For all my sisters who have known the terror and indignity of anassault, and there are far too many of us.
The young woman walked slowly to the bar, took a napkin from theholder and held it to her abused lip. Pulling it away, she stared at the dirt and blood. Tears stung her eyes, tears of pain and fury. She swallowed hardagainst the emotional reaction and signaled the bartender.
“Could I get a Jim Beam on the rocks and a glass of ice waterplease.” There was the faintest tremor in her voice.
Josh looked at the disheveled hair, the cut lip and the bruising thatwas beginning to darken the left cheek. “Sure honey. You all right? Youlook a little roughed up.”
She touched her lip with the napkin again. “You should see the otherguy.”
He set a tumbler of amber liquid and ice in front of her on a barnapkin and followed it with a large glass of ice water. “I could callsomeone.”
“Naw. I just need to relax for a minute. But thanks.” She lookedinto the kind brown eyes and the open face of the burly bartender. The concernin his eyes nearly started the tears again. She blinked hard and took a longswallow of the JB.
Of its own bidding, the terror of the assault flashed into her mind.The rough hands tearing at her jeans, the big fist connecting with blindingaccuracy against her cheek. She hadn’t been able to see his face in thedark alley he had pulled her into, but he had smelled of cigarettes, beer andcheap cologne. The memory triggered her gag reflex. She took another hitat the whiskey. Her hand trembled as she set the glass carefully back ontothe square of napkin.
Looking at her hand, she saw the streaked splatters of blood. A grimsmile tugged at her swollen lip and she went to the restroom to wash up. Inthe white, overly bright bathroom, she looked at her face. God, no wonderthe bartender had looked worried. Her face looked like it had been used as abattering ram. She ran cool water over her hands and wrists, scrubbingaway the sticky, drying blood. Hands cleaned, she splashed the purifying waterover her face, rubbing hard enough to cause pain to the abused flesh but feelingthe need to erase the indignity of the attack.
The attack. She had walked into it so blindly. How many times hadDaddy told her to be prepared for anything? How many times had she boastedthat she’d never get caught off guard? She was always alert for signs oftrouble. Except for tonight of all nights. She had parked her new Deuceunder the streetlight and stepped back for a minute to admire the sweetlines, polished chrome and gleaming purple paint. She had been grinninglike an idiot all day, her first new bike. She had been riding a rustingShovelhead for so long she thought bone rattling vibrations were a fact of life, until she allowed herself the luxury of test riding the Deuce.She had always considered love at first sight to be an idiotic concept, nowshe knew better. She would have sold her own mother to finance that bike.Fortunately all she had had to do was sign away the next six years of herlife. Worth every minute.
Unfortunately, her infatuation with the new bike had held herattention to the exclusion of all else, including the asshole lurking in the alley behind her. He had grabbed her with a strong gloved hand over her mouth.She bit, but the leather prevented her from drawing the blood she wanted.She fought with every ounce of strength she could muster from her 5-foot-8-inchframe, but her attacker had her by a good hundred pounds.
Her eyes refocused and saw a slack, pale face staring back at her inthe mirror. At least the smudges of dirt were gone now, as well as the bloodon her hands and lips. She turned off the water, wondering how long she had stood staring. Grabbing a handful of the coarse brown paper towels, she rubbedher face vigorously, returning a little of the color to her cheeks. Shearranged her clothes, tucked in her shirt, checked her pockets and returned to the bar.
Another sip of Jim Beam. Her hands had stopped shaking. Thebartender was polishing the wood bar with a soft white cloth, casting an occasional glance at the battered woman. He wanted to help, but knew there was little he could do for someone who wanted nothing.
His attention was pulled from the woman to the two uniforms that hadjust entered through the double door. They made a slow procession throughthe room, eyes scanning every barstool and booth. They approached the bartender.
“Can I help you officers?” he asked, ever helpful.
“Have you heard or seen any disturbances this evening?”
“No. Been real quiet.”
“Have you had any customers in here acting suspicious?”
“You mean more so than usual? Nope. Can I ask why? If I knew whatyou were trolling for I might be able to help.”
“A body was found in the alley next to your building. Big guy.Looks like he took a point blank shot to the face and another to the chest.”
“Huh. Haven’t heard a thing.”
“Has anyone come or gone in the last half hour or so?”
“No. These are all my regulars, been here all night.”
“All right. If you hear of anything, let us know. OK?”
“Sure thing, fellas.” He returned to his meticulous polishing and theuniforms left.
She looked up when the big bartender stepped in front of her, settingdown a second drink. “On the house,” he smiled warmly.
Her hand touched the warm steel held snug against her chest in itscustom holster, a bit of her confidence reasserted itself. Daddy had alwaystold her to be prepared. She returned the smile and accepted the drink.