Russell Blake - Revenge of the Assassin

“Make a sound and I’ll kill you,” the man growled at her as his partner glanced around the area to confirm they were alone.

“I…please, I don’t have any money. I can give you what I have, but it isn’t much. I’m a teacher…” she said, shifting her bundle of papers and reaching into her knockoff Coach purse.

“You stupid cow. I don’t want your fucking money. Now shut up and turn around.”

She debated screaming, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. She was alone in the lot, and the security man was too far away to do anything. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol, reading the intention in her expression.

“Do it. Scream and I’ll blow your head-”

His warning was cut off by a gurgle as a stream of pepper spray hit him full in the face. He thrashed around with his pistol, but his unseeing eyes were already swollen almost shut. His partner reacted quickly, but not fast enough. Dinah had already squeezed past the front bumper of her car and was running between the vehicles for the street entrance. Thank God I wore flat shoes today , she thought as she sprinted for the security attendant’s booth, still three hundred yards away. She thought she heard the sound of the van’s doors slamming and the roar of its engine. She ducked into another aisle and continued her beeline for the street.

A gunshot erupted from behind her, and the window of a pickup truck a few feet from her head exploded in a cuboid spray of safety glass. She instinctively crouched lower and moved another aisle further away from the one the van was on, putting distance between herself and her assailants. Another shot punched a hole in the rear fender of an old Chevrolet Malibu she’d just run past — their accuracy was decreasing with distance.

Gasping for breath, she poured on a burst of speed and sighted a break in the walls that ringed the lot. It was just wide enough for her to squeeze through — she hoped. Dashing to the gap, she braved a glance at her pursuers and saw the van thirty yards away, with its passenger door swinging open as one of the men leapt out to chase her on foot.

Her dress caught on a fragment of rebar in the opening, tearing the fabric as well as the skin of her thigh. She involuntarily cried out at the pain from the abrasion and felt a trickle of blood running down her leg, but willed herself to keep moving. Dinah had seen the telltale shape of a pistol in the man’s hand as he’d exited the vehicle and knew that she had to make it to the school or some other densely populated place if she was to be safe. She was only seconds now from turning the corner of the block where she knew there would be a crowd of parents and several traffic cops. Even though they didn’t have guns, she had to believe that might scare the kidnappers off. And the gunshots would have attracted attention — it was only a matter of minutes before the area would be swarming with police.

Footsteps slamming against the pavement behind her spurred her adrenaline and urged her on, and within twenty seconds she was in the midst of a group of mothers dropping their children off for school. She dared another look back and saw the second man standing hesitantly forty yards away, as if considering whether to continue. Sirens wailed in the distance, and then the van screeched around the block, tires smoking from the momentum as it careened unsteadily. Dinah didn’t wait to see the outcome of the man’s internal battle and instead raced for the front entrance of the school. She heard screams from behind her and then another gunshot. A chunk of mortar flew off the wall a few inches from her shoulder before she was through the oversized double doors and sprinting down the hallway.

Lungs heaving, Dinah made a left at the second hall and tore down a flight of stairs, now limping as she moved towards her ultimate destination — a steel maintenance room door that was usually unlocked during school hours, but which she knew had a deadbolt on it.

She slammed into it with her shoulder and twisted at the heavy lever knob. It was open. Dinah slid through the opening and heard footsteps from above running down the hall, then she locked the door behind her before extracting her can of pepper spray in preparation to defend herself, if the gunman somehow made it through the door.

Ten agonizing minutes later, her cell phone rang, startling her in the darkness of the small room. It was the principal asking her where she was, and whether she was all right. The police were waiting at the entrance and had surrounded the building, and several of the parents had told the whole story of the chase, gunfire, and her disappearance into the school. There was no sign of the van or the men.

When she unlocked the door and opened it, she realized that her skirt was soaked with blood and that the ceramic tiles where she’d been crouching were slick with it. It was the last thing she saw before she crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“Dinah. Can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes, to see a very worried Cruz standing by her side. She tried to sit up, and then registered the IV line and the antiseptic smell. She was in the hospital.

“What…the last thing I remember…” she murmured.

“Take it easy. They have you on a drip. You bled a lot — it’s a good thing you came out when you did,” Cruz explained. “By the time the ambulance got there, you were in the danger zone.”

With a noticeable effort, she focused and became more alert. “All from that little scratch?”

“You nicked an artery, my love. Thank God you didn’t sever it. As it was, it was just a very small puncture along with the rest of the tissue, but that was enough.”

“Did they find the men?” she asked in a feeble voice.

“No. Even with ten eyewitnesses, it will be hard. They know it was a blue Chevrolet van, DF plates, no markings or memorable detail. And we have a good description of the man who was chasing you…”

“Two men. I got the first one near my car with the pepper spray. He won’t be doing much for the next few days — maybe you can put the word out to clinics and ophthalmologists,” Dinah suggested.

Cruz looked at her with wonder. “Will do. Can you tell me anything more about him?”

“The first one was big. Maybe six feet tall, and heavy. Moustache, short hair, acne pock marks, around late thirties. Dark complexion. Wearing jeans and a green and yellow horizontally-striped polo shirt.” Dinah had committed both assailants’ descriptions to memory, even after all she’d been through. She seemed to strengthen. “And he should be about blind right now.”

“Did they say anything? Tell me everything you remember.”

Dinah spent the next five minutes giving him a detailed blow-by-blow of the attempted kidnapping and chase.

They were both startled by the door opening, and Lieutenant Briones stepping into the room.

“Hello, Dinah. We have to stop meeting in hospital rooms,” Briones cautioned, recalling when she’d paid him a visit after he’d been shot ten months earlier.

“I agree,” Dinah said.

Cruz waved him off.

“So it definitely wasn’t a robbery?” he asked her again.

“No. I offered them money. They wanted me.”

Briones and Cruz exchanged glances.

“Your car is in the farthest part of the parking lot from the street. Pretty remote,” Briones observed.

“I was way behind schedule. The lot fills up quickly once the parents start arriving to drop off their kids. That’s why I hate being late. One of the many reasons,” she said, and lay back, closing her eyes. “I don’t understand why these animals can operate in places like this, and nobody can do anything about it.”

“The real question is whether you were a target of opportunity, or whether they were after you, specifically,” Briones said, exchanging another glance with Cruz.