IT'S ONLY FEAR

by Matthew Stern

My friend Donny has a saying, “Bodyguard jobs suck.”

On the whole, I am inclined to agree with him.

I was bouncing at a strip club downtown. Money was tight so I'd also been picking up extra jobs doing security for dancers. Most dancers pick up fans, extra enthusiastic admirers, even a full blown stalker from time to time and needed a nice large gorilla like me to hang around for a period to discourage the overly affectionate.

Amber, her real name amazingly enough, was a dancer from a club down the street from the one I worked at. She was having a problem with one of her regulars and had asked me to run interference for a few days. This was my first night as her shadow.

It was two-thirty in the morning. The club had closed and I was standing outside the back door leaning against the wall. It was raining lightly and if I craned my neck I could see the top of the Space Needle throw its lights off into the mist.

Amber came out of the door carrying a shoulder bag the size of Wisconsin and wearing a silvery rain jacket. She still wore ridiculously high stiletto heels and tottered on the way to the car.

She was tall, taller than me with the heels, and had dirty blonde hair that waved down to her shoulders like sand dunes. She had a body so tight it hummed when she walked, but she was starting to show the wear and tear of too many miles too soon.

We walked to my car and got in. She was paying me enough to act as chauffeur. “Home?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Head over to Olive and Eighth. I got a private dance.”

A private dance meant some mook was going to shell out probably week's pay to have her dance privately and most likely do various illegal things to him for an hour or so.

I drove her to the apartment complex, a new high-rise that catered to the trendy and affluent, walked her to the correct floor and took up station at the end of the hallway. I counted ceiling titles.

Two hours later she stumbled out of the apartment high as a kite. Her nose was bright red and she was sniffing like she just watched an Oprah marathon. She could barely walk on her heels and I suggested that she take them off. “My butt looks flat without them,” she said.

“Your nose will look flat when you fall on your face,” I said. She pouted but leaned on me to take off her shoes. I held them in one hand, supported her with the other, and we made our way down to my car outside.

Fun times.

I only heard them because they ran. Their feet slapped the wet ground and I turned to see two men running fast towards us.

Their speed left no doubt to their intention. I let go of Amber and she slunk to the ground. The larger one reached me first. I swung the hand that held Amber's shoes down and one of the stiletto heels buried in his bicep. He let out a scream. I drove a fist into his gut and he doubled over.

The second guy had reached Amber and was holding her by the hair asking, “Where is it, where is it! Give it to me!” He was half squatting next to Amber and I came up behind him and kneed him in the small of the back. When he stood up, I drove an elbow into his face that laid him out.

Amber looked stupidly at the two bodies on the floor. I helped her up. “Cops?” I asked.

She shook her head and said “Home.”

“This your regular?” I asked, pointing to the one who had grabbed her hair.

She nodded.

“What did her want?”

“What do all guys want?”

There was obviously more to it. Stalkers don't operate in pairs and don't run up on the object of affection like they are storming Normandy . She was paying me enough not to care, though, so we got into the car.

The sun was just casting orange streaks in the east when we parked in a moderately nice seven story apartment in the tail end of Belltown. I was taken aback. Dancing pays well when you are not shoveling the funds into your nose or veins but Amber didn't look like she was investing her pay anywhere but illegal substances.

We took an elevator up to the third floor where I prepared to drop her off. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Hell no!” she said as she dug out keys. “After what just happened you are on full time. You cool with that?”

I thought about the headaches she would bring. I also thought about the state of my finances. I told her how much it would cost.

“Sold,” she said, and opened the door.

It was surprising inside. Warm and comfortable colors and a homey feel made the apartment wrap around me like a cozy blanket.

At a dining room table in pajama bottoms, sleeveless shirt that stopped above her pierced belly button, and bunny slippers that were pink and ratty was an attractive brunette drinking coffee and reading a textbook thicker than the yellow pages.

She looked up as we came is and disgust flickered across her face. “I thought I told you no boyfriends come home anymore” she said and stood up.

Amber shucked her jacket and bag to the floor and walked – stumbled really - to the couch and plopped down letting out a whoosh of air. She waved at me with her hand. “Security,” she said. “One of the losers at the club is angling for some extra love.” She turned on the TV. “This is my sister Hazel,” she said to me.

She was younger than Amber. Amber and Hazel. They probably hated their parents at a young age. They had identical bodies, shapely and athletic. Hazel used hers with more assertion and finesse and it didn't seem to have the extra mileage that Amber was spooling onto hers. She walked over and picked up the bag and coat on the floor and hung them onto pegs on the wall.

“I'm Jan,” I said.

“Good for you,” she said.

“I like your bunny slippers.”

She stared at me without any emotion then rolled her eyes.

“If you're going to stare at my sister that way, you can grab twenty dollars and get in line at the club like the rest of town.”

Hazel's face reddened and she turned and left the room. Hidden under the shirt on her back I could see the black brush strokes of a large tattoo.

I sat down at the table and Amber flicked through channels. I looked at the textbook, Multivariable Calculus . Jesus Christ.

Not all strippers are black holes of self destruction like Amber seemed to be. Dancing can be good money and a lot are simply students who do it for enough money to live and don't get caught in associated depravity. Hazel was obviously one of the latter and, if she was reading a book with that kind of title, was leagues smarter than me.

A few minutes later Hazel came back into the room dressed for the day in jeans, t-shirt and boots, carrying a backpack. Without a word, she came over and grabbed the book from in front of me and stuffed it in. She looked at her sister on the couch and said “I'll be back this afternoon.”

Amber waved from the couch, not taking her eyes from the TV.

Hazel shrugged the backpack on and walked to the door and opened it. She looked back over her shoulder at me one more time before closing the door behind her.

I watched the door for awhile after Hazel left. There was an interesting and unfamiliar tingle in my chest. She was cold and aloof and acted like she couldn't stand me, but she looked back before she left, that was something. Of course that could have been to make sure I didn't steal anything.

Amber was sitting on the couch and lit a joint. She inhaled loudly and offered it to me. I declined. She smoked more and watched an inane morning show. Within minutes the joint was gone and Amber had passed out on the couch. I walked over and turned off the TV.

Back at the table, I sat looking at scratches in the false wood. I thought about Hazel and the hint of the tattoo I saw on her back. I wondered what it was.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. Probably shouldn't have agreed to do this. It was just going to be one large headache.

Someone cleared their throat and I opened my eyes.

Standing in front of me in pink pajamas and bunny slippers that matched Hazel's was a girl of about ten. Her black hair was in short pigtails that were bound by yellow rubber bands.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I said. “Your mom left already.”

She pointed to Amber on the couch, her eyes with a sadness to them that you only see in old people. “That's Mom.”

“You're aunt left then.”

She nodded. “She normally does. Are you Mom's new boyfriend?”

“No,” I said, “I'm helping her.”

“That's what her last boyfriend said.”

I shook my head. “I'm just helping her with something at work.”

“I'm Maddy.”

“I'm Jan.”

She crossed her eyes. “Isn't that a girl's name?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “It's also mine.”

She looked a little worried like she thought she had insulted me. I smiled at her.

She smiled back. She had small teeth like white pebbles. “Do you want some Rice Krispies?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

She bounced to the kitchen. She bustled in there for a moment, more comfortable than any ten year old should be in the kitchen, and came back with bowls, spoons, cereal, milk and napkins. She set it all out and then sat across from me and started to eat.

She seemed to have more of Hazel in her than Amber, both physically and mentally and it was easy to see who was really raising her.

We talked over the snapping cereal. She had apparently decided that someone who likes Rice Krispies can't be all bad and was animated and open.

We finished our bowls. In the kitchen, I washed and she dried and put them back in the cupboard standing on a short stool. She went to her room and was back soon dressed in blue jeans and a purple shirt.

She started getting her shoes on.

I asked her about school.

“I go to a private school in Shoreline. Aunt Hazel says it is expensive but worth it.”

“How do you get to school?”

“I take the bus.” She took a bus pass from her pocket and showed it to me.

I thought about a ten year old taking the bus alone in this city.

“Do you ever get afraid?” I asked.

She shrugged on a bright blue backpack that had a monkey swinging from a vine on it. “Sure.”

“What do you do about that?”

She had the door opened and looked back at me. She smiled. “It's only fear,” she said, and left.

The door closed behind her and I had a feeling that the smartest person in the room had just gone.

#

Amber slept all day. I tried to amuse myself by reading her magazines, but found it hard to care too much that the pop-diva of the week was self-destructing. I left twice for food, a necessary evil, as there wasn't much to eat except canned tuna, pop tarts, and more Rice Krispies.

I was eating some red curry from a Thai place on the corner when the phone rang. I answered it on the chance that it was Maddy or Hazel.

“Amber,” said a high nasal voice when I picked up.

“Do I sound like Amber?” I said.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“The same friend I met last night? The same friend who stabbed my buddy and put a bruise the shape of Brazil under my eye?”

“Next time block with your hands, not your face,” I said.

He laughed a high giggle like he had inhaled helium. “Funny guy, funny guy.”

He snorted, coughed and spit. The room was starting to warm with the day and I took the phone with me and opened the small window in the living room. The rain had stopped and the sun was out and bright.

“Hey Funny Guy,” The voice said, “you tell Amber that Jerry Denito doesn't like skanks that steal from him and that she better have my product or there'll be hell to pay?”

“Are you speaking for Jerry or are you speaking about yourself in the third person?” I said.

He laughed again and said, “Funny guy,” then hung up.

I looked at the phone for a long time before putting it back in the cradle. Amber's stalker was a little more complicated than a lovesick shlub with no life. From the sound of it, Jerry Denito was a drug dealer and perhaps Amber had helped herself to a little more than she should have.

Amber still snored lightly on the couch. I decided to find out a little more about Jerry Denito. I unfortunately knew someone caught in the inescapable undertow of the drug world. I used to work with Drake at a club a few years back before one of the dancers started sharing her coke stash with him and he slid downhill faster than a kid on a greased toboggan. He was a friend. Or at least as much of a friend someone can be who would slit your throat for drug money if he was jonesing for a fix.

I called him.

“Jan the Man,” he said when he picked up.

We caught up for a few minutes. I told him where I was working. He told me he had graduated from coke to Meth. Yay for him. I asked him about Jerry Denito.

“Dude, Denito is bad karma. If you see him coming, you don't just cross the street you cross the state, you know what I mean?”

“That bad?” I asked.

“Crazy bad,” Drake said. This is a guy who has no impulse control and likes to inflict pain. He is certifiably one-hundred percent grade A psycho. Most of us didn't expect him to last as long as he did. This was a guy who should have self destructed years ago but somehow stayed just below the helicopter blades. Now he's a bomb with a lit fuse that should have exploded years ago.” Drake was obviously high. When he was high you couldn't shut him up. We talked for a few more minutes, mostly him expanding on how crazy Denito was, before I could get him off the phone.

I thought about Drake's words. A bomb with a lit fuse that should have exploded years ago.

Great.

#

Later in the afternoon, Amber still dead to the world, I heard a key in the lock and Hazel came in, stopping short when she saw me. She had a bag of groceries. I got up and took them from her.

“You still here?” she said.

I waved at her sister's form on the couch. “She wanted me to stay.”

Hazel shook her head and sighed. She stuck out her chin, deciding something. “Want to help me put away groceries?”

“Sure,” I said.

We took the groceries to the kitchen and started to empty them from the bag. It was a small kitchen and we were quite aware of each other's presence. It was like we were moving in foam or water and every move we made rippled to the other.

I told her about Jerry's call and about what I had learned from Drake. She didn't like it but seemed to accept it. My guess was that Amber was prone to problems of this sort. Hazel seemed to accept fixing them as her due and said she would talk to Amber when she woke.

We put the groceries away and talked. Bit by bit, her story came out. Both parents dead. Amber the wild older sister, Hazel the reserved younger. I wasn't sure I bought that. The tattoo and piercing both hinted at some wildness in her too. Both started dancing for the money since they both had the looks, the bodies and the need. Amber dissolved into a mess of drugs and self destruction. Hazel spent all her time dancing, studying and trying to keep Amber from imploding and taking her daughter with her. She was studying physics.

Bit by bit, she drew my story out. Both parents dead too. A youth of violence and petty crime. Cleaning myself up. Mishmash jobs that would pay the rent and not much more. Bouncing and other odd jobs that filled the days and nights

We danced around each other, finding places for the cereal and the pinto beans. Every once in a while our hips would touch and we'd draw back. I could see why she had the air of coolness and detachment. She had been treading water for a long time, caring for both Amber and Maddy. She was strung so tight that too much stray emotion inside would bounce around until it set her off like a land mine.

I'm not sure how, too many hip touches maybe, but eventually we ended up making out on the floor of the kitchen. I think maybe we both knew, somewhere in the back of our minds, that eventually we would end up that way. Taciturn and reserved as we both were, maybe there was some sort of implied understanding that we would skip the ten steps or so that it normally took to get to that point and just have at it.

She kissed hungrily, like she was searching for something and pressed me hard into the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor. I responded in kind, perhaps searching for something as well.

When we came up for air she said, “Maddy will be home soon.”

I nodded. My lips still tingled with hers and I was afraid that talking would make the feeling go away.

She sat up, fluffed her hair a little, gave a little laugh-smile and then let the cold aloofness slide back into place. I tried to do the same.

There was a knock at the door.

“That's probably Maddy,” Hazel said. “She forgets her key sometimes.”

She left the kitchen and I tried to figure out where the crackers might go.

I heard the door open and then a few seconds later Hazel started making small moaning sounds. Then she started saying, “No, no, no, no.” over and over again until it rose to a scream.

I sprinted out the kitchen and to the door, moved Hazel, white as a snow drift, out of the way and looked down to see Maddy's backpack on the floor in front of the door.

Covered in blood.

I ran into the hallway. I had a choice of two directions. Whoever dropped the backpack would not take the elevator or they might get caught waiting. There were stairs at either end of the hallway and I chose the closest one. I ran to the door, shouldered through and started down the stairs.

Through the sound of my own steps and breathing I heard someone go through the door at the bottom. I kept going, jumped the last steps and barreled through the door into the side street.

I caught sight of a figure rounding the corner onto 3rd in front of me and followed. When I reached the street I knew I had lost him. The sidewalks were thick with evening commuters and school kids.

I felt bands tighten around my chest and knew it wasn't from the short run. I went back upstairs to the apartment to wait for the phone call that I knew would come.

Upstairs, Amber still slept on the couch. It apparently was going to take an A bomb to wake her. Hazel sat on the arm of the couch as far from her sister as she could be. I started towards her and she froze me with a glare.

The phone rang. We both stared at it like it was alive. Like it would spring to life, wrap its cord around us and constrict us to death.

I went to the phone and picked it up. Hazel came around and I held it so we both could hear.

“Have I got your attention now?” Jerry Denton said.

I squeezed the phone so hard I heard the plastic threaten to give, but said nothing.

“In one hour I am going to call you with a location. We will meet at that location and you will give me my drugs and I will give Amber her brat back. Do not call the cops. Do not think about calling the cops. I even smell pork and I will carve this kid like a Christmas turkey and consider the drugs a write off.” He hung up.

I resisted the urge to smash the phone. We would need it when he called back.

I looked at Hazel. “We call the cops,” I said.

She shook her head. “No. You heard him. You told me what your friend said. He's crazy. He doesn't care about the money. He'll kill her just to make an example.”

“He's going to kill her anyway,” I said.

“We are not calling the cops,” she said. I knew there was another reason why she didn't want to call the cops, a reason I was somewhat reluctant to as well. Less than a month ago a kidnapping that deteriorated into a hostage standoff exploded in the faces of the Seattle PD with hostages and cops dead. Weeks later, it was still front page news.

If we weren't going to call the cops, it was time to get creative.

“Wake Amber. Slap her around if necessary, but get her awake and lucid. I took out my phone, went to the hallway, and called Drake again.

“Twice in one day,” he said when he answered, “I might faint.”

“I need help, Drake,” I said.

Maybe he heard something in my voice or maybe he was coming down from his high but he said, “What do you need.”

“Where does Denito operate out of?”

“Are you still locked on Denito, man? I told you that guy is ice cold crazy.”

“Drake, you have no idea,” I said. “Where is he?”

“It's your funeral, man,” he said, and told me where to go.

Back inside, Amber was finally awake and sitting on the couch. He eyes were red and puffy and her hair was stringy and matted. She looked at me as I walked in.

“You sober enough to talk?” I said.

“Shut up.”

I curbed an almost irresistible urge to punch her. “Did Hazel tell you what happened?”

She nodded. “Jerry has Maddy.”

“Why?”

Amber looked at her hands a picked at a hangnail. I looked at Hazel who unclenched a fist and put her hand on her sister's shoulder and said, “What did you do?”

Amber picked at the hangnail until she drew blood then said, “I was partying at Jerry's with a few other girls and some of his friends.”

“Is he your dealer?” I said. She nodded. “What does he run?”

“Dope, Meth, coke. Whatever he can lay his hands on.”

“What happened at the party?”

“Well, I was flying pretty high and there was all these drugs just laying out in the back room. I didn't think he would miss it so I slipped a few packets in my bag.”

A few packets. She probably took enough to fry half of Sweden .

“Where are the drugs?” Hazel asked. “Maybe if we give it back…”

Amber shook her head. “Used some, sold most.”

“What about the money?” Hazel said.

“Spent it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

We sat there in silence. I heard a police car's siren come and go through the window

“We should call the police,” I said.

Hazel shook her head again. “You heard how unstable he is. All the cops will want to do is talk to him and he will go nuclear and take Maddy with him. I do not trust them to do this.”

“But you trust me?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Why? You met me this morning.”

She looked at me steady and I saw the mask drop for a moment. “I don't know why.”

“He won't hurt her.” Amber said in a small voice

“He will hurt her,” Hazel said to her.

Maybe it was the whiney voice that Amber used. Maybe it was the way she said it that made it seem like she was the one suffering the most but I had had enough. “He will hurt her,” I said. “Not that you care, but your unhinged drug dealer will slice Maddy up and FedEx her to you. He will do it as a lesson to anyone who even entertains the notion of crossing him. ”

“You don't think I care about my daughter?” Amber said.

“No, I don't think you care about your daughter.” She stood up and tried to slap me. I caught her wrist and held it. “If you cared about your daughter you wouldn't expose her to this life. If you cared about your daughter she would be here watching cartoons instead of getting cut by a psycho drug dealer.”

“Jan,” Hazel said.

I let go of the wrist and, after a beat, Amber finished the slap. She cursed at me and then grabbed her bag and left the apartment.

In the silence that remained, I looked at Hazel. If this were a movie this would be the part where the music would start and I sweep her into my arms and kiss her before setting off on my dangerous crusade.

I knew if I tried to kiss her now she'd slug me and the only music was the traffic through the open window.

“I'll bring Maddy home,” I said, and left the apartment.

#

According to Drake, Denito operated out of an old warehouse over in Interbay. I parked down the street and surveyed the area. Some teenagers, probably from the dilapidated apartment complex across the street, were playing baseball in the street. It was hard to tell what rules, if any, they were using and they had to get out of the street every minute or so to let a car by.

The warehouse was a plain brown box that showed its age. There were no windows on the side that faced the street but down an alley next to a boarded up Denny's were small windows that, if I stood carefully on a bunch stacked pallets, allowed me to see inside. The main body of the warehouse was dark and filled with large piles of rusted indistinct objects, some covered with torn tarps.

In a lit area toward the back I could see the area that was once the office. Two tall figures, one with a shotgun, paced while a small scared looking one sat huddled on a couch. Maddy.

Movement from the dark part of the warehouse caught my eye and I saw another figure walking the length of the warehouse. He turned and I ducked so he wouldn't see my head in the lit window.

Three guys, two with Maddy, one on patrol. It was getting close to Denito's deadline and I didn't have much of a plan. I wished I had a gun.

I thought about the guy on patrol. Maybe I could borrow his.

I walked out to the kids playing baseball in the street. “You guys want to make fifty bucks?” I asked.

They stopped playing and looked me over. A tall kid with curly blonde hair and an Ichiro jersey said, “What do we got to do?”

I jerked my chin back at the warehouse. “Throw some rocks through some windows over there.”

The kids smiled and the blonde one said, “Hell, we'll do that for free.”

A shorter kid holding a baseball bat said, “No, we'll take the fifty.”

“I need to borrow your bat too.”

“Sure,” the short kid said and tossed it to me.

I paid them and explained what I wanted them to do. We found the door that was farthest away from the back office where Denito was keeping Maddy. I waited around the corner with one of the kids, the Ichiro fan. He kept a look through the window and told me when the guy patrolling was close to the door.

I gave the signal and the kids threw the rocks in the windows. Just a few, making sure they laughed really loud so that the people inside knew it was just kids and not cops throwing tear gas.

The kids ran for it, except the one who was my lookout.

I heard a curse and someone say, “Goddamn kids.” The door unlatched and opened. He came out the door, leading with his gun. I stepped around the corner and swung the bat down hard. I heard a crack as a bone broke and he dropped the gun. As he opened his mouth to yell, I swung the bat around and connected with the back of his head. The bat split in two and he dropped to the ground like a sack of oatmeal.

“Jesus Christ, Dude!” my lookout said. I shushed him and he said lower, “That was our only bat.”

I took another fifty from my pocket and gave it to him. “Get a new one,” I said. I bent down and picked up the dropped gun. I checked the clip, the safety was already off.

“Call the cops,” I said. By the time they got here it would be over one way or another.

I entered the open door, staying low. I was hidden from the back office by the multitude of crates and various other pieces of equipment in the warehouse. I quickly but silently made my way closer to the back office.

I duck walked from a rusted out truck to a stack of wooden crates and peered around the corner. I was close now, only about ten feet from the lit area.

Denito, the large bruise a purple and black splotch on his face, was still pacing with the shotgun. He wore tight jeans and a green T-shirt that was tucked in. No backup gun in the waist. The other guy was the other attacker from last night. He wore a tank top and his arms were a mass off black tattoos except where a bandage covered where he was stabbed with the heel. I could see a gun tucked away in the small of his back.

Maddy was curled up on the couch. She had a towel wrapped around her arm from where they had cut her to spill blood on the backpack. Her lips were moving and it took me a minute to figure out what she was saying. She was chanting it over and over again.

It's only fear. It's only fear.

I felt a cold rage fill me like someone turned on a faucet. My hands started shaking. I willed them to stop. A shaking hand meant Maddy would die. I needed a steady hand. With a steady hand Maddy would live. Eventually the shaking stopped.

I peeked out from behind the crates again. Both men were pacing the room. If I could time it right and wait for both to be fairly far from Maddy when I made my move, I might be able to take both before they could use her as a shield and keep her from getting caught in any crossfire.

It was as good a plan as any. As luck would have it both men stopped far from Maddy and were conversing in low tones. Probably wondering what happened to the guy who loaned me his gun.

There was never going to be a better time.

I took a deep breath and prepared to step out from the crates.

It was at that point when a back door near the office opened and Amber walked in screaming. “Jerry, give me my daughter!”

She said it with the same whiney petulance she had in the apartment. Maddy got off the couch and ran to her mom. Jerry did not stop her but smiled at Amber.

“I hope you got the currency to pay for what you are holding there.”

Maddy and Amber were clinging to each other. Amber shook her head. “I don't have it.”

Jerry's smile dropped and he said. “What? Did you shovel it all into that black hole you call a nose already?”

“I'm sorry!” Amber said. She disengaged from Maddy and took a step toward Jerry. “I'll do whatever you want, Jerry. I'll work it off.”

“Baby, you could shake that behind for ten years and not work off half of what you owe. I want my drugs. Now!”

“I don't have them. I'm sorry, Jerry.” She was pleading now.

“Sorry ain't good enough, babe” Jerry said, “say goodbye to your runt.” He raised the shotgun, aimed, and fired at Maddy. At the same time, Amber screamed, “NO!” and stepped in front of her daughter.

The shotgun blast nearly cut Amber in half. The explosion reverberated in the large warehouse and Maddy's scream followed it around the room.

I had already started to raise my gun and cursed myself for being too late. I fired at Jerry and his goon, both shot going wide. I ran towards them, still firing. Tank top drew and fired at me. One of my shots hit him in the chest as one of his took a chunk out of my arm and I dropped the gun.

Jerry started to bring the shotgun to bear on me. I kept running, closing the distance before he got it around. I barreled into him lifting the shotgun and he let off a shot that hit the ceiling. We crashed into the wall, the shotgun pinned between us pointing up.

We wrestled upright, trying to find purchase with our hands. He was strong and also crazy which added to his strength.

But I was pissed.

I got my arms under his and lifted him and drove him into the wall and felt the air rush out of him. I did it again and heard one of his ribs snap. I did it a third time and then threw him to the ground. I ended up with the shotgun, holding it by the barrel. He landed with his right arm out and I stomped on his hand. Bones crunched. He let out a high scream that dissolved into a laugh.

His left hand found the gun Tank Top dropped. He swung it around. I had no time to turn the shotgun around, so swung it by the barrel into his head. There was a hollow popping sound as his skull caved and he dropped the gun, twitched twice, and was still.

I heard sobbing and looked behind me. Maddy had dug herself out from under her mother. Covered in blood, she was holding and shaking her. Amber's eyes were open and unseeing as her daughter pounded on her chest.

I dropped the shotgun, walked over to her and lightly put my hand on her shoulder as she cried. I didn't say it was alright. I didn't say she was going to be okay. How could I say that? It wasn't alright. She wasn't okay.

I kept my hand on her shoulder while she pounded on her mom and screamed. Then she buried her face into my chest and sobbed. She was still sobbing when the cops came and pried us apart.

#

I was sent to the hospital to get my arm looked at, but discharged myself once it was sewn and bandaged. Hazel came and got Maddy at the hospital. I saw them from across the emergency room, Maddy still sobbing, now leaning heavily against Hazel. They walked out without a glance in my direction.

I was arrested when I left the hospital. The cops spent some time trying to decide with what to charge me. There were so many things to choose from it was like a take-out menu. Manslaughter, assault, weapons, and a side of obstruction. After a few days of letting me sweat, the higher ups decided not to bother. The extenuating circumstances were significant and they didn't like the idea of what the press would do with it if they found out.

Amber got a small column on page six that simply mentioned her, unnamed, in the multiple drug related deaths that took place in the warehouse. Less than she deserved I thought.

In the end, she had stepped up for her daughter. When it hit the fan she had put herself on the line for Maddy. She had gone out a mother instead of a junkie and I was sorry.

Back at home, I left the phone off the hook and spent days staring at the walls and blasting Mary J. Blige on the stereo. My neighbors complained by pounding on the walls. I paid no attention. Everybody could use a little Mary now and then.

I barely heard the knocking at the door over the music. I figured it was one of my neighbors again and ignored it. The knocking continued. I got up from the couch.

I went and opened the door, ready to tell whoever it was that they were going to listen to Mary and like it.

Hazel and Maddy stood there. Their rain coats were wet; I hadn't even noticed it was raining. Maddy held a bag full of DVD's and Hazel held a pizza box in front of her.

We stood there for a moment, not saying anything. Eventually Maddy held out the bag. “We didn't know what kind of movies you like so we got a bunch.”

Hazel said, “and we got half pepperoni and half veggie.”

I stood there, not saying anything. They waited.

I was scared. I've been stabbed, beaten and shot on more than one occasion yet it was the most scared I'd ever been.

Part of me knew that if I let them in, I would be opening the door for more than deep dish and a movie. I would be starting down a road I hadn't been down before.

We stood there for a long time. My throat was dry and water fell from their rain coats and made small puddles in the hallway.

I was scared – terrified really – of what might lay down that road.

But it was only fear.

“I like pepperoni,” I said, and let them in.