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44
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Mort grabbed his book bag, got up from the counter area and made his way over to one of the tables. He sat down and ordered a drink.
He glanced out of the window that stood next to him and saw the peculiar man leaning against the lamp pole once again. The man from across the street lit a cigarette, never taking his eyes off of Mort.
Mort decided that he'd wait it out and maybe the man would kindly disappear.
The time passed...
Mort was still sitting at his table, which now had several checks on it. The lights came on, blotting out his view of the street through the window. All he could see now was a reflection of the store's interior, including his own seated figure.
He drummed on the table impatiently, glanced at his watch. He couldn't stay any longer. Mort added up his checks and placed some money on the table. Then, placing his bag on his shoulder, made for the door.
He took in a deep breath, held it in, opened the door and stood in the doorway, peering across the street. Luckily, he saw no sign of the man and let out his breath.
Mort walked down the sidewalk glancing across the street, looking at the lamp pole which had previously been occupied by the peculiar figure. Mort continued along the sidewalk, glancing around his surroundings as he did so. Then, over his shoulder, he caught sight of a dark colored car crawling along the curb some twenty yards behind him.
On impulse, he darted across the street to the lamp pole and began down a flight of steps. The car's headlights blazed. It accelerated, tires squealing, and swerved across the one-way street in pursuit.
Mort raced down the steps, hearing the car skid to a halt, and sprinted off along the lower area with his coat flapping and shoulder bag bumping against his body. A couple of hundred yards along, he began to tire out and his running slowed. He turned to look: there was no sign of anyone, no sound of pursuing footsteps, no sign of anything.
Relieved but still wary, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath and light a cigarette. Then,
with a final backward look, he began up the next flight of steps.
He was halfway up them when a tall, menacing figure appeared at the top. Mort turned to flee, but the man was too quick for him. He darted down the steps and hit the retreating Mort in the back of the head.
Mort missed the last couple of steps and landed face down on the ground, his glasses flying off his face and landing on the ground as well as his cigarette. The man was on him in a flash. He bent down and yanked the strap of the bag off his shoulder. Mort resisted, hugging the bag protectively.
The man kicked him in the stomach and Mort doubled up and hung onto the bag for dear life. As he lay there with the man kicking him repeatedly and tugging at the strap, he saw, silhouetted against the yellowish, misty glow of the nearest streetlight, a ghostly figure flying down the steps.
It was the girl.
The man had finally gotten the bag away from Mort and just as he straightened up and turned to go, the girl performed a flying leap and kicked him in the face. He grunted and went sprawling on his back, dropping the bag. The girl stooped over to retrieve the bag.
Mort was beating the man up on the ground, throwing punches and hitting him and whatsoever in the meantime.
The man grabbed Mort's arm and Mort sunk his teeth into the his hand. Thanks Liana, he thought.
The man pulled his injured hand away from Mort and hit him. Mort's hand went backwards and hit the girl in the nose. Blood began to pour from it. He looked up at her in shock, not able to believe what he had done.
She covered her nose with her hand. Mort was still looking at her, mesmerized. The man took the chance, tackled Mort, and got to his feet.
The girl reacted like lightning, kicking him in his manhood. He yelped and crouched onto the ground, holding his manly parts. Then, with a spin kick, she got him once more in the face this time. He lay on the ground, spitting blood and glaring up at her.
The girl turned around to retrieve Mort's precious book bag, containing two of the three copies of 'The Nine Gates'. Mort struggled to his feet. Beyond her, he had seen the man getting up and making for the steps.
Mort chased after him and ran over to the stairs. There was a crunching noise as Mort stepped on one of the lenses of his own glasses that were lying on the ground. He did not notice it, though, and kept running.
The girl slowly turned around and watched as Mort started up the steps, and managed to grab
one of the man's legs. But the man kicked himself free, leaving Mort with his shoe, and continued up the steps with Mort clumsily following a few feet behind.
Waiting at the top of the steps, with the passenger door open, was the dark car. Mort reached the street level in time to catch a glimpse of the man in the light. It was John Shooter. He had been fighting with John Shooter some moments ago. And John Shooter had won. John Shooter had taken his book bag.
Mort threw himself onto the sidewalk and sat down, gripping his head in his hands. All that work. For nothing.
The girl calmly climbed the last few steps. She took his book bag that she had salvaged and dropped it into his lap.
He looked at her, amazed. John Shooter had not gotten away with it, afterall. She held out her hand to him. He moved his head up and looked at her hand which was holding his glasses.
Mort slowly took the broken glasses and put them on. One of the lenses was shattered and one side of the frame was irregularly bent, so it did not curl around his ear. Instead it stood out, away from his face.
"They're broken. You should be more careful," The girl said. She looked at Mort who was breathing heavily. He stared at her. She couldn't help but find his new look comical.
He looked back at the girl and noticed that her nose was bleeding. She wiped it on her sleeve. Mort reached his hand into his bag and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her and she took it and dabbed at her nose with it.