room, but avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well, for one thing the last thing you said to me the other day outside the cafeteria.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Well I do; and I want to know what you meant.”

  Gail glanced at the arch leading to the entry hall. She knew her mother was probably staying close, protecting her little girl. If her mother only knew that what she sought to protect... “Just a minute,” she said to Rick and went into the hall. Her mother was tidying something that didn’t need it and Gail said, “Rick and I are going for a walk. We won’t be long.”

  “All right; be careful. Be back for supper. And ask Rick if he’d like to stay.”

  Gail knew what her mother’s idea of being careful meant. She also knew that being with Rick was no risk to her mother’s concerns. She returned to the arch and said to Rick, “Come on.” She was nearly out the door before Rick caught up to her.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Just follow me,” she said. “We’ll be able to talk when we get there.” She led him down her street, Everall Avenue, and across. He knew the park: Double Rock, named he always thought for the especially rocky soil in the area. They entered the park and went to a bench that was somewhat out of the way. He sat gazing at her, hoping she would speak first. Instead she stared straight ahead, as though avoiding his eyes was avoiding his questions; or answering them.

  “All right; now tell me. What did you mean about Dana being stupid? And then you said you were stupid too.”

  Gail was long in answering. “Yes. I was.”

  Rick waited for more and when it didn’t come he said: “I went to the movies with Mitch the other night. On the way we were talking about Grace.” Gail was still silent, still staring ahead. “He told me that Grace had met other men on the Web; that the one who killed her wasn’t the first.” Rick waited again and added: “Look, I won’t be insulted if you say that Grace was stupid for doing what she did. God knows I’ve called her that myself for it, even though she’s gone.”

  Gail took a deep breath and, still staring straight ahead, spoke in an apparent unbroken stream. “About a year or so ago we made a pact that each of us would find someone online and get a date with them. We were only going to do it once, meet the person at a neutral spot so they didn’t learn our addresses, and then compare notes. I met a man first, which meant I won the contest. We met right here, in fact. He tried to get me into the woods, figuring to rape me I guess. I managed to get free and escape. I told Grace what happened and warned her. Grace promised to drop it, not to go through with it. But later I discovered, through accidentally viewing some of Grace’s email, that she had not only met one person but was setting up meets with others as well.”

  “In safe, public places?”

  Gail closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Rick braced his own head in his hands. That’s what Mitch had hinted at; so it was true. Mitch wanted to wait; Grace didn’t.

  So his sister had been selling herself like a common street hooker. Maybe not even charging; just doing it for the thrill, the danger. Well, the danger had caught up with her.

  Even so, she didn’t deserve to die for it.

  * * *

  He had hoped to lay low for a while, after what had happened in the hotel. He had talked about it to a friend with similar tastes, a friend he trusted, over the phone, the day of the Fleming girl’s funeral. He had even thought of putting an end to it; but the urges were hard to resist.

  He was untraceable; a phantom. And staying off the Internet, not even checking email kept him away from temptation.

  Who was he fooling? Nothing kept him from temptation. Even without the contacts through social networking and email there were the DVDs and the pay-per-views, not to mention what you could subscribe to online. All of it perfectly legal; otherwise the Smut Patrol would be all over the video rentals and the FCC would put paid to the cable shows and websites. Hell, look what was available on the regular networks, for that matter! Not that any of that satisfied him. For that matter, all the DVDs and online videos were only a tease, a tantalizing diversion which made him still crave the real thing.

  He was in his forties; women his own age held no charms for him. The girls had to be young, fresh; at least somewhat fresh. A young chick who had some “experience” was usually more interesting. Not too young; he didn’t go for little girls, like some. Like that guy who was arrested a little while back who had been stalking girls in the schoolyard; children, less than ten years old. This was one sick pervert: raped seven year olds and when he was done with them, murdered them and treated them like trash.

  Well, he wasn’t like that; he wanted girls who were ready for sex, who either wanted to learn or wanted more than their boy friends could give them. They didn’t want boys, they wanted men. And that’s what he gave them: a man.

  The laptop sat in its case in the corner. He hadn’t touched it for a while, and though the temptation was there he resisted it.

  But though the urges were there, he didn’t think he was ready yet. Not now; it was still too soon. There was too much at stake.

  A key turned in the lock and the front door opened. It was his daughter returning home from school. She tossed her books into a chair, called a drive-by greeting to him, and sailed up the steps to her room, digging her cell from her bag as she went.

  She had just turned fifteen a few months ago. Her boy friend, who was sixteen and had a license and a reject car that miraculously was still drivable, took her to and from school. He wondered what they did on their dates, but drove the thought from his mind. Another thought tried to enter, and that one was harder to dismiss.

  He
stood and looked at his wedding picture. They had been little more than teenagers themselves when they had married, and just into their teens the first time they had done it. She had died only three years after their daughter had been born, and in the dozen since he still hadn’t gotten over her. In his mind he still saw her as the teenager he had fallen in love with those years before.

  And it was hell for him that their daughter reminded him of her so much.

  * * *

  It was Monday, the start of a new week. Banning had thought several times over the weekend of his encounter with Betsy and her self-defense class at the gym. Each time it brought a smile. As he locked his car and started into the office the smile returned. Betsy’s car was already on the lot, and he wondered how she might greet him. He opened the door.

  A woman was sitting at Betsy’s usual place, behind her desk. Banning had to blink and recognize her cheerful “Good morning, boss!” before he realized it was Betsy and not some stranger. His mind knew this woman was Betsy, even if his eyes categorically denied it. Betsy, as per Banning’s own policy, usually came in office casual: sometimes shirt and slacks, even jeans on occasion. The woman at Betsy’s desk was wearing a crisp white blouse and a navy skirt. A silver monogrammed locket depended from a thin chain, resting about three inches below her throat. Her hair had seen professional attention over the weekend, and just a suggestion of makeup accented her girl-next-door features. She sat smiling up at his reaction.

  “OK,” he finally managed, “who are you and what have you done with Betsy?”