Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit aka Christine
Note; std disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts , or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
(Created and posted beginning 1/17/04)
Chapter 1:
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
OoooOOOOooo… Pretty.
What are those bright shiny things? Mmmm. Stars. Definitely stars. Gosh, they sure are pretty! See! They even swirl around a little when you see them, besides just twinkle. Maybe I just discovered a new star! Heck! Maybe a new solar system!
THWACK! THWACK!
I wonder how you get to patent your name on them. I mean, I heard on that Discovery Channel on cable, where if you discover a star you have to apply to somewhere to name it. Geez, this is so cool. Let me think. Plumerinta… No. Doesn't have the right ring to it. Maybe…Stephina. Or maybe a variation on Babe. Yeah! That's better….Wait. Something is missing from this picture. It isn't night time.
I mean, I don't think it is. SHIT!
"UNghhhhhh…"
Double shit! What was that sound! Damn. I think it's me. Then it hit me with the force of a stampede at a Macy's shoe sale.
I had been chasing that Rat-Fink, Joey Larone, down the street. Legs pumping, arms flailing, snot running, (Damn I need to get into better shape), when he jumped a chain link fence. I remember the cursing as I heaved myself over it after him. I recall, vaguely, the downward motion my head took toward the ground when I landed. Wait… one… MINUTE.
I didn't land on my head.
Shit! JOEY! He had knocked me over when I landed and round-housed me! HIT ME! OVER THE HEAD! With my own PURSE!Arghhh! That'll teach me to leave my gun in there while trying to apprehend some nut-job FTA. Even if all he did was get caught for solicitation.
I slowly cracked my left eye and peered out at the world around me at eyelevel, which in this case was ground level. Hmmm. Dirty asphalt, dirty asphalt, scampering rat-vermin, garbage, and EWWWW! A used condom. Someone out there was happy and I was nauseous. Well, No Joey. And SHIT! No purse. That WEASEL stole my purse after beating me with it!
I closed my peeper. No good dwelling on the purse. I took a deep breath and decided to take stock. Looks like I won't be going jogging with Ranger in the wee hours of the morn any time soon. There is a God! I hate exercising! I hate everything about it! Okay, that was a lie. I don't hate the beefy man that enforces my healthy routine. In fact the thought of all those Ranger muscles bunching in his arms when he runs, his pectorals taunt, and thighs clenching….wait that's me!
WOAH! Down girl! Get a grip! You were just assaulted! Hormone rumination and Ranger drooling can continue at a later date when, say, my right ankle isn't killing me…and the evil little elves stop trying to mine diamonds in my pounding head. Shoot I must have sprained it. My ankle, not the head. Although that could be up for debate.
I slowly regained control of the situation and tried pushing myself up with my forearms.
THWACK!
Okay that time I hit myself. Well, technically the asphalt of the alley did.
"Ughhhhnnnthhhh…" I groaned .There is a reason I don't do push-ups on a regular basis. No upper body strength. At least not after being pistol-whipped. Or should I say purse-whipped. Damn. I am never going to live this down if any one finds out. That gun in the purse sure packed a wallop. Well, the gun…a can of mace, lip gloss, fuzzy roll of Lifesavers, extra handcuffs, can of hairspray (jumbo size…can't be too careful in the Jersey autumn wind) and a two-pack of gum were all in there. Somehow I don't think it was the Big Red that gave me the concussion, though.
That Little S.O…B..ut wait! I digress. Tracking the big worm, Joey, and ripping off his little worm, will come later. Now I must concentrate on getting up. This time I tried rolling over.
CRUNCH!
I felt a tug and I yelped in pain. I think I just found my handcuffs. The Worm had secured my busted ankle to the chain link fence with my nifty prison bracelets. Shit. NOW what do I do! I have no key. Rat-Fink stole that too. At least he was consistent in his thievery.
Hold the phone! What was that crunching sound? I don't think handcuffs crunch. I swung my bleary eyes over to the right, my shoulder pressed into the ground as I tried to roll a bit more to glance in the direction of the crunching sound.
"Well, Fffffffuck-Me."
Looks like using my cell was out. There would be no call to the Lone Ranger for backup for this Tonto in the near future. The little bits of electronics were spread about on the ground in tatters. Beyond salvage. I groaned. A bit like my sanity. Guess my attempted push up damaged more than my spirits.
"Brilliant. Just brilliant, Einstein." I murmured to myself. I wish I could think of some way out of this mess.
I lay with my forehead pitted against macadam and thought furiously. I must have pushed myself too hard by doing that and passed out. When I opened my eyes now, the sun was noticeably lower down in the sky. Almost night. At this rate I would be seeing real stars and not the Looney Tune variety.
"DAMN BOMBSHELL!"
Crap! I blinked rapidly and I prayed fervently that it was actually Tank's voice I heard and not some figment of my overtaxed little pea of a brain. I glanced over wearily and saw Mount Tank come into view. Wait. Were there twin peaks that both resemble Tank there? Yup. Damn. Definitely a concussion if there was double vision.
"BOMBSHELL, ANSWER ME! Are you okay? Say something! Anything!"
Looks like Robin to the rescue. I just wonder what I was going to have to pay Boy-Wonder to keep his ever lovin' mouth shut about this escapade. I'm sure if he's anything like Ranger, he'll think of something creative. Holy Mother! I can't think like that! I don't need any more "deals" right now. The last one left me blurry, heart broken (which I am NOT apt to admit), and still confused and horny. Damn Men! They could all be pigs sometimes. Only thinking of ruttin' around in the mud instead of the important stuff. Like I can talk. I am just a walking hormone. Even after the deal over DeCooch, when Ranger made himself scarce concluding the 'No price/this-love-doesn't-come-with-a-ring' conversation, I still drooled over his luscious mocha latte-skinned bod. Sometimes life just isn't fair.
Uh-oh. Looks like Tank is still talkin'.
"…don't come to soon, I'll have to call Ranger. And I don't think any of us wants that. Unn-uhh. No way-no how. Not the way you are lookin' now. Damn, where is that ambulance! I called them like 15 minutes ago!"
Dang. Looks like I did that lose-track-of-time-and-space- thing-y. Again.
Tank was clutching a cell phone in his hand and it looked about ready to fold in upon itself from the white knuckled pressure he was exerting on it.
"T-t-tannnk?" I managed to mumble from around the dozen or so marbles in my mouth.
"Oh Gawd! Yeah. I'm here Bombshell. You finally comin' around?"
"Yuuuppp. Shootttt. My throat hurtssss…" I gasped.
"Well, it should considering the necklace you are wearing."
"Huuhhh?"
"Steph, who tried to strangle you?"
"Whhhaaat!" I shouted. Or at least I would have shouted it if I was able to around the damn marbles. I think it came out more like 'whhhaa'.
"Steph! Concentrate. What happened? Nevermind. Scratch that. You might make things worse by talking right now."
"Geeee, thankksss Tank." I think even he got the angry sarcasm in that gasped witty repartee.
"Tell me later at the hospital. Promise to tell me then."
"'kayyy." I marbled.
"Damn Squad! Where are they!"
"Whyy yooou not take meeeee, nowwww..." I tried to get across the urgency of my question. It was urgent since I figured out that nut not only robbed and battered me after the assault but evidently tried to kill me too. Huh. Wonder if this means Larone and I aren't pals anymore. Perish the thought.
"Can't take the chance in movin' ya yet, Bombshell. I don't think you realize how twisted up your back is right now. You may have damaged your spine. The ambulance crew should be able to immobilize you properly. I don't have the tools. Hang on. They should be here soon. Just hang on."
Just then I heard sirens approaching closer to where we lay. Well, where I lay. Tank was crouching. I heard the squeal of brakes and murmurs above me…mere snippets of conversation.
"How long she been like this…. You found her just like this and didn't move her, right!" the EMT shouted at Tank.
Tank nodded stoically and gave them all the vital information he had gleaned since he arrived.
"Man, I knew better than to move her around."
"Damn. Where is all this blood coming from?" said the grumpy dwarf of an EMT. I am SOOO not starting to like this guy. You would think he would be a little nicer. I mean, aren't all people in the health profession supposed to be giving and lovable. Like Florence Nightingale, or some shit like that. Cripes. HOLD the PHONE, Did he say blood? My Blood? Like my blood pooled on the ground! Was that what he was asking Tank about!
With that lovely thought I promptly return to my private solar system in Outer Space.
Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit aka Christine
Note; std disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts , or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
Chapter 2:
"ungghhhh…"
One of these days I am gonna wake up and still be able to remember where I am. Just looks like today won't be the day. I released a sigh and tried to reach out with my right arm to prop myself up. Where ever I was I wasn't still on the ground. Yea me! My search was impeded by a sharp tug. Ugh! Not again! Damn Hospitals. I will never live long enough to like being in them. Hmmm. Maybe that was the point. I squinted into the darkness of the room around me. Guess I don't have a roommate. My day's lookin' up. Nothing like being tortured with an incessant barrage of questions from some other sickie when you feel like crap. Plus you can't even control the remote to the T.V. Last time I was here I got treated to Spanish soap operas…24-7. Hard to take when you only know enough of the language to order from a Taco Bell menu. I am still recovering from that. Never did find out if Javier left Simone for Maria.
The door to my private hell opened and Tank stepped in. Or at least I was hoping it was him. If not the New Jersey Devil is alive and well and, I might add, almost seven feet tall.
"Hey Bombshell…" he whispered as he crossed the room stealthily and flopped into the chair beside my bed without a whisper of cloth or squeak of boot. Geez! How do these guys do that! Is it really an army muscleman thing or is it genetic…like a hair lip or something.
"I was getting worried about you."
I parted my lips to respond and croaked in reply. Damn. Throat's sore.
"Here's some water."
He handed me a Styrofoam cup which had suddenly appeared in his hand. Huh. I wonder if Houdini here can teach me to do that. I sipped the liquid gratefully and took the opportunity to truly look up into Tank's face for the first time since he entered the room. In the dim light and shadow, I could swear he looked exhausted and full of…tension? Huh? Wonder what that's about.
"Thanks.", I crackled in my unsteady Kermit the Frog imitation after handing back the cup. It magically disappeared with the same precision with which it had appeared earlier. Nifty. It's like watching David Copperfield. Wonder if he can do the same thing with white tigers, too? Nah. That's more Siegfried and Roy's style.
"Feel better?"
"Like shit." I said as I leaned my head back onto my pillow.
"Huh. Don't hold back on my account." he countered with a smirk.
"Aww. Did I hurt the big bad G.I. Joe's feelings? Well, shoot."
Instead of the customary light counter volley that I expected in response, I received silence from Tank. I looked up, curious to find out the reason for it. His eyes were unguarded brown pools. His brow creased with lines. Worry lines? And something else that I couldn't put my finger on. And just as quick as I had seen that Je ne sais quios, I watched it disappear. His eyes hardened to flint and face returned to a smooth, blank canvas. I blinked in surprise.
"You aren't making this bodyguard thing easy, Steph." he sighed with a frown.
"Huh? Body-What !"
"You heard me."
"No one asked you to bodyguard me, buddy!" I squeaked.
"Sure about that?"
"Well..umm…no…Yes!...er…Fuck! What are you talkin' about Tank?
"Just what I said. You know who asked."
"R-r-r-ranger?" I sputtered.
He nodded grimly. "Yeah. Got it in one."
"Why?"
"Well, you were almost killed yesterday, Bombshell."
Huh. The man was not subtle. He knew what I had really asked about but chose to ignore my intent. Hmmmm. Avoidance. Gotta respect the technique. It's one of my trusty faithful for dealing with life. But I wasn't going to let it slide…if I could help it.
"Where is he?"
"Out." Thank you, Master of the Obvious.
"Care to be more descriptive than that?"
He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the railing of my bed. He scooted the seat forward and settled on its edge.
"Well… he is looking for a skip out of town… Trying to figure some things out. Did you see who hit you, Steph?
He reached out and grazed his big mahogany fingers back and forth over the back of my left arm on the bed. What's he doing? Is he trying to use some Jedi mind-touch trick on me to calm me? Geez. All that touch does is to stir my Mazur hormones. Dang, do head injuries cause hormone overload? I reached up and caressed my temple with my right hand and frowned. At this rate I wasn't safe to be around any man within fifty miles. Huh. Must be the lack of action for my lower center of gravity. They say cold turkey can kill an addict. It's been 5 and half months since my final break up with Joe and 6 months since the 'encounter' with Ranger. By encounter I mean the hot and sweaty, monkey grind and bump, horizontal kind. Just to clarify. Damn. I wonder if someone makes a patch for this? They would make millions if they did. Put them next to the Chunky Monkey in the Ben and Jerry aisle and WOWEE…watch the money roll in.
At the sight of my frown, Tank pulled his fingers back into his lap abruptly, thus interrupting my capitalist day dreaming.
"You promised to tell me, Stephanie. Remember?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah I did. I chasin' my skip, Joseph 'rat-fink' Larone and the rat-bastard jumped the fence after making me chase him. You know how I hate running, Tank."
He chuckled. "Well sure, after seeing the results firsthand I should know."
Poor Tank. He had been trying to take over the running regimen enforcement in lieu of the MIA Winged-Avenger...but I was resisting. Two weeks into it he relented. Maybe it was the Technicolor yawn I performed on his sneakers the last time. Naw.
"Anyway, when I landed the worm must have turned, grabbed me and pushed me down to the ground…before beating me…withmyownpurse." The last was said with a rushed whisper and an averted face. I snuck a peak at Tank's face. It had hardened to granite but when I got to the purse part I swear he blinked and went utterly still…face completely empty. I squinted my eyes at him.
"Pardon me? Did you say he beat you with your own purse?"
Shit. He did catch that that last part. I flinched and nodded my head slowly. He looked at me like my head was the gumball machine at the local 5 and dime. You know, the one with only two gumballs left. He could practically hear my thoughts rumbling around in the hollow space, I'm sure. Tank started to laugh. A deep belly laugh.
"What the HELL! Are you laughing at me!"
"You gotta admit his choice of weapon was original, Bombshell." Then he quickly sobered on the turn of a dime.
Uh-oh. I think I may have developed ESP finally. What a time to acquire it.
"Stephanie…why was your purse so heavy that it gave you a concussion when lobbed at your head?"
Double shit. Definitely ESP.
"Well…I…sortaleftmyguninthere…" I mumbled.
Tank jumped to his feet and started pacing the room at the foot of my bed like a wild thing. His impression of a jungle cat was quite intimidating. He was mumbling to himself wildly. The only things I caught were: 'why me…more than he would do…can't catch any breaks'…and then something about him not wanting to be left without a chance. Whatever the hell that means. Cripes. He's giving Morelli a run for the money in the flippin' off the handle department. This was starting to scare me a little.
As sudden as that he stilled. Abruptly. Completely. Like a friggin' Greek statue. He craned his head in my direction. Pinning me with his black panther gaze.
He said quietly:
"I am not the cop."
HOLY MOTHER!
Looks like Ranger has taught Tank some ESP. Or maybe that's genetic also. GULP.
"I know."
Tank returned to my left side again and picked up my fingers gently of the bed. Ohhhkay. Now he's scaring me.
"Promise to carry your gun from now on. All the time. No questions. Alright?
"ummm..er.."
"Not up for debate."
"Uh…I can't take my gun EVERYWHERE, Tank! Err…What about…when I…" Think stupid. Think. "…when I…go to mass!" AH-HAH! He can't debate that! Father O'Connell was not someone to trifle with. Even Tank had to know that. Point for me.
"Stephanie…" Uh-oh. I think I am starting to hate the sound of my own name. "You and I both know how many times you've been to mass these past 5 months. Do you think that's honestly an out I'll accept?"
"I'm not risking it! What would God do if I brought one into church! Strike me down, that's what! Don't be blaspheming in front of me!" Ha! Saint Stephanie. Pious little nun.
Tank chuckled. "Okay, not mass, but everywhere else." He and I both knew the church thing was an excuse. Dang. My bluff has been called. "I'll overlook it if you agree to some…terms."
Double Uh-oh. What is it with these guys! Pigs all of them! Did Ranger tell them about the deal! What'd he do put it on the side of the Goodyear blimp! Anger mingled with the previous mortification. I was seeing red and about to enter full on Rhino mode.
"Before you…excite yourself…" he interrupted, rudely, before I could rip him a new orifice, "listen to the terms."
"Alright." I ground out between clenched teeth.
"Easy, Bombshell! Don't know what I did to piss you off. Just listen and then say yes. In exchange for overlooking this… Incident…with the purse, I want you to commit yourself to my expert tutelage for training. Bounty Hunter training.
"Huh?" This is sooo not the direction I thought this conversation was headed to.
"I will not spread the tale in exchange for improving your skills. That means no more cookie jar gun storage. Range practice, armed range practice. It means exercise, both gym and running mandatory, along with any self defense classes I deem necessary."
The…MAN…thought he could boss me! Grrr. I started to open my mouth to tell him what to do with his offer, but backed down with a single thought. MOM. My mother. My mother hearing about this incident. The phone calls. The ironing. There was not enough starch in the state of Jersey for the after effects of that nuclear bomb going off. Yikes. I have no choice.
"Fine."
"Promise it." Geez. What's his deal! Doesn't he trust me?
"Yeah, yeah. I said YES! Okay, Mister Grand High Puba!"
He smirked. "Good, we start when you get out of here."
Huh…this brings up a good question…
"When will that be? No one has mentioned anything about that yet."
"Well, your cat-scan came back okay. So your head and spine should have no long term effects and are fine. The swelling should go down soon. They want to monitor the effect of the bruising on your throat though."
"Huh?" Mmm... I seem to be saying that inarticulate phrase a lot recently.
"Steph, remember," he prompted me gently like a child, "Someone strangled you." He stated quietly.
The whole end of the prior night came rushing back to my consciousness. "BLOOD! They said blood was everywhere!" I frantically grappled my hands over my body looking for bulky bandages and finding none other that the ones on my ankle and head.
"Relax. It wasn't yours..."
"Whaaatt?"
"The blood you were covered in wasn't yours."
"Okayyyyy….I don't understand."
Tank sighed and picked up my whole hand and placed it palm up in his, covering it like a mitt with its gigantic mate.
"Bombshell, we know it's not yours. And the skip is missing. Either he tried to kill you and was interrupted by someone who tried to stop him or he or someone else was attacked by the third party while you were out after Larone hit you. If either of those scenarios are true then we need to find your skip immediately. Obviously he knows something or is dead. Whoever lost that blood couldn't have survived very long. That's where the guys are. Beating some bushes. Looking for info.
"Oh." My life is never simple. Always a crazy to chase me. It's like there is a neon sign above my head that says 'Bates Motel…Welcome Psychos!' I am one Janet Leigh shower scene away from the end. Not a happy thought.
Just then Tank's cell rang. He popped it open.
"Talk." Hmmm, wonder if phone etiquette will be one of the skills that he is teaching me. "No. Uh-uh. Right Lester. Keep lookin'. Later." Well, at least he doesn't just hang up. That was sort of a goodbye.
"Bobby and Lester." He said in response to the look I must have on my face.
"And…" I prompted.
"Look, I gotta step out for a bit. Something's come up. I'll be back soon and we can talk some more about this then."
ARGGHHHHHH! What is it with these guys!
"NO! Tell me! You know that I know that you know something more than that. What's going on! Don't leave with that kind of explanation. The NO kind of explanation kind!"
"Bombshell, trust me." And he turned to leave.
That comment was one of the last things I need to hear. That is exactly what Ranger said to me. Before he stomped all over my heart with those Bates boots of his. What is it with these guys in monochromatic tones! Does black cloth affect your brain and give you a god complex or something. Tank stilled with his back to me. Like a pillar of salt. Uh-oh.
Without turning around he whispered: "I am not him either." With that he crossed the room, and exited, leaving me bass-mouthed staring at the door.
DAMNIT. I must be thinking out loud again. And wait a minute! What's that supposed to mean?
I flopped back on the bed and closed my eyes. I am done trying to decipher these guys. Finito. Das ist Alles. Nada. No more thinking about rangeman motives. It's like asking how many licks are left in a tootsie roll pop. The world will never know.
To be continued in chapter 3…
Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit aka Christine
Note; std disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts , or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
A special thanks to all the ladies that have given me feedback, ill deserved praise and who have patiently awaited this newest installment. You know who you are. ;)
Chapter 3:
What is it with me and cement? Uggghhh.
Sometimes it just doesn't pay to get up in the morning. For weeks I have been working my little tail off. Busting hump, as it were, to become a better, well, everything. And yet here I lay on my tummy facedown after tripping over my own shoelace. Sheesh! You would think I would be better coordinated by now. Tank had taken over the reins of my training with an ease which surprised even me. I train every bloody day with at least one of the merry men. Surprisingly, Lester and Bobby being my main instructors. Bobby was teaching me everything about physical fitness, weapons, and in general, the AGONY of daily runs. Lester was my martial arts guru. Apparently he was a drill instructor for a spell while in the Rangers. Hard to imagine the super sauve Les knocking heads together and inspiring fear with his sexy voice. But then again, maybe that's why there aren't more female Ranger recruits. Heh hehI had thought that Tank would be more, er, hands on with the training. Um, not to say he doesn't participate, but, AHEM anyway… Kinda disappointed by that. He's an intriguing guy. Wonder what it would be like to get to know him better? (Where did that thought come from?). He seems to be taking alot of pride in my positive progress. I know a good deal of tae kwon do, karate, some tai chi, along with some unconventional street fighting techniques. I also now proudly own my very own Browning Hi-Power semi-automatic. Yes, I am not afraid of my gun anymore. I am even a halfway decent shot according to Bobby. Heck, I even have a gun-locker in my bedroom. Weird the turns that a life can take. Normally someone telling me what to do 24-7 would send me spiraling down a vortex of animal rage. Hmmm. Must be growing up. Or maybe it's just Tank's nature. He does seem to inspire confidence. Just look at the relationship he has with the other Rangeman employees. It's not just respect that inspires their loyalty to him as the new head honcho of the company. Yes, Ranger is still gone, off in parts unknown. Nothing unusual there, well…except for the length of time he has been gone. 7 months is a long time. Not that I care where the Bat has flown to. Really. The interesting thing that has happened is the new close friendships I now have with some of the merry men. Lester is like the lecherous yet harmless Uncle that I never met and Bobby is like the long lost Brother that I never knew I had. Sometimes even going as far as re-enacting the sibling rivalry that would accompany such a loving, healthy family relationship. Well, healthy, in the way that two adults acting like spoiled kindergardeners can be. Bobby is even now my sometimes partner when I work for Rangeman in an official capacity. I am surprised that we haven't killed each other on a stake out. Tank one day even called us into his office after one such stake-out dispute over the age old argument of Ginger or Maryann. (Can you believe that Bobby actually chose Maryann! Everyone knows that Ginger got all the guys!) He says that if he has to ref one more verbal battle between us he will send us to our rooms. I rolled my eyes at him and Bobby just stuck his tongue out at Tank behind his back, before coming to my side and hugging me. We just gave him the doe eyed blink and smiled the 'Who-Me?' grins.
Ughh. But I digress. Need to spatula myself off this macadam fryingpan.
I groaned and levered myself up on my arms and sprung to my feet like a possessed marionette…slightly off-kilter.
A wave of nausea rushed through me. I quickly plopped back down on the sidewalk.
That was a mistake.
The nausea morphed like the incredible hulk into a throbbing monster of a headache. I drew my knees to my chest and slid my head between them. My head felt like a pendulum on grandfather clock. The inner waves were cresting and ebbing…back and forth…back and forth. The humanity! Stop thinking, Steph. This is what gets you in trouble! The little devil in my head appears to be working overtime today. Wonder where his counterpart the angel is? Is he on vacation in the Bahamas? Did I ever have one? Hmm. Good question. Heh heh. Oh! Put a cork in it, you…you… little red freak! I came back to myself slowly. Looks like the waves were finally receding but the head pounding was lingering to brighten my day.
"Heh heh. Assuming crash position, Steph?" Looks like my little red 'friend' has taken corporeal form. Why are there always witnesses to my exploits?
"Shut your yap, Bobby, or I'll do it for you." I growled.
'oooOOOOhhhh Baby! I love it when you get rough."
"I hate you."
"Nah. You don't. If you hated me it would mean that you would have had to have loved me at some point in your life. Only love can turn to hate."
"Thanks, Obi-won."
I finally looked up at Bobby jogging in place above me to my right. Damn. He was smiling smugly and not even the teeny tiniest bit out of breath. Bastard.
"Uh-oh. I know that look." He pouted. "Are you questioning the state of my mother's marital status at the time of my birth?"
E.S.P. rears its ugly head.
"No, I can just read your face well."
"I hate it when you guys do that."
He leaned over and pulled my hand up off the sidewalk.
"C'mon. Gotta finish the last stretch."
"But that's 4 more MILES!"
"Whine much?"
"Must I repeat myself? Shut up, Bob."
"Don't call me that!"
"Well, then don't torment me and I won't torment you."
"You know that you are the only one I let get away with this kind of shit." He stated as he yanked me to my feet. "Others I would have shoved my boot up their ass by now."
We started running again. Or should I say I was running. Bobby was jogging. He was practically prancing around me as I sluggishly pressed my traitorous body to the limit to keep up to his 'Jog'. At least I am not panting like a dog like I used to a month ago.
"No, Fido, you're not." SHIT. I cringed and tilted my head in his direction.
"I said that out loud?" I don't know why I asked it like a question. It was more of a statement. A given fact, really.
"Yup."
"Aww, Man…"
"Yes, Woman…" His eyes twinkled with devilish merriment.
"Shaddup!"
"Repeat much?"
"ARRRGGHHHhhh!"
He wiggled his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx and took off a few yards ahead of me. "C'mon, Steph." He called back over his shoulder, "You better catch up, Chica!"
"Masochist…" I mumbled as I picked up the pace.
"Naw…I like pleasure more than pain, baby-cakes. Hence the name, Bobby Brown! Heh heh."
The man must have ears in his hiney. As I ran up to return to his side I repeated the mantra that had gotten me through many a bad run.
"Damn"…pant… "you"… grunt ... "Bobby"…Pant…"Damn"…gasp…"you"…sweat… "Bobby!"
A familiar tune was hummed from beside me. I narrowed my eyes and looked over at his calm and cool exterior. He started to sing.
"Loooovin' Yooouuu is eaaassyy, cos your BEAUUU- tiii-Fuuuulll," he crooned. "Too bad, though, that you have the mouth of a sailor on a three day bender, Sweet Cheeks."
"I'll give you, Sweet Cheeks…" I grumbled under my breath. And with that I fake stumbled. When Bobby leaned over to help steady me, I turned and swept my left leg under him behind the knees. He went down like a ton of bricks. Heh heh. Looks like those marital arts lessons are finally paying off. And for a good cause I might add, if I do say so myself. I quickly darted out of reach and stuck my tongue out. I circled him doing a modified 'Rocky' shadow boxing movement, prancing from foot to foot, and giggled.
"Poor baby boy, Bob. What's the matters, Sweetums? Wahhh. Did the widdle Bob fall down and go boom! Heh heh."
He looked up from the pavement and blinked. Once. Twice. Three times is definitely not the charm. Uhhh-Ohhh. Shit. Shit. Shit. He turned his head slightly and I saw murder in his eyes. Namely mine.
"Uhhh, Bobby…You o-okay?"
In response all he did was growl.
Shit with a capital 'S'. Me thinks I better get while the getting's good.
I turned and ran like the hounds of hell were on my tail. Apt analogy after seeing that feral gleam in Bobby's eyes. I was too scared to look behind me to check and see how close he was to me. Hearing his boots eating up the pavement in my wake was enough. Time to call for back up.
Dear Lord. I promise if you get me out of this one I will go to mass twice a week and never eat another donut again. Well… maybe not twice a week. It would interrupt my training. And well… God created donuts so He knows how good they are and why therefore maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't be blaspheming Him by forsaking one of His finer creations. Ugghh. Amen.
Aww gawd! HEEELLLPPP!
Just then a black Navigator pulled astride me. I never even paused in my flight at the interruption. I just kept pumpin' those feet. Go feet, go! I think maybe I know how Rex feels now. Run, run, run. And no escape. The window of the SUV rolled down and Tank's voice boomed out. "Bombshell, What the.."
I darted over, grabbed the rear driver side door handle, flung the door open and threw myself on the floorboards of the backseat.
"DRIVE!" I slammed the door shut.
"Huh?"
"Please, just drive, DAMNIT!" The SUV continued steady on its course. Tank was still looking over his shoulder with a perplexed look on his face. Shoot. Let's try this again. "Please Tank, please drive."
"You owe me, Bombshell." With that he sped off.
Five minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment. He pulled to the rear of the building. When he had parked he turned in his seat to face me.
"It's safe to get up now."
I sat up tentatively and looked at Tank after stealing several furtive glances out the windows. He was staring at me. Intently. GULP. He doesn't look too relaxed. In fact, his face and heck, all of him, looks kinda like Mr. Freeze. Dang. Did I just jump from the frying pan into the fire? Double Gulp. I hung my head. I swallowed nervously several times and when I opened my mouth to speak a tiny squeak was the only sound emitted. Great. Just great! I steeled my nerves and forced myself to meet his gaze. The corners of his mouth had started to twitch.
"So…Care to tell me what all that was about?" Shit. What was I gonna say? That I had poked and prodded Bobby-bear one too many times and now he was rabid, filled with blood lust, and, I might add, out for my hide? This could get tricky. Very Tricky.
To be continued in chapter 4…coming soon…(I PROMISE.)
Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit aka Christine
Note; std disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts , or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
Chapter 4:
I swear I am not insane. Truly and Honestly, I am of sound mind. Though others might disagree due to the fact that just a few minutes ago I was huddled on the floor of a getaway car while escaping a very dangerous and VERY pissed off mercenary. Hard enough to explain is the fact that said mercenary is my not one of my crazy FTAs. OH NOOooo. That crazed mercenary is my teacher, partner, best friend and self-proclaimed adopted brother. On second thought maybe the brother thing DOES explain it. They do say that most murderers are related to their victims. Glad to know I will be making my future homicide easier to solve for the Trenton P.D.
Even harder to explain is the simple fact of revealing who my would-be attacker is to the big hunk-o-man sitting in the front seat of the aforementioned getaway vehicle. The man who looked liked he was swallowing his tongue from laughter from my Bambi in headlights impersonation.
"Wellllll… It's like this, Tank." I cleared my throat and waited for divine inspiration to hit me. Or at least divine intervention if I was lucky. Several minutes passed. Silence ensued. He looked at me and I just looked at him. He was giving me the look. The one the guys do to intimidate the baddest of foes. I, thankfully, did not immediately pee myself. In fact, believe it or not, I returned his gaze with a mask of my own. Granted it wasn't Tank proof or of the guys caliber, but hopefully it would buy me a few more millennia to think my way out of this.
"C'mon Bombshell. Spit it out."
"Uhhh…" Stephanie Plum. Mistress of elocution.
"Uh-huh. Let's make this easier on you." With that he turned around opened his door and got out of the SUV. He walked to the rear door with his right hand underneath his jacket. Apparently in the small of his back. SHIT! IN THE SMALL OF HIS BACK! That could only mean one thing. GUN. Bobby has taught me well. UGH! Don't think of the reason you are about to be shot, dummy! Find an escape hatch! I think I am starting to respect that devil of mine. Although I still had no idea how to get out of this. While I had been panicking, Tank had opened the door and climbed in the back seat. So much for escaping. I wasn't getting out of this truck until Tank was ready…or in a body bag. GULP.
"Sooo…" He inquired as he leaned into my personal space. I slunk over to my right on the bench seat. He pursued. I slunk again. He followed. I slunk…and hit the other door. I turned, leaning my back against it, thinking it was smart to keep looking my adversary in the eye. That was a mistake. Tank had indeed followed that last slide and was now practically in my lap. Or I was practically in his depending on how you looked at it. And I was looking at it that way. His lap looked kinda inviting…Ahem. Uh…Whatever.
Tank's brown eyes twinkled in his blank mask as be peered down at me. I again gulped. His eyes went to my throat and lingered there before slowing raking up to my lips and then meeting my gaze. He leaned over smiling and his face came inches from mine. "Are you going to spill, Bomber, or am I gonna have to compel you to talk." He whispered stirring his hot breath against my skin.
"I...er...Ummm…"
"Have it your way. We'll do it the fun way…" With that he leaned over and kissed me. I was stunned, this was Tank! Tank's soft but firm lips kissing me. Tank's teeth nibbling against my lower lip. Tank's sweet, hot breath against my skin. OH Gaaawwd. I haven't been this throughly kissed since that night with Ranger. RANGER. Oh no. Oh no, no, NO! No man was gonna do this to me again. I am not reliving my love 'em and leave 'em encounter. Not in mind, thought, or deed if I had anything to say about it. I broke the kiss and pulled back. Blinking rapidly trying to clear my mind, I looked up into Tank's face. It looked very open and welcoming. His lips were still there, close by, like they were beckoning me home. His rough-hewn hand still lay cupped against my cheek.
"Uhh…I think that was a bad idea." I finally managed to spill out through passion swollen lips.
He recoiled immediately. He turned from me and swiped his hands over his face, in a heavy, angry motion.
"You're right." His whole being radiated tension.
WHAT the HELL is going on? One minute he is good ol' Tank, Boss-man and leader. The next he is Tank…Wonder-lover. The man with the million dollar lips.
"I'm sorry. Don't worry. It won't ever happen again, Stephanie." Uh-oh. Real name does not equal happy times. Now what had I done! I swear I have not clue one as to what is going on here. All I know is that I don't want Tank angry with me. And he appears very upset right now. I reached out and grabbed his arm lightly. Didn't want to freak him out with any sudden moves. I learned the guys could be very dangerous, especially when they are unaware. He grimaced down at my hand before going back to granite carved mountain behemoth man face. "Tank?" He sat still and continued looking out the window. I tried again. "Tank?" I applied pressure with my fingers to his arm right at the pressure point that Lester had shown me. Tank whipped his head around to look at me. "Finally!" I said with a smirk. He covered my hand with his left one and forced me to ease back on my grip. "That's dirty pool! If I had known that you were going to use your newly honed skills against me…" he trailed off as I interrupted.
"HEY Buddy! You were the one who used unsanctioned interviewing skills on ME! I did nothing more than you did! So THERE!"
He opened his mouth, presumably to stop my tirade. But I rushed on.
"Besides I figured since my skills have already gotten me in so much trouble today, I figured, What the Hell! Can't make things any worse by using them on you, too!" Opps. Said too much. That last bit got his attention. He tensed and looked concerned at my face. He pulled me into his lap abruptly and used his finger to tip my face toward his. He was now in warrior mode and out of whatever funk he was just swimming in.
"What happened? Was a skip after you? Is that who you were running from? Fuck! It wasn't that Tomas Encinte character was it? Damn! I thought we had put the fear of god into him the last time we picked him up. But he is one crazy mutha so he could be that nuts to come after you since you were the easiest target out of all present at that take down. Shit!" He grabbed his cell phone and started to dial from memory. "Let me call Bobby and tell him to round up Les, Cal and the guys and we'll..."
"NOOOOOOO!" I lunged and tore the phone from his grasp, slammed it shut to turn it off, and flung it into the front seat where it landed with an audible KERTHUNK against the steering wheel where it then bounced to the floor. Hopefully never to be seen again, if I could help it. "Uh, that's not necessary, Tank. Um, I'm fine. Really! Fit as a fiddle! I can't have you guys fighting all my battles for me and I can take care of myself now…so don't worry I'll…"
"STOP." I winced and slammed my mouth shut. "Care to tell me what the 'Carrie' impression was about? Somehow I think there is something more to this situation than meets the eye, isn't there, Bomber?" He was staring at me with laser eyes. Willing me to break and spill the beans. "Now, WHO was chasing you?" I groaned and squirmed in his lap. His eyes went black. I shuddered and pressed my face against his black cotton encased chest. Trying to will my way out of the world like Dorothy taping her shoes. That gave me a good idea. I chanted 'there's no place like home' in my head thrice. I waited. No such luck. Damn Hollywood and their vicious lies! I sighed.
"Steph."
Better face the music.
"Tell me now." He started to stoke my back with his right thumb, sending shivers down my spine. Shit! Just get it over with.
"Itwasbob.." I rushed out quietly. He pulled me back for a second to look in my eyes. "You want me to believe that you were running from Morelli's dog? Your former four-legged compadre?"
"Um. No."
"Okay. Explain." Damn man and his monosyllabic commands reminded me of another mysterious, enticing man. Damnit! Where was he anyway? Why had he not come home to Trenton? Why had he turned Rangeman over to the giant I was currently draped over. I suspected that the merry men of mine knew more than they were telling me. Why were they holding out? Did they know about the deal? It would be like them to keep things from me if they thought I would be hurt by them. But as far as I was aware, neither Ranger nor I had told anyone anything about it. So that couldn't be it, could it? I mean, though there were times I suspected that Tank knew something had happened, he has never said word one to me. Neither have Lester or Bobby for that matter. Shit BOBBY! I spiraled back to consciousness. I pressed my face into Tanks shirt, not wanting to see his reaction to my next words. Tank could get pretty pissed at Bobby and me for our wonder-twin aggression act.
"Bobby. It was Bobby. I…I called him Bob and I think that's… part of the reason he flipped out."
"Bob. You called him Bob." Several seconds passed. That's it. That's all he said.
"Uh Yeah. Bobby was chasin' me. I kinda called him Bob…after I knocked him down. He…um…kinda provoked me so I leg swept him with that new maneuver that Les showed me a couple days ago. He went down hard and cracked his big, thick skull but good." I was kinda elated that I had surprised the impossible to dominate Bobby. Now that I had some distance I could almost giggle at it really and preen over my accomplishment. I started to shift my head to look up at Tank. He was emotionless. Shit. Apparently the golly green giant doesn't see the humor. I grabbed hold of his shirt and returned my face to its comfy folds. At least Tank's shirt wasn't intimidating. It kinda smelled earthy. Like pine fresh goodness. Mmmm. Tank cleared his throat.
"Did you hurt him?" He asked, expressionless.
Oh shit! Didn't think of that outcome. "Uh no. I mean I don't think so. I did ask him if he was okay and everything afterward. It's not my fault he wouldn't answer me! I mean he had to be okay! He chased me down!" I paused in my tirade. "He had to be okay, right, Tank?"
Silence. No reaction is a good reaction, Right?
To be continued in chapter 5…