The brand-new diagonal crack through the reflection of my face made me look broken as I realized how well the image reflected how I felt about myself at the moment. “Seven years bad luck. Shite!”
I stomped out of the bathroom, stubbing my toe on the bedroom’s threshold, and cursing several more times as I reached the foot of my bed. I yanked on the sweats I’d dropped there after my workout. I was drawn to the window by the rain lashing down which had picked up in intensity since my rude awakening. Shutting the window, I slid the latch into place and felt the puddle at my feet seeping into my socks. I cursed my need for the single item I wore to bed every night, and stooped to yank them off, hurling them into the bathroom sink.
After cleaning up the puddle and pulling on new socks, I slipped into my trainers and stepped over the debris in my small lounge. Books, empty Gatorade bottles, and dishes littered the room, covering nearly every surface. It always looked a wee bit of a brothel but it was comforting. I smiled at the stack of car magazines Mars had brought over last week and inhaled the lingering scent of barbeque ribs Rex had sent home with me. They’d been a post workout bit of grub only a couple of hours ago.
I grabbed a parka, my mobile, and keys on my way out, determined to make it to the local shop two blocks down before Raj closed up. The kind Sikhs who owned the store always kept sleeping liquid in stock since I was a frequent visitor.
I dashed through the downpour as I made it to my Vee Dub parked out front. But even with the heavy coat I still managed toget soaked to my skin by the time I started the car with a familiar roar. I pulled into the shop’s driveway and parked less than a minute later. Raj and his twin, Rami, stood behind the wrap desk in the brightly lit shop, talking to a tall, hunched figure who stood with his back to me. I snatched my mobile off the seat and crammed it into my pocket before running to the door, pelted by yet more rain.
When the bell over the door made a tinkling sound, the two brothers looked up, recognized me, and waved, wearing bright smiles. “Hello, Patsy!” Rami shouted.
“Oi, guys! ‘Tis pissin’ down buckets, so it is!” I called out, shaking the rain off my coat and waving back.
Both men laughed as the large man turned his head to glance over his shoulder at me with a deeply furrowed brow. The scowl on his bearded face couldn’t be missed and for a second my training kicked in. I double checked my surroundings. Satisfied that we were the only people in the shop, I returned my regard to the brothers and the man who’d turned his back to me again. Rami and Raj were smiling at the man which made me relax since they seemed to know him. I headed straight to the back where I knew the medicines were kept, passing by the booze cases which I completely ignored.
Eight years ago, I would have made a beeline for the booze aisle. Though, those days were a thing of the past, each time I could walk by without the temptation to stop, felt like a victory. The urge to grab a fifth of vodka and the knowledge that if I did, there’d be terrible consequences to pay, kept me going past.
I snatched a bottle of sleeping liquid off the shelf and turned to head back to the front as the door bell tinkled again.
“Give me all your cash!” someone thundered and both my friends’ hands shot straight up in the air.
I stood stock still, taking in the situation, reaching for the weapon I always kept with me and stopped dead, cursing the fact that I’d forgotten to grab it before leaving the apartment. My stealthy creep down the aisle went tits up when my damp coat caught some plastic bags. The robber swung the gun in my direction, pointing it directly at my face over the shelving barrier. He wore a knitted balaclava and the craziness reflected in his eyes told me I was probably looking at someone high on drugs, only making the situation we were all facing that much more lethal.
“Get over here!” he shouted, waving the gun.
I stood only ten feet from him, which felt about as close as I wanted to be. I was about to argue with the assailant but then caught sight of the brothers’ faces. The terror filling their expressions made me take a step toward the group and then take another. In a matter of moments, I reached the endcap of the aisle and stopped.
“Did you hear me? Get over here or I’ll put a bullet in him!” The robber swung his gun toward the man who’d been conversing with Raj and Rami and for the first time, I turned my attention to him. His hair was thinning, but what strands he did have were brown and like his scruffy beard, shot through with gray, making him appear older.
He was tall and barrel chested, wearing a filthy green, camouflage jacket much too small for his hulking frame. The jeans he wore were equally as grubby, and combined with the battered shoes, made me realize he was probably one of the multitudes of homeless people living on the streets of Hollywood. But it was the almost fearless look in the man’s eyes, that made me move, closing the last few feet between the group of men.
“Stand next to him! Don’t move!” the gunman said, waving his weapon toward the large man, standing about six feet from him. The weapon in his hand shook, confirming it was either his first robbery or he was indeed, under the influence of drugs.
I did as he asked, moving toward the bear, taking a place between him and the assailant. I craned my neck to look up at him as he gazed down at me. His eyes startled me, one was a pale ocean blue, and the other, a rich shade of brown. Even more arresting was the warning I read in them.
He grunted before saying quietly, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I wanted to laugh. I was the one who should be reassuring him, though he couldn’t possibly know thatIwas the dangerous one here. Many people had mistaken my short stature for frailness, just as this stranger had. Before joining the FBI, I’d been ARW, the Army Ranger Wing of the Irish Defense Forces. I had specialized training, not dissimilar to the American Special Forces. I’d been lethal on the battlefield and in my position on Candy Sorensen’s Tac Team, I hadn’t lost my edge. My captain made sure of it, putting our minds and bodies through intense training every day. He made sure we ran, boxed, and practiced urban combat situations in a pitch-black shoot house, as well as keeping up with close quarters combat training. I could protect myself even without my absent Glock.
I gave the man the tiniest of smiles, nodding ever so slightly before my attention was dragged back to the man who pointed his weapon at my terrified friends.
“Give me the money!” he shouted, once more waving the gun at Raj and Rami as his voice got higher and more insistent.
“Please do it, Rami,” I urged, worried that they would wear out the addict’s patience, forcing him to do something rash.
Rami shot a terrified glance in my direction before looking back at the man, swallowing hard. “Yes, sir! Anything you want, just don’t hurt my brother,” he said, shakily. He frantically began punching keys on the cash register and the drawer popped open. I watched as he scooped money into a bag his brother held open for him. Raj’s hands shook as he held the bag and the sight of tears tracking down his brown face, disappearing into his beard filled me with anger. Rami took the bag from his brother and held it out to the man. The robber snatched it from him, and Rami stepped back, raising his hands again. “That’s all of it. Please go,” he said. His melodic voice shook with fear.
“When I’m ready,” the man said, swinging his gun toward the two of us. “Give me your wallets and maybe I won’t put bullets in you.”
“I don’t have a wallet,” the man beside me replied quietly.
I felt my heart squeeze as fear filled me for the first time. The robber’s eyes narrowed and he pointed the gun right at him. The instantaneous need to draw the man’s attention away from the big bear beside me was no surprise. I’d been protecting people all my life. “I do!” I rushed to say, reaching for my wallet as the robber’s gun hand shook.
“Slowly, shithead!” he barked, waving the weapon wildly.
I did as he demanded, reaching into the pocket of my coat and producing my wallet before closing the distance with my hand outstretched. He stepped forward, holding out his hand for the wallet, and I knew I’d found my opening. I rushed him, knocking his gun hand to the side just as he managed to squeeze off a shot. Catching him off guard, I tackled him to the ground, pinning his wrist to the floor as I punched him in the face over and over again. Within seconds, the man was unconscious.
When I looked back toward the counter, Rami and Raj were nowhere in sight, probably hiding on the floor behind it. Relief flooded through me until I looked for the homeless man. He was on the ground holding onto his bleeding bicep, looking at me with a coolness in his hooded eyes which was difficult to parse.
