L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

“And you know this how?”

She heard the burgeoning anger in Luther’s tone, but there wasn’t time enough, or caring enough, to apologize. “I’m looking at him. Or her. Not sure which it is, the body is so . . . dismantled. Judging by the clothes, though, I’d guess a guy.”

“Give me an address.”

Gaby rattled off directions, then said, “I found a needle by the body. I left it there, but I don’t want you to miss it.”

“No faith in my detective skills, huh?”

“Don’t go wounded on me. This is too important for ego.”

“Right.” His tone changed. “Do not go near it again, Gaby, do you understand me? I’m coming right now, so stay on the street and stay out of trouble.”

“You should hurry, because I can’t stay. I need to . . . do something.” She wasn’t sure what yet, but if she didn’t move soon, the torment would overtake her.

“Gaby!”

She hung up on Luther. Bossy jerk. What did he think— that she looked for trouble?

Hell, it stalked her, often at the most inconvenient times.

Even as she started on her way, following her instincts, each step quicker than the one before, Gaby began putting the puzzle pieces together.

Poisoned addicts.

Mutilated transient.

Trouble always came in threes, and this was trouble. Now in a full-out run, going on autopilot to expedite matters, Gaby ran several blocks away. Because she was focused inward, she didn’t at first recognize the area where Mort lived, not until she came alongside the playground at the abandoned elementary school across from Mort’s apartments.

Her steps became sluggish, her brain ticking like a bomb. Like a million tiny razors cutting into her flesh, the pain took her.

Oh no.

Kids of various ages and colors filled the broken concrete play area. Rusty chains on swings clashed with squeals of laughter. High-pitched voices rose like musical bells, happy and carefree despite the public squalor and misery of their lives.

Gaby saw them all.

And she saw the pipe bomb.

Her heart shot into her throat. Her vision narrowed. God no. Not a group of children.

In one agile leap, she went over the chain-link fence and loped to the center of the playground. Two youths, probably ten to thirteen years of age, noticed the bomb and ran toward it.

“No.”

They looked up, startled by her intrusion. Long strides took Gaby to them, and she stood directly over the bomb, using her body as a physical block. The taller of the two boys pushed tangled, reddish hair out of his eyes and glared at her. “We saw it first.”

“Tough tittie, kid. I’m laying claim.”

The little bugger bunched up at her. “You can’t do that!”

“Watch me.” Gaby spotted a cell phone in his pocket and said, “Give me that.”

His soft white chin, marred with a bruise and freckled with dirt, went into the air. “It’s mine.”

“I’ll give it back after I make a call.” When he started to retreat, Gaby hauled him close and relieved him of the phone. She shoved him away and said, “Now get out of here. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Hey!” He jumped, trying to reach it where she held it over her head. “Give it to me!”

Damn. She hated to scare a kid, she really did. But she wanted them safe, and that meant that they had to move away.

All of them.

Unleashing the darkest of her paladin essence, Gaby leaned close, stared hard. “Get out of here. Now. ”

The kid backpedaled so fast, he fell on his butt. His buddy took off, unwilling to wait for him, screeching loud enough to wake the dead.

None of the little miscreants went far though. They huddled together, watching her, wary and curious, and Gaby knew how she must look.

For once, she was glad. Anything to keep them out of range of the explosion, should the bomb detonate.

She dialed Luther again.

He answered with a roared, “Where the hell are you?”

Wincing, Gaby jerked the phone away from her ear. “Jesus.” Under her current deadly situation, her temper frayed. “Asshole. That hurt .” Then curiously, she asked, “How’d you know it was me?”

“A fucking hunch.”

“Wow, you really are good,” she mocked, trying to lighten her fractured mood.

“Damn it, Gaby, I told you to stay put.”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t. Have you seen the body in the alley yet?”

“I’m almost there. Where are you?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” She gulped, looked down at that damned bomb resting between her feet, and she felt sick.

“Gaby,” Luther said, and it sounded like a warning. “Talk to me. Are you in danger?”

“It’s worse than that, Luther.” Again she gulped. “A lot of kids are.”

“Kids?” Icy control replaced his anger. “Where are you?”

“Well, you see . . . I’m sort of straddling a pipe bomb that our guy put in the playground across from Mort’s place.”

A long, pained pause preceded Luther’s moderate, composed voice. “Step away from it, Gaby. Get as far from there as you can—”

“No can do, cop. Don’t you get it? It was left here on purpose so the kids would find it. And they did. I had to run the little buggers off, but you know kids today—they didn’t go far enough.”

“Shit.”

“There’re twenty or more of them playing here. If this thing blows, I don’t know how badly they’ll be hurt. So . . . I can’t budge.”

“Got it.” Luther breathed fast, then went into detective mode and took charge. “I’m on my way, honey. There should be some uniforms in the area that can be there in under three minutes. They’ll help to evacuate. Until then, don’t move. Don’t touch it. Don’t—”

“Yeah right. I’m not an idiot, Luther. I’m not going to play tag with it.” She eyed the audience of fascinated kids, making certain they kept their distance. “Just hurry up, okay?”

She hung up and surveyed the children. Most of them were barefoot, many were shirtless. They were thin, dirty, their hair hadn’t been combed and their teeth hadn’t been brushed. But thanks to naïveté, they appeared mostly happy.

Gaby couldn’t remember ever being like that. Her youth had been spent in inexplicable pain, shuffled from one un-welcoming house to another, never understood, never accepted.

Never loved.

Thoughts of Father Mullond, the only person to ever accept her, filtered in. He’d made a difference to her life, and then, he was taken away. Gaby quickly blocked the memory. She needed all her faculties about her now, without the contamination of sadness.

“Hey, kid?” When the boy she’d terrorized met her gaze, Gaby pitched his phone to him.

He caught it handily. Emboldened by the return of his prized phone, he edged a foot closer to her. “S’that really a bomb?”

So they’d overheard? Damn. She didn’t really want them panicked—but then again, she didn’t want them too curious either.

“Yeah, looks like.” Gaby locked her knees, put her shoulders back. “What’s your name?”

“Halen. Why?”

“How old are you, Halen?”

Suspicion had him curling his lip. He glanced around, saw all the others watching, and struck a brave stance. “I’m twelve.”

“No kidding?” He was so scrawny, she would have guessed eight or nine. “You look older.”

His chin rose a little more.

“You look like a smart guy to me, Halen. A leader. How about you try to get everyone farther away, out of danger? The cops will be here any minute, and I know they’d appreciate the help.”

“Why would I wanna help the cops?”

Pugnacious little runt. “Well, let’s see.” Gaby nodded at his hand. “If you don’t, they might ask you where you got the phone.”