Poses A Real Danger
Ryan
There was finally a car in the parking lot at The Lazy Spoon. Late model Lexus. Black, with blackout windows. In my opinion, a lame ride, but you don't see many cars like that on this side of town. They were probably good tippers.
Since Miriam would have customers, I decided I wouldn’t make a scene. I would just quietly tell her off, get everything off my chest, and maybe throw somebody's breakfast across the room. All very calm and reasonable.
I pulled open the door. I expected a dirty look from Miriam, perhaps a scathing rebuke for showing back up at her place of work. Instead what I found was a large, thug-like man with a stubbly head and a scarred-up face holding a very scared-looking Miriam by the arm. She appeared to be struggling, and I could tell by her expression that his grip was painful. I had a clear tableau of the two of them grappling together like that impressed on my retinas before the man turned to look at me.
The rage that constantly brewed just below the surface of my mind started to bubble up. My breath, of its own accord, started moving in and out of my lungs in those short, even bursts that I got right before a fight. In the split second before I started moving, I sized him up, cataloging everything I could see. He was obviously big, probably strong (although the two did not necessarily always go together). His face looked as if it been around the block a time or two.
None of that really mattered.
Only two things mattered. When he finally turned his eyes on me, I experienced a moment of recognition. Although I did not know this man, I had known men like him. When I was in Afghanistan, I had been assigned to a task force dedicated to rooting out covert insurgent forces. The task force had been headed up by a trio of spooks — intelligence agents who may or may not have been operating under sanction of the United States government. Bad guys. Those guys had eyes just like the ones looking at me right now. Flat. Dead. The eyes of ruthless efficiency. That was the first thing that mattered.
The second thing that mattered was the hand that was wrapped around Miriam's arm. And that mattered more than anything else.
Miriam glanced back over her shoulder and saw me out of the corner of her eye. I saw the eye widen, saw her mouth open as she tried to warn me away. "No —"
The suited thug also opened his mouth. "Nothing for you here. Just —"
But I was already launching myself at him. He was half a head taller than me, and fully forty pounds heavier. Between that and his obvious experience I knew that my best bet was to hit him hard and fast and hope that I surprised the hell out of him. I crossed the space between us in three long steps, my right fist looping up. I gave him the second best shot in my arsenal, swinging high and fast for all I was worth. The hook landed clean on his chin, just where I wanted it. A perfect knockout shot. Miriam let out a yelp. I’d didn’t get the same satisfaction from the man holding her.
His head twitched to the side with the impact, and that was about it. He shook his head just a little bit and his lips peeled back in a grin. I saw hints of blood on his teeth.
Then he let go of Miriam's arm and focused his attention on me.
His left fist snapped out. Fuck, he was fast. I barely danced out of the way of the punch. I knew now that the only way I was going to stop this guy was if I hit him with everything I had. I flicked in the left jab. He was fast but not fast enough to get out of the way of that punch. His head snapped back just a little. Just enough that I knew I could slam home the overhand right and put him to sleep. I tried not to use that much very much. Without gloves, it poses a real danger of breaking my hand. But I've never hit anyone with that shot and had them get up to fight anymore. As my fist whistled in at him, the big man ducked down and slammed his shoulder into my midsection. My punch caught air and momentum pulled me off balance. He wrapped his arms around me and propelled both of us into the table behind me. We went down in a tangle of arms and legs and coffee shop furniture. I twisted to get out from under him, but his arms were like a vice. He held me down with one hand and raised the other way up high, balled into a hard, huge, brutal-looking fist. I knew if that thing dropped on my head, it would be lights out.
There was a heavy pong, and he dropped his fist a fraction of an inch. His eyes glazed over and he half-turned, distracted. The hand that was knotted into my shirt, however, didn't loosen, and he snarled. Behind him, Miriam raised the frying pan again. When she brought it down on his head the second time, the sound practically echoed through the diner. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on top of me.
I twisted out from under him. He was one heavy bastard. I grabbed hold of one of the chairs that had scattered from the table and only succeeded in pulling it down on top of me.
Miriam reached down and took my hand, hauling me to my feet.
She was strong. I liked that.
"What—" I started.
Her eyes were wide and she grabbed my shirt. “What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Jesus. You’re welcome.”
Her eyes went from terrified to irritated in a flash. “Oh my god, Ryan, shut up.” She started to drag me toward the kitchen. "Come on, we have to go."
I shook her off and knelt beside the large, unconscious man, rifling through his pockets. "We don’t need to go anywhere. Fuck this guy. We’re calling the cops." At last, in an inner breast pocket of his suit coat, I found his wallet. I pulled it out, half expecting there to be no ID inside. But there was. He must be a certified, true-blue civilian now, or whatever you call a full-time criminal.
His driver’s license identified him as Felix Martel, of Long Island. I wouldn’t be surprised it that was fake, but at least it was something to call him.
"You don't understand," Miriam said, her voice going up a register. She waved toward the window of the diner. I glanced that way and saw, through the window, a second man, dressed much like Martel, getting out of the Lexus. Unlike the first man, this one held a gun.
I didn’t have to see it twice. Whatever was going on here was bigger than some prick trying to walk his check.
I turned and followed her into the back. As we dashed through the kitchen, the short order guy came out of the restroom in the back.
"What the fuck is going on out there?"
Without letting go of me, Miriam waved at the door that we were headed toward. "John. Run!"
John only gazed after us, bewildered.
We barged through the door into the alley out back. Miriam wanted to keep running, but I had a different idea.
“How many of these fuckers are after you?” I rummaged around in a pile of scrap, feeling the seconds tick away.
She just made a small noise in the back of her throat.
From inside the kitchen, I heard the sound of a gunshot. Then a pause. Then another shot.
John should have run with us.
“We don’t have much time. How many?”
“I…I don’t know,” she stammered. “Normally only two, I think.”
My searching fingers closed around something solid. I pulled it free of the scrap pile with a clatter, then pulled Miriam behind me
I waited just outside the door. After a moment it opened. I stood out of sight as it swung slowly toward me. The man led with his gun first, which is smart if there's not somebody standing behind the door with a heavy steel pipe. In this case, it was not smart. Once his arm had cleared the door, I brought the pipe down hard on his wrist. There was a satisfying crack and a cry of pain. The gun went flying. He stumbled out into the alley. I didn't even give him a chance to look around. I brought the pipe down onto the back of his head and he crumbled up like a wet napkin.
Miriam’s breath came in quick gasps, warm on my neck. Even now, with two armed thugs after her and me somehow wrapped up in the middle, I couldn’t help but think she was sexy as hell.
“What do we do now?” She said.
I thought about the man inside, and how he might already be up and moving. If he was, he wouldn’t be coming after us with empty hands this time. I searched this second man, finding his ID in the same location Martel had kept his own. These guys were nothing if not unoriginal. But they would probably call it being “consistent”.
George Bassett. George lived in New Jersey. Probably liked reading books and taking long walks on the beach with his dog. At least, that’s what his dating profile would say.
Time to leave. I took Miriam’s hand and looked into her eyes with what I hoped was something like confidence.
"Now we run."
We took off down the alley, hands gripping tightly so we wouldn’t be separated. I slowed just long enough to bend down and retrieve the second man's gun. I had no idea what I had just gotten myself into, but I'd be damned if I was going to navigate this new territory unarmed.
The alley behind The Lazy Spoon also ran behind the plumbing supply store next door to it. The next building was The Exchange. We came to the end of the alley and out onto the sidewalk that fronted the street next to the bookstore. I motioned for Miriam to stay where she was and I edged around the front of the store. The black Lexus was still in the parking lot at The Lazy Spoon. The two men in suits were apparently still picking themselves up off the floor, but I didn't trust that it would take them long to get back out the door. I waved to Miriam and together we ran to my truck.
When I slid the key into the ignition, I experienced one of those terrifying dream-moments when I just knew that the motor wouldn’t turn over.
“You my baby,” I whispered. It felt like a mantra in my mouth, a talisman. “Be good now, baby.” I turned the key. As it had every other time I had turned the key, the engine roared to life. I let out a breath I had not even realized I was holding, and threw the truck in gear. The rear tires sprayed gravel as we peeled out of the parking lot.