Forgive Me(51)

The perfect stillness broke when she heard the creak of a hinge directly behind her. Soon a triangle of light cut through the darkness and lit the ground at her feet. The triangle widened as the green door opened all the way. Angie spun on her heels, her eyes growing wide. The shadow of a hulking man loomed in the doorway. The sight of him momentarily stopped her breathing. Shadows and a flat-rim baseball cap hid the large man’s face. He lumbered out from the entranceway, followed closely by the man in the fedora.

“Whatcha you doing back here?” The big man spoke in a deep baritone, threatening in every way.

Angie retreated a few steps, but Fedora ascended the stairs, moving with startling quickness, and wasted no time encroaching on her personal space. She thought of running, but doubted she would win a footrace. Days of surveillance work did not enhance one’s physical conditioning.

Angie’s next thought was of her TASER. A flick of the wrist, and she could clear her holster and get off a shot that would drop Fedora in a blink. But the big man would come at her fast and hard. She knew to control herself. An uncalculated reaction could prove costly.

Fedora looked her over, a smirk on his face. His hand reached toward her cheek, but Angie pulled away.

“Whoa, Casper, we got ourselves a real live wire here.”

Casper. Nothing friendly or ghostly about him, thought Angie.

Casper moved forward, but not all the way up the stairs.

Good. Angie had a few steps on him.

“I’m looking for my friend,” she said. “I think I have the wrong address.”

“You have the wrong address for sure,” Fedora said.

She backed up a step, but Fedora seized her wrist with the speed of a viper’s strike, squeezed hard, and pulled her toward him. Off kilter, she stumbled, but soon regained balance. In the light from the open basement door, Angie noticed a beer bottle on the ground near her feet and within reach.

She twisted her arm and managed to free herself from Fedora’s grasp. “Don’t touch me again.”

Something darkened in Fedora’s eyes. He had a thin, wiry build, but Angie knew not to underestimate his strength or speed, or ignore any possible weapons. His bowling shirt was loose-fitting, and could conceal a gun the same way Angie’s jacket hid her TASER.

Keenly aware that any outward signs of fear would be taken as weakness, she kept herself in check as best she could, hoping they couldn’t sense the terror that smashed against her ribs. She gathered her wits.

When Fedora grabbed her wrist once again, she didn’t pull away. He would have expected her to try and get free, lean back, twist her arm, that sort of thing. He seemed pleased with her submission. It was his first mistake.

“What are you protecting here?” Angie asked. The bravado in her voice surprised even her.

Anger flared in Fedora’s eyes as he pulled her toward him. She went willingly.

It was his second mistake.

He put his face close enough for Angie to smell onions on his breath. “My business is none of your business.” He spoke with the hint of a Latin accent. It was a hard voice, perfectly suited to the gritty Baltimore streets.

Casper propped the door open with a brick and lumbered up the stairs, taking up roost behind Fedora.

A new figure soon appeared in the doorway, this one slender, female. Not Nadine. But she could have been Nadine.

“What’s going on?” the girl asked. She had an accent, too, but hers was noticeably foreign.

Angie pegged it for Eastern European and asked, “Who are you?”

It was hard to see the face because of shadows, but the girl’s mannerisms were decidedly unsure. Arms folded, straddle stance with one leg forward the other back, it appeared as if she might go in either direction.

Fedora squeezed Angie’s wrist hard. “Get back inside,” he snapped at the girl.

The girl shifted position and the light caught her face just right, giving Angie her first good look. She placed the girl’s age somewhere between seventeen and twenty, in part because of her long hair straight hair and unblemished, angular face. She wore a tight blue dress appropriate for any strip club dancer.

“Are you okay?” Angie asked.

The girl hesitated. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. You should go away.” The girl sank back into the basement room.

Angie knew better than to ask about Nadine. Any mention of her name could get her moved or placed in greater danger.

Fedora curled his top lip into a snarl. “This here ain’t your business, puta.”

“Then I’ll go,” Angie said.

“No. I don’t think you will.”

Angie heard a click and caught sight of a flash of steel as it unfolded from the switchblade case in his hand.

Fedora’s two earlier mistakes were still in play. He had underestimated Angie, and by keeping her close to his body, he couldn’t see her hand moving. Casper didn’t have a clear view, either.

With quick hands, Angie drew her weapon and fired. A square-shaped cartridge exploded from the front end of the TASER. The prongs pinned Fedora’s flimsy shirt to his skin just to the right of his stomach. He moaned as if he was in the midst of a nightmare and dropped to the ground, his body shaking violently.

Casper lunged forward, hurdling Fedora’s spastic form with his arms outstretched.

Angie had taken enough self-defense and martial arts classes to have one tactical doctrine drilled into reflex—if your opponent is looking you in the eyes, attack from below. Her kick was swift and on target. She caught Casper mid-stride and her shin compressed something soft and exceedingly pliable between his legs.