Again
Flicka von Hannover
It happened again.
After work, Flicka was walking along the sidewalk on the Strip with Dieter to the nearest corner to catch a ride and pick up Alina from their neighbor Tinashe’s illegal daycare center, and they were laughing with each other because they believed they were safe in the crowd.
The night air shimmered with desert warmth. Thefirst week of October hadn’t cooled down the summer heat at all, but Las Vegas did cool down at night somewhat. Near midnight, the sultry air curled around Flicka’s bare legs, but noon felt like the sun and sidewalk were broiling her skin.
They walked along the crowded sidewalks every night because the ride-share drivers didn’t like coming onto the Strip. It was faster to walk to the corner andjump into a car stopped on a cross-street, than to wait for a car to navigate the gridlock of the casino-crammed street.
Flicka’s phone shone brightly in the dark, as it was almost midnight. Prissy had switched their shifts a few minutes early, which had been fine with all the waitstaff involved. The crowds weren’t quite as thick as they were earlier in the evening, but Dieter and Flicka hadto turn their shoulders as they edged through the crowd that had gathered to watch the Bellagio’s dancing fountains show. The swarm of humanity packed close together all the way to the street where cars limped by.
Pop music blared from speakers set around the water show, bopping music bordering bouncing fountains.
Beyond the traffic crawling through the intersection, the fake Eiffel Tower loomedover a wonderland of lights.
Her feet were sore as they walked, but at least she had changed into sneakers for the quick stroll to the corner.
In front of her, Dieter broke through the crowd for her as he surveyed the area. He was so tall that, for the most part, his head and shoulders stuck out the top of the flowing sea of humanity. Cigarette smoke and beer fumes wafted from the mob.
Flickawas careful to watch for red, glowing cigarette tips while she held onto Dieter’s belt loop. One of his arms hovered beside her as he reached back to shield her as best he could.
They’d developed this procedure for handling crowds years ago. When she had been a princess, velvet ropes held back the crowds, but occasionally they had found themselves in the middle of a scrum.
A tiny woman who onlycame up to Flicka’s sternum dodged sideways and rammed her shoulder into Flicka’s stomach. Her frantic apologies were swallowed up by the crowd.
“You okay?” Dieter asked, still scanning.
“A pixie assaulted me,” Flicka said, rubbing her stomach. “I think my liver is bruised.”
The fountains whooshed as they shot water into the air. Violins wailed, and the music crescendoed.
A hand grabbed Flicka’sarm and yanked.
Her finger slipped off of Dieter’s belt loop.
“Dieter!”
Someone shoved Dieter, a running tackle out of the crowd, plowing him sideways.
Flicka grabbed her arm that a man held in his big, meaty hands, planted her feet, and used the strength of her whole body to wrench her upper arm out of the man’s grip. His fingernails scratched her cotton shirt.
She ran toward Dieter, whohad rolled in the crowd and sprung to his feet.
The mob pulled back from the fight like the tide going out.
Panic surged through Flicka, heating her skin and needling cold sweat out of her pores.
Another guy came at Dieter, swinging his fist, but Dieter blocked him with a forearm and punched. The guy dropped.
Flicka crashed against Dieter’s side.
His arm wrapped around her.
They dodged intothe crowd, running.
Flicka ran hard to keep up with Dieter as they got to the corner. The crossing light was red, and cars streamed through the intersection. They turned away, running up the driveway toward the Tuscan opulence of the Bellagio itself.
