I’m already looking, searching the crowd. Yes, I need to look for other threats, but that’s not where my attention is directed.
Only one thing is on my mind. And I can’t find her in my field of view.
I scan. Searching for her. Urgently. I cannot lose her. Swiftly I hand the pistol and the perp to the police. They’re efficient and grateful. They don’t hang me up or hold me back. I’m glad they’re not asking questions or obsessing over procedure.
I can’t see her. She is not where I saw her last. She’s gone.
I climb part way back up to the walkway. Peering, fast and methodical, I search the crowd. I still can’t see her. There’s a ripple in the crowd, though. Toward the far edge. That’s her. I know it. She’s running.
I jump back down. Charge into the crowd after her. I hold a hand up as I run. I’m six five, two hundred and ten pounds. All muscle. People part, get out of the way. Not always willingly. But they do. I pay no attention. If anyone stood in my way, I would just run right at them. Run through them. Whatever it takes.
Alone in the middle of an edgy crowd, the breeze around my thighs makes me think the skirt is too short and the front of the shirt is cut too deep. The lovely silver chain that my father gave me has me feeling exposed with so many people so close around me.
The chain that he told me so many different stories about. Where it came from, what he paid for it.
As soon as I got here, I had serious second thoughts about what I chose to wear. In the mirror this morning, the short black skirt seemed innocuous enough, paired it with my snappy white shirt. Nice. I thought. Business-like. Now I’m not so sure.
I can only guess what idiot thing my father did to get himself into this awful mess. I do know he wouldn’t approve of me coming here to try and get him out of it. Hell, I’m probably wasting my time anyway. Realistically, what can I do?
The huge guys who came to the apartment yesterday, they were not messing. My father is in big trouble. There’s no getting away from that.
It’s always been feast or famine for us. “There are good days, and there are great days,” My father says. Only, lately, the great days have gotten less often, farther apart. And the few good days get less good.
Chapter 3 Greta
My father is always trying, always has a new scheme. ‘Always have a plan,’ he says, ‘and always have a backup. A fallback.’ He’s fallen back on the fallback too many times and I think he knows it, too.
He’s not a bad man. He tries to be good, at least.
The guy my father has the big debts with is due to be here today. I heard his goons grunt about it in our apartment, as they stood either side of the door to the kitchen. The door their boss had taken my father through.
They talked about ‘the candidate.’ Whatever it means, I had no idea. All that really sunk in for me was that their boss would be here. I didn’t expect this crowd. People coming in helicopters.
I just thought, the guy will be here, I’ll come and see him. Try to reason with him. Okay, I know. It was going to take more than reasoning to get anywhere with a guy like that.
Well, I’m prepared to go the extra mile for My father. He worked hard enough to keep things together for me in the past, when Momma was first gone and we were left alone. He had nobody but me, and I had nobody but him. And he really could use a break. I guess I thought maybe I could be the one to make a break for him. And, no. I really didn’t think this through very far at all.
I just wish sometimes that he could be more of my father, though, and I could be less of his mommy.
I still shudder, remembering the two guys, folding their arms like guards or enforcers. They looked at me like a piece of meat. A thing they could take if they wanted.
Those two goons are up there on the walkway. One sees me. Nudges his companion and nods in my direction. They both laugh. Nice.
That’s when the men in come out of the helicopters. Shades, earphones, expensive suits with bulky padding underneath. This is some big-time show.
A line of men in black suits and dark shades rush, stamping on high gangways. One man stops. I freeze when he looks in my direction. Over his shades his eyes lock on mine and I’m rooted to the spot.
It’s like one of those moments in a movie where time slows to a stop. Way down inside me, I get a feeling so bad it’s good. This is not what I’m here for.
Then he jumps off the walkway. I judder inside, thinking he’s coming for me, but he lands up ahead, on the back of a skinhead. Puts him straight down. No second thought. He’s an expert. I’m terrified and fascinated at the same time.
I should not be feeling that way that I do. Not about a man who’s so threatening. So dangerous. And so so much older. I’m not sure I should be having these feelings at all. Much less about a total stranger, and a dangerous one at that.
Two uniformed cops run toward him. He holds the skinhead down, but he’s looking round for me. Over the top of his sunglasses, his eyes send chills straight through me. My knees shake. He’s coming for me next. I know that he is.
I’m frozen. I can’t move. Deep inside I know, I want to run, but I want him to catch me.
He talks with the cops, but he keeps turning to look back in
