wrong time. But in her haste to retreat, she tripped and fell to the sidewalk. As she quickly picked herself up, she gave a glance back, meeting the deep-set eyes of the dealer. He was rubbing his hand over his shaved head and staring at her, seeming indecisive about what to do. The man selling the brick said a few words, distracting Joe for only a moment. When he looked up, Giona was gone. But he’d already seen and recognized her face. He knew who she was…and what she believed.
The footsteps were sounding louder behind her, more frantic. Then she realized why. She was about to pass the entrance to one of Portsmouth’s parking garages. Odds were that the stairwell was empty. She glanced across the street, looking for somewhere to go, but on Sunday afternoon, all of the shops were closed. Out of options, she began to run.
She’d taken three strides when two viselike arms wrapped around her waist, hoisted her into the air, and heaved her sideways into the stairwell. She caught herself just inches from cracking her skull on the concrete steps. As she turned around to face her attackers, she momentarily wondered if she’d have been better off being knocked unconscious. Having no memory of what was to come next might be a blessing.
Bazooka Joe and a man she’d never seen before were smiling widely. Their yellow tainted teeth seemed more like wolves’ fangs than human teeth. As Joe leaned closer, she realized that his teeth were in fact far from normal. They’d been filed to sharp points. As he opened his mouth to talk, she felt as though she was staring into the jaws of a shark.
Joe noticed her focus on his teeth. “I won’t bite if you’re good.”
Giona kept her mouth shut. To speak at all would only incite the man.
Joe turned to the other man, whose filthy clothes and rank odor spoke more of a quickly hired homeless man than a true compatriot. “You watch the upstairs door. No one comes through.”
The man nodded nervously and ascended the stairs. Joe turned back to Giona, rubbing his hand over his shaved head. “You know why we’re here, right?”
Giona nodded.
“Tell me.”
“I saw your deal the other night.”
Joe made a loud buzzing noise. “Wrong. Everyone knows you’re not a nark. But you dropped something when you ran away.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a four-by-six sheet of paper. Giona knew what it was before he turned it around. Taken a month before while she and her father were snorkeling…the one and only thing they’d done together all year, Giona had posed for a picture with her father. The camera, set on the captain’s chair, had captured a photo that none of her punk friends would have believed. Under the dark, baggy clothes there was a bronze-skinned, fit body that could have belonged to any number of Hollywood starlets. Her body and smiling face were in stark contrast to the shaggy purple hair, but there was no denying she was a hidden beauty.
“A real diamond in the rough,” Joe said, spittle flinging from his mouth. The man was all but drooling.
As Joe unbuckled his belt, she realized what was going to happen next. Her mind raced for some kind of plan, some way to escape. Joe removed his belt and looped it around the door handle and a nearby pipe, fastening it tight. Her only chance was to head up the stairs and take the other man by surprise. She began to shuffle up, ready to run, but Joe sensed the movement and lunged.
Giona struggled for a moment, but was pulled back down, landing hard on the stairs. Joe’s strong right hand, which featured the projectile flung forth from the biceps bazooka, wrapped around her throat. “Make a noise, and I squeeze. Fight, and I’ll gut you quick.” He punctuated his last words with the flick of his left hand, revealing a switchblade.
Her body went rigid; she couldn’t fight, but she could resist. With every ounce of strength in her body, she would not allow the man to take her easily. Her only hope was that he would tire and give up, but the sculpted muscles on his exposed arms told her the effort would be futile.
Joe placed the knife under her shirt and moved it up her body, allowing his hand to graze across her flesh. He was going to cut her clothes off.
Before the blade could be pulled back, a loud thump sounded from above. Joe hesitated. “Zack. What’s going on?”
When no response came, Joe withdrew the knife but kept his hand planted firmly on Giona’s neck. “Zack, what the hell are you doing, man?”
Shuffling footsteps made their way down the stairs. A man, sniffling and wheezing, was coming down the steps. As he came into view, Giona saw a withered-looking form in disheveled clothes and sporting one of the most scraggly beards she had ever seen. Despite his scruffiness, she had to work hard to hide a smile.
“Who the hell are you?” Joe shouted. “Zack! You have about five seconds to-”
“Zack took a break man…I’m taking his place.”
Joe seethed. He was clearly going to hurt Zack at some point in the future, but his options at the moment were few. “How do you know Zack?”
“Used to fish together.” The words came out slurred and breathy.
Joe seemed satisfied by the answer. Apparently Zack had once been a fisherman. Joe shook his head and pointed the knife blade at the scraggly drunk. “Anyone gets by you, you’re dead. Got it?”
The man nodded, then tripped, descending several stairs at once so that his feet were next to Giona’s head and his face only a foot from Joe’s blade. “Whoa…close one.”
Joe was about to shout something when, like a blur, the drunk’s hand latched on to Joe’s wrist. A quick twist brought about a loud crack, which was followed by a ferocious scream. Joe followed the scream with, “You f-”
But before the flow of obscenities could issue forth, a rigid hand chopped through the air and caught Joe in the Adam’s apple. The once-savage attacker was instantly reduced to a sad little man, writhing on the floor, gasping for breath. With Joe on the floor, clearly incapacitated, the drunk stood straighter, descended the remaining stairs, and pulled out a cell phone. After a quickly dialed call and brief discussion with a 911 operator, the man turned around, clearly relieved at the girl’s safety.
“You okay?” Atticus asked.
Giona longed to run to her father’s arms and be held within his safe embrace, but charade or not, the tough exterior she had built over the past two years forbade it. She wouldn’t show weakness, especially not to her father. “Fine,” she said, picking herself up and straightening her shirt.
It was obvious her father longed to hold her as well. He must have been petrified. The best he could muster was a pat on her shoulder. “Lucky I came by.”
“You’re late.”
“Sorry.”
“You called the cops?”
“Yes.”
Giona sighed. She’d be marked as a real nark from here on.
“You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
The relief Giona felt when she’d first seen her father was being consumed by years of barriers built between the two. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure,” Atticus said, a tinge of sarcasm entering his voice as he grew impatient with his ungrateful daughter. He quickly undid the belt around the door, and with a seriousness that could not be ignored-even by an angry seventeen-year-old-said, “Wait outside.”
Giona headed for the door and paused before leaving. “You’re not going to…”
“In another life I would have. But not today.”
Giona stepped outside, and the door clicked shut behind her. A few moments later she could hear the wheezing screams of Joe. She had no idea what her father was doing, or even what he was capable of doing (though she had her suspicions), but it was clearly something Joe would not forget. Good, Giona thought, the bastard deserves whatever he gets. But then she regretted that in some roundabout way she was responsible for bringing out demons her father had long ago buried. She crossed her arms, leaned against a mailbox, and waited for the screaming to stop.
