CHAPTER 2 – I'M BATMAN
"Your problem is, you underestimate me because I'm a woman." ― Kate Daniels, by Ilona Andrews
"Being A Warrior Woman:
Do I not seem soft and gentle,
My skin smooth, my hair undone
But in my softness, my blood burns
Rage I will on the battle-field,
You will know and remember my cry,
A woman can be fierce,
A woman is like a sleeping dragon,
Caution is required when you approach,
For if it wakes, it will fly, free
Streaming fire across the field,
Burning all in wrathful flames,
I pick up my sword,
And hold it high
I have no fear,
To Valhalla
I ride."
― By Unknown.
A/N: I finally found a beta, the amazing kleannhouse. She worked her magic and fixed all the already posted chapters and she'll be working with me on future ones. I can't thank her enough. Any errors remaining are all mine.
I didn't have to wait long for Ebony to make her entrance. And about twenty seconds after she had made her onstage appearance I was extremely glad I had stayed to watch. That woman could dance. She was surprisingly classy and the pole became an extension of her. She was an artist at what she did. All eyes were on her and plenty of money was being thrown on the stage. I had no ambitions about becoming a stripper, but I'd definitely accept pole dance classes from Ebony. I'd be a fool not to. It was such great exercise and seemed like a lot of fun. I think I'd really enjoy doing it but only in private. Not something I'd want an audience for. I wasn't an exhibitionist and it wasn't going to help me with my business reputation anyway. I didn't even have a man to show off for, although I don't think I would even if I had a guy. Women were already objectified enough as it was, I wouldn't want a boyfriend doing it to me too.
I was thoroughly enjoying the show, but at least I wasn't objectifying the woman performing. I was honestly appreciating her athleticism and pizazz. When I realized she was winding down and bending to collect the cash onstage, while letting the guys put bills in her bikini straps, I fished a twenty out of my wallet and made my way to the front to give her her due. I slipped the cash in the string, winked at her and told her how much I enjoyed it. I was quick about it because she was working and I was now more than ready to leave and get back to my office.
I quickly turned back on my way out, caught her eye and gave her a wave. When I turned back to continue on my way to the outer door trouble found me. Thankfully, I'm very well-trained in a variety of things. Some of those skills were what saved me. I'm very observant, it's something that's part of my personality, but also something I've trained in. I can also read people extremely well. No, I can't read their minds, although some people find that skill eerie enough. I'm very adept at reading body language and micro-expressions. It's useful when you're a Private Investigator, a necessity really.
The moment I faced the door I noticed a huge guy pushing his way through, emanating rage. I realized it was Ebony's ex-husband, the abuser, and he was here because he had somehow found out his career as his son abuser was about to end and wanted his last say. Now, he was here to either beat Ebony or me up. This brought another realization, that someone here had listened in on my conversation with Ebony and had called him. I was betting it was that waitress. She was the only one close enough to overhear it. I have to say I now regretted giving her that tip. That bitch.
Now, if Tyson Sr. was here thinking that he could intimidate Ebony or me, he was in for a rude awakening. He was about to find out a couple of other skills I had. I kept walking towards him and getting away from the tables. He had been looking over my head towards the stage, watching Ebony I was guessing. He finally noticed me, and came towards me with purpose and exhaling violence. But, his big mistake was what he yelled to me.
"Hey, Bitch!"
There are few things I disliked as much as being referred to as 'Hey' and being called a bitch. This might actually be quite fun for a few minutes. I stopped a few feet away and he kept coming.
"No need to shout, asshole. I'm right here."
He actually sputtered. I don't think he was used to a woman, or anyone really, not cowering when met with him and his rage. He was a huge guy. Buff and about 6 feet 3. He broadcasted badass mean dude for miles around him. I was not impressed. So, like most men of his ilk instead of using his words, he went to use his hands on me. His mistake.
I confess I don't make a formidable first impression. I'm not the least bit imposing physically. I'm medium height, blonde and blue-eyed. I'm muscular, but in the lean way you get from dance and martial arts. I'm not bulky, so when wearing a business suit I look like a very easy target. It was time Tyson Sr. learned that not everything is as it seems. It was a lesson most people with brains learned early on in life, but he didn't seem to have much of a brain. He was a bully. And as a bully he saw me as an easy mark. His stupidity was my pleasure. It really was.
So, when he went to put his hands around my throat, I spread my legs a little apart, bent my knees, dropped and twisted my upper body down to the right of him, completely dodging his grabby hands. His shock worked in my favor, because even though I was trained, he was much bigger than me and although you can win a fight against a much bigger opponent, it's harder, especially if he's also trained. I had no idea if he was but I was pretty sure he wasn't, because guys like him always counted on their size and attitude, so they rarely thought about getting properly trained in any martial arts. Again his loss was my gain.
As I bent and twisted to escape his hands, I also stepped to his right, grabbed his arm with both hands, kept going past him and twisted his arm around his back, painfully putting pressure on his wrist and shoulder joint. The whole thing took five seconds. He was so shocked that it took him another few seconds to start screaming profanities at me and to try to get free, but the more he moved, the more his arm hurt. I decided to end things quickly, before he thought of some other way to hurt me. I kick his back none too gently to make him drop to his knees, which he did, otherwise his arm would have come out of its shoulder socket. Still not satisfied, because he was getting more enraged by the second, I used my foot again to make him lie flat on his stomach on the floor. I kept his arm in my hands and used the same foot to step on his back. The problem was he wasn't going to stay down for long. His pride would not let him. I'd have to pop his arm off and I wasn't really willing to do that unless I had no other choice. Which I did.
I freed one of my hands that were holding his arm painfully to keep him immobile and pulled my gun out of my shoulder holster. It was 9mm Glock Pistol Model G17 and I loved it dearly. I squatted next to his face and showed him the gun. Good thing too, because I had just freed him from the arm hold and he was trying to get up. He froze. I told him to stay exactly where he was with his hands behind his back and that if he behaved like a good boy I wouldn't shoot him. I also whispered that if he ever put his hands on his son or Ebony again I'd definitely shoot him with pleasure and that he'd never see it coming because I'd do it with a long distance rifle one day when he was walking the streets and least expected it. I looked him right in the eye when I said that. I'm pretty sure he believed me. The truth was I wouldn't. I'm not a vigilante. But, I had a great poker face and I loved guns. I did a lot of competitive shooting when I was young. I'm an extremely good shot and I could shoot pretty much any gun in existence well, so it was true enough that I could pick him off the street anytime and that showed in my eyes.
So, that's where I found myself at lunch time on a Monday. In a Strip Club, with a child abuser on the floor under my foot with my gun trained on the back of his head.
I do hate bullies.
I hadn't realized that while I was subduing the maniac I had also provided quite a show for the whole club. Patrons, strippers, waitresses and even the bouncer were all gawking at me. Most had their mouths opened. The shock would wear off soon and the people were going to start to flee the scene, so I decided to take charge. Since, I had the gun I was pretty sure they would listen.
I turned to the bouncer.
"You! Dial 911 now! Tell the Police to come because the ex-husband of one of your employees has just tried to attack her and her private investigator. Also, do you by any chance have a pair of handcuffs?"
He shook his head and ran towards the phone.
"Everyone else! Do not leave, do not attempt to leave, we'll all wait for the police. We are all witnesses here."
"Ebony? Where's Ebony?"
Right then Ebony emerged from the depths of the club with a gaggle of other women, which I assumed were all the strippers that were working that day. She reached me, surrounded by her girlfriends who seemed to be acting like her protectors and moral support. This was fine, great even, but funny how they only showed up after I had dealt with the problem. But, I wasn't being fair, I was trained and had a certain skill set that was right for this situation, they didn't. I was just getting cranky. I had been having a good time until the asshole showed up.
Ebony looked down at her ex then gaped at me, and when he saw her he started to open his mouth, but after I stepped more forcefully on his back and focused the gun on the back of his head, again more firmly, he finally decided that silence was the better part of valor. Bullies, really.
Wordless, Ebony passed me fuzzy red handcuffs; I looked at them then back at her.
"Sookie, they work and are strong just like police ones. They're just cuter and usually used for more pleasurable purposes. Didn't you ask Shay, the bouncer, for some?"
"I did. Thanks. Just a sec."
I got down and put the cuffs onto Tyson Sr. Better safe, than sorry.
"Ebony, we need to talk. That waitress called him here after she overheard our conversation earlier. I don't know why she did it, but you need to find out. She might be in love with him, he might be paying her to keep tabs on you and Tyson Jr., and she might just hate you. I don't know. But, she's dangerous to you and yours."
At this the others strippers and Ebony looked outraged and the group, minus Ebony who stayed by my side, went to close in on said waitress. I felt no pity. What she did was despicable and the women weren't beating on her, but they were going to get to the bottom of it and they would exact their revenge for her lack of loyalty to one of their own. Nothing gruesome I was sure; she'd probably have an impossible time getting any job at another strip club ever again. And if they thought she deserved a black eye for her crimes, I could live with that. Tyson Sr. could have killed me or at least hurt me pretty badly; he could have done the same to Ebony and to his son. I have no issue with women fighting women, I think that's mighty feminist of me. Now, a man beating up a woman is unforgivable. Double standard some might say, but at least I had some standards.
"Ebony, I need to call Amelia now. Can you keep an eye on him while I talk to her? Don't worry, I'll keep my foot on his back and the gun pointed, but I don't want him getting any ideas if I get distracted. Just yell if he moves, ok?"
"Sure, Sookie."
"Thanks."
The police would be here in minutes, so I needed to make it fast. I called Amelia, and gave her a quick run-down of what had just happened. She listened intently and said she'd be on her way and she was bringing the evidence against him that she was planning to take to the DA after lunch. It would help the police see the truth about him. I was a little apprehensive because he hadn't actually hurt anyone. I didn't have a scratch on me. I had witnesses but it had all happened so fast. And the moment I pulled the gun, I escalated the situation. If he wasn't a threat anymore, why did I feel the need to point the gun? Because I knew he was still a threat, that's why I pulled it, I avoided it at almost any cost. However, I knew how police thought and worked. I was also a lawyer, although I hadn't practiced in ten years, but I was already preparing how to tell the whole truth the best possible away. I didn't want attention, much less trouble with the police. It's not good for business. People tend to take the Private part of Private Investigation pretty seriously. I did too.
And so it was that when the police finally arrived, they found me in the exact position I had been for quite some minutes now. I was standing over Tyson Sr., who was lying on his stomach on the floor, his hands behind his back in red fuzzy handcuffs, my foot on the middle of his back and my Glock pointed at the back of his head. The only thing that had changed was that I was now in the middle of a circle of chairs, each occupied by a stripper. They had formed a ring around me and my prey and seemed to be having the time of their lives. Most now wanted to take self-defense classes and/or jiu-jitsu. They believed I was a superhero in disguise, which I thought was hilarious and quite pleasing since I was a huge nerd. I cracked them up when Candy first said something along those lines and I replied in a throaty voice: "I'm Batman".
Damn it all to hell, but I refused to say Batgirl. One, I'm not a girl. I'm 33 years-old. Secondly, it's a little demeaning how they always use girl: Batgirl and Supergirl; for example. Where were Batwoman and Superwoman? At least, there's Wonder Woman. And Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse.
A/N: Okay, that's two chapters today and only four reviews so far. I really need some feedback for this story. If there's interest I'm betting I can write and post it quickly. Otherwise I lose my excitement for the story. I see so many readers putting this story in their alerts, which is awesome and I'm beyond grateful, but if you could, please, spare another minute to leave a comment, it'd be priceless to me and the story. So, please leave me your thoughts on this chapter.
Oh, and if guys leave enough reviews, Eric will show up in the next chapter. So, comments, pretty please? For the Viking? ;)