CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Flipping out her key, Haddie unlocked the left saddlebag on her Fat Boy. Leaves skittered across asphalt from under the Blazer, but as the breeze waned, she could smell tobacco. She’d jumped to the assumption that the smoker was a stoner. Who came to the park for a cigarette?

He wore loose black sweatpants, and the heel of his left foot tilted up to reveal new tread on tan work boots. She’d expected a junk-filled car from all the time he’d spent digging in it, but the front tray and seats were empty. As he pulled out of the back, nothing lay on the brown seats. The car looked older, but unused. Was he digging inside the seats? Looking for change?

She laid her helmet on the bike and dug past her satchel for the rolled up rain gear on the bottom. Uncomfortable, she considered getting wet instead of taking the time to suit up.

The smoker turned toward her. “Hey, do you have a light?”

He had pale skin, large, almost comical eyes, and a round head. He had his brown hair cut short, well over the ears. Stubble darkened his upper lip. He wore black gloves, which he shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes with his left hand.

Haddie shook her head, pulling out her roll of rain gear. “Sorry. Don’t smoke.”

He took a step toward the back of her bike and she dropped the gear back into the saddlebag. A dust devil of leaves whorled across the asphalt behind him. Slipping the cigarettes back into his left pocket, he pulled out his right hand and sprung open a black-handled switchblade with a flourish. It had tiny, polished knobs at the joint and a double-edge blade that picked up the lights of the lot.

Already tense, her heart raced as she shifted her right foot out, squaring her stance not against the Blazer, but with her back toward the open area of the lawn behind her. She’d been edgy at his proximity in the first place. He’d been foolish though — if she had been on the bike, rolling it back out of the parking space, it would have been much harder to defend herself.

A dry leaf crunched on the asphalt behind her, near where she knew the front of the Blazer sat.

She stepped back with her left foot and spun, bringing her right knee nearly against the front tire of the Fat Boy. Her right arm swung with the momentum in an inside block. She planted her right foot near the front of the bike.

A second attacker lunged with a larger hunting knife. It had a cruel curve at the tip, like the one her dad carried in his sheath. Pulse racing, she yelled. Barked. His light brown face pulled back in a surprised expression as she adjusted her swing and connected down against his wrist with her forearm. A shiver trailed up her arm. If he hadn’t alerted her, she’d have taken a knife in the back.

Dressed in dark sweats, like his partner, the man had a long eye shape, hooded lids, and a broad nose. Black hair swung loose at his forehead. Her blow over-extended his arm downward. She clenched her jaw when he didn’t let go of his knife. He would try for a back swing if he regained his footing.

She shifted weight to her left foot and pivoted, slamming her heel into his ribcage with her leg partially coiled. Too close. Extending her leg, she threw him into the Blazer.

He tried to grab onto the Blazer but skidded to the asphalt, cursing.

A risky close maneuver. Haddie jumped back to the grass to gain balance and distance.

The smoker nearly collided with his falling partner as he scrambled between bike and body, his right arm drawn back to stab or slash. Bulging eyes looked less comical and had a wide fanatical look to them. His lips parted and showed his tobacco-yellowed teeth clenched tight.

Knife takedowns had always been theoretical in class. She drew in a deep breath that rasped in rhythm to her pulse. She’d never actually been faced with someone who wanted to stab her.

As he began his lunge, she yelled and stepped back with her left foot. Shifting almost sideways to him, she slapped her left hand around the back of his wrist. Fingers wrapped tight and forceful around the stranger’s flesh. Pulling against bone, she drew him toward her using his momentum.

He stunk of tobacco, and his eyes widened as she tightened her grip. She pushed, angling his knife hand away from them both. He grunted, seeming surprised.

Close, and committed to the move, her breathing paused. She shifted toward him, and he growled. Maniacal, bloodshot eyes didn’t show fear. Attacking with her right hand, she grabbed his hand and knife, feeling the bones of his thumb under hers. The sharp, double-edged blade turned up and toward his face.

Throwing her left foot back and around, she shifted her body weight. Yelling, she used both her hands to twist bones.

He whined as he began to fall. His forward momentum carried him, but her pressure on his wrist twisted him to spin backward. Joints carried the tension from wrist to elbow to shoulder. His hips and knees dropped, trying to release the pain and pressure.

She had him. The momentum and control were hers.

Leaning forward as he spun, she yelled again. Not to shock him again, but in triumph. His eyes closed as his back slammed on the grass.

She jerked his arm back to her right knee. Forcing her thumb easily into the webbing of flesh between his forefinger and thumb, she pried the knife out. It fell into the grass with a flash of black and silver, and she kicked it toward the Blazer.

Haddie stumbled back as she found the long-eyed man slashing at her face with his long hunting knife. In the space of a moment, she heard the switch blade clatter against asphalt and echo under the Blazer, a woman scream farther down the parking lot, and her left forearm sear with pain as it blocked the blade. A single raindrop splashed onto the back of her head.

While he held the sharp edge embedded into leather and her flesh, she pushed against him with both arms, and the man staggered backward. Once she had a leg’s distance from him, she kicked in an inside crescent and connected the sole of her boot to his wrist. Finally, the knife flew out of his hand landing in the grass past the Fat Boy’s front tire.

Haddie jumped toward the front of the Blazer. A deeper male voice yelled from the far end of the parking lot, somewhere close to the community building. Blood soaked the inside of her left sleeve, and her bone hurt in a dull ache that reached her elbow.

She grabbed her forearm, ignoring the sharp slice of pain, and tried to staunch the blood.

Stepping sideways around the Blazer, she kept the bug-eyed man in sight on the ground. His partner started to move past her bike to retrieve his weapon, but stalled, looking toward the community center.

Haddie worked herself wide on the other side of the Blazer and out into the middle of the parking lot.

A woman stood near one of the parked cars, both hands to her face.

A darker male figure loped toward them from the community center. He shouted again, “Hey!”

Haddie’s heart raced as she watched the long-eyed man turn and race up the opposite side of the Blazer, across the lot, and toward the street. She backed up, glanced quickly around her, and kept the Blazer between her and the other attacker. The man with the round eyes took a moment to follow his partner, scrambling and nearly stumbling. He left the car, its doors still open, where he’d parked it.

She panted, blinking with each throb of pain, and locked onto the woman who stood by her car. As Haddie began walking forward, checking the dark street beyond the parking lot, the man from the community center passed the woman.

I’ve never been mugged before. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d be the one hurt during an attack. Master Goh always said that hubris brought down defense. He had stories of martial students who got hurt during attacks, because they believed they were invulnerable. That wasn’t exactly her case, but it was all she could think of. Damn, this hurts. She needed to get her jacket off, bind her arm, and get it stitched.

She reached the back of the Blazer, feeling woozy, as the man arrived.

“Are you okay?” he asked, slightly wheezing. Middle-aged and pudgy, he’d still been enough, along with the screaming woman, to help her get rid of the muggers.

“Thank you. I need to bandage my arm.” Blood seeped through the fingers of her right hand that she squeezed over the cut in her leather jacket.

He pulled out his phone, then shoved it back in his pocket and started pulling off the dark green sweater he wore. “Can we use this?”

Haddie cringed. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my right saddlebag.” My keys.

She’d left them in the left saddlebag. Pointing with her left hand, she moaned from the pain.

“Close the open saddlebag. There’s a set of keys in the top; use the same key to open the other side. You’ll see the red and white kit near the top. Thank you.” She needed to sit. Her legs felt like jello.

He nodded, his face paling as he watched blood drip steadily from her arm.

The woman remained at her car, but she had her phone to her ear. Calling the police, most likely. Hopefully. She’d need stitches. This wasn’t a garage shop cut that Dad put a butterfly bandage on. And she wouldn’t be riding her bike to the hospital. Haddie sighed. Biff. Dad. Damn. She couldn’t leave her bike here.

She leaned against the Blazer, then shifted and slid her butt down against the bumper. It wasn’t sitting, but the middle-aged man seemed to be having a difficult time getting the key out of her left saddlebag. It might be a few minutes before she got her arm bandaged, or the ambulance got here, whichever came first. The mugger had left his car. His too-empty car.

This wasn’t a mugging.

Someone, possibly the same people who were driving the tinted SUVs, didn’t like where Haddie investigated. Which means I’m on the right track. She smiled — just as the middle-aged man got the key out. He smiled back and nodded.

Had they intended on killing her, or just getting her hospitalized and out of the way? If they’d burned the Colmans, then killing her wouldn’t weigh on their conscience. Eyes keen, she stood and checked the park around them. She didn’t need to get paranoid.

Taking a deep breath, she let go of her arm and felt the surge of pain flush over her left side, then she unzipped her jacket. Her wound wouldn’t get any better until she got some stitches in it. She didn’t need to spend time in the hospital because of blood loss. Wiggling her right arm out of her sleeve jostled the cut and she gritted her teeth.

Someone is trying to kill me.

She couldn’t feel the cold; her heart still raced too fast. The black clouds were directly above. Only a drop or two had loosened from their grasp, but she could feel them, oppressive, waiting overhead.

Headlights shone on the middle-aged man as he worked the lock on her right saddlebag. The car moved slowly toward them and she made out the woman’s face from before. She crawled toward them, glancing out of her windows as if the thugs would race back onto the lot and attack her. Haddie couldn’t blame her. In fact, she owed her a debt of gratitude. If the woman hadn’t been getting into her car, who knows how the attack would have turned out?

She grimaced in pain. Her jacket sleeve stuck on her arm. Blood glued her blouse to her skin and leather. With her fingers firm on the cuff and her left arm straight, Haddie yanked.