Chapter 6

The evening’s entertainment came to a typical end. The curtains closed, the lights came up, the applause died, and the audience rose to make their way out of the theater. It was noisy and chaotic with individual groups of people caught up in their own conversations and actions. Engaged in their own little dramas, no one noticed the pair of young women who hadn’t moved.

Betsy sat there with tears running down her cheeks.

“It was a comedy,” Sally said.

They had just watched a university performance of “The Pirates of Penzance”. It may not have been a professional production, but it was the lightest funniest program Sally could find while being able to afford tickets for the best seats in the house. She knew how much Betsy dreamed of going to a live performance. She had chosen something funny because she knew that Betsy’s reaction would be emotional enough that a serious story might be more than her friend could handle.

“I never imagined it could be so ... fantastic,” Betsy said ineffectually trying to wipe the tears from her face.

“I’m happy you enjoyed it.”

“I’ve dreamed about going to a live performance for years. Thank you,” Betsy said.

Sally opened her purse and held out the small package of tissues she had packed in anticipation of Betsy’s reaction to the performance. Tears had been inevitable. After all, Betsy had cried when Sally had presented her with the tickets.

Betsy wiped her eyes and blew her nose using a couple of tissues from the packet. That Sally had anticipated her tears told her that the young woman knew her better than she knew herself. Going to the theater like this drove home just how much her life had changed. For all intents and purposes, this was an experience that Betsy had never believed would be possible.

Although there were still a line of people waiting to exit the theater, Betsy said, “It looks like everyone else has left the building.”

“Take your time,” Sally said patiently.

She had informal plans on stopping by a local coffee house after the performance for a little dessert and a chance to talk about the performance. She was pretty sure that Betsy would want to talk about the sets, the actors, and the orchestra. As far as Sally was concerned, dissecting a performance was kind of a traditional thing to do. In her opinion, it was supposed to be done over coffee and dessert.

Betsy finally pulled herself together, and the two women left the theater. It was late, but there were still a number of people walking around the campus. The university never really closed down. They walked to the coffee shop, and had to wait only a few minutes for a table. Sally suspected that students who had attended the performance probably went to a place on campus, while people off campus went to a higher end place.

Betsy had coffee and two pieces of chocolate cake, while Sally had hot tea and a slice of Strudel. They discussed the performance, laughing about some of the funnier parts. It was a nice relaxed evening with two friends sharing a common experience. It meant a lot more to them, than it would to most, since it was one of the first evenings of the kind either of them had ever experienced.

Sally paid for the treat over Betsy’s protest. Although neither woman made a big deal out of the difference in their wealth, they both knew that it existed. For Betsy, the fact that Sally spent so much of her personal money on this evening only emphasized the magnitude of the gift. Sally was pleased to treat Betsy to something special for a change.

The short walk to Sally’s apartment was made in a leisurely manner. There were fewer people out and about at this late hour. The old married couples had gone to bed a long time ago. The regular evening dates were coming to an end. The college students at parties wouldn’t be coming out until later.

When they stopped outside Sally’s apartment, Sally asked, “Would you like to come in?”

“It’s getting late. I should probably head home,” Betsy answered.

Sally glanced at her watch, saw that it was after midnight and said, “Wow, you’re right. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Betsy said smiling.

“It sure does.”

“Sally, I want you to know that this was the best night of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time. Thank you for everything,” Betsy said finding that tears were welling up in her eyes again.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“It means so much to me that you ... well ... went to all of that trouble,” Betsy said.

“It was no trouble at all.”

Betsy pulled out a tissue from her purse. While wiping her eyes, she said, “Look at me. I feel like I’ve been crying all night long.”

Sally hugged Betsy. In a soft voice, she said, “That’s okay.”

“I guess I’d better go,” Betsy said, “before I really get soppy.”

“Good night,” Sally said.

“Good night,” Betsy said.

She watched Sally go into apartment before leaving for her condo. The Hawaiian weather was its normal glorious self. The temperature was perfect for a long walk. She gave a moment’s thought to running home, but she was dressed in a skirt and low heels that would have made running a bad idea.

One of the street lights was out, which was kind of odd since it had been functioning perfectly well the previous night. She knew that usually a street light started flickering or glowing dimly before going out completely. She paused to examine it and noticed some glass on the ground below the light.

A man approached her from behind. She heard his measured footsteps and turned to face him. He was a slender man in his mid to late thirties. He moved with a kind of lethal grace.

“Ivan sends his...”

Betsy snorted and, in as mocking of a voice as she could manage, said, “It’ll work better with the safety off.”

The man’s eyes flicked to the pistol in his hand. It didn’t take him a fraction of a second to verify that the safety was off. That fraction of a second was all that Betsy required.

“Where the f•©k did she go?” the man asked shocked that she had disappeared.

“I’m behind you,” Betsy answered.

He spun around to face her. The kick to his hand took him by surprise. The pistol flew out of his grasp and hit the wall of the nearby building with a sharp metallic clatter, before landing on the ground with a final thud. A small worm of fear worked its way into his stomach when he stared into the eyes of the grinning woman standing in front of him. He had seen that look before on other members of his unit just before battle.

“Naughty, naughty,” she said.

He was more than happy to get physical. He had served in a Spetsnaz unit under the control of the Russian military intelligence service GRU. He was the Russian equivalent of an American Army Ranger. He was tough, knew how to fight, and could accept incredible punishment.

His training didn’t matter. From the moment that he made his first move, he knew that he was outclassed. His hand hadn’t completed more than half of the distance to her when the bones of his forearm snapped and he felt the jagged pain shoot up his arm. It was repeated in the other arm while his mind was trying to comprehend what had happened to his first arm.

A startled cry escaped from his lips. Then both knees were taken out from under him. The cracks as the joints failed echoed loudly in the night. The next thing he knew, he was falling. His head bounced off the pavement.

He regained consciousness to discover that he was lying on his back with her seated on his chest. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were useless. He had the image from a British comedy in which a knight who had lost all of his limbs was taunting his opponent that he’d bite him to death. It had been funny. Unfortunately, he was now that knight and there was nothing funny about his situation.

In a conversational tone of voice, Betsy said, “I could assume that you had a deprived childhood, but I personally think that is a bunch of nonsense. You are just a very bad man.”

“Don’t kill me,” the man pleaded.

Betsy said, “I won’t kill you. Where would be the challenge in that?”

“No challenge at all,” the man stuttered.

He knew that she was playing with his head. He even thought he knew what she’d do next. The whole purpose of talking to him was to get information from him. She’d do the old ‘I’m going to be nice to you’ before transitioning over to the ‘pain will make you talk’ line.

Tapping him softly on his nose, Betsy said, “I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I want you to tell Ivan that his son was a monster and needed to be killed.”

“No way,” the man said.

Betsy said, “You’ll tell him that.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I think you will. I imagine they’ll want all of the details about how you failed to take care of one little girl. I’m pretty sure that if they think you’re holding anything back, that your friends will use some very inventive means to get it out of you,” Betsy said.

“You’re right,” the man said.

A shiver of terror ran down his back at the idea of what they’d do to him. He knew exactly what would happen to him. He’d done things to others who had failed in similar missions.

Betsy said, “I also want to you let your friends know that anyone who comes after me will spend the rest of his life flat on his back unable to move or speak. I can assure you that they’ll have a long and perfectly miserable life.”

“God help me.”

Betsy said, “You know that I could do that to you right now. A tap tap to the back of your head and lifelong paralysis. I could pull your tongue out, and with a quick little jab to the chin ... no more talking. If I really wanted to do a number on you, I’d bust both of your ear drums.”

The man looked at her as if resigned to that fate. He was still waiting for her to start grilling him for information. There wasn’t much to tell. He had been hired by Ivan to kill her and he’d already told her that.

“I guess you believe me,” Betsy said.

“I believe you.”

Betsy said, “I’ve always had this moral debate with myself. I’ve always wondered if bad men like you should be allowed to breed. I could totally ruin your ability to perform right now. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“Please don’t.”

“You see, I think that bad men like you give birth to bad men like you. A little crushing of your testicles now would save the world from having to deal with another man like you.”

“My boy will grow up to be a doctor, engineer, or lawyer.”

“A lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure if that’s any good,” Betsy said with a smile.

Like her father, Betsy did enjoy the occasional lawyer joke. Unlike her father, she didn’t do it around Native Americans. She did understand the attraction that such a past-time could hold.

“I’ll make sure he’s a doctor or engineer,” the man said frantically.

Betsy said, “I guess in the slim chance that your children grow up to be good people, I should leave your testicles alone.”

“Thank you,” the man said with a lot of relief in his voice.

Betsy stood up. Looking down at the man, she said, “I’m going to finish my walk. I’m sure that someone will find you eventually.”

“You’re not going to call the police?” the man asked.

He didn’t want to say that he wanted the police to come. Getting arrested now would definitely reduce the amount of time he spent in pain. He had no idea what would be preferable, getting arrested quickly or lying about what happened after lying there for a while.

He knew that he could always say that he was mugged by a gang of angry blacks. The cops would believe that story. Everyone knew that black gangs were everywhere in America. No one would think twice when he said that he couldn’t tell one black from another. They were just black skinned, with kinky black hair. The fact was, political correctness had never reached Russia.

“No. I think you need some time to contemplate your future,” Betsy said.

Betsy walked away. After she was a block from the scene of the confrontation, she could hear him shouting for help. She wondered what Daddy Ed would say of her treatment of him. She hoped he’d be pleased that she had shown so much restraint. Momma Ling would have just killed him outright, and have been done with it.

She knew that she had caused her assailant considerable pain, but pain wasn’t the same as harm. She might even have done him a favor since no one would expect him to have completed his mission if he had gotten in such bad shape in the attempt.

She mumbled, “Pain is a body’s way of saying there’s something wrong with it. Perhaps the pain I inflicted on him, is a way of letting him know that there’s something wrong with him. Who knows, he might go in for some psychological counseling.”