Swerve (3 page)

Reaching the back of the bar, heading toward her bike, a tall, agile man swung on her as soon as she cleared the corner. Her reflexes were catlike and she pulled back, his blow missing by mere inches. Sensing his every move, and he hers, made it feel like she was fighting her shadow…or a sensei. He mimicked her technique, blow for blow, as if having studied her moves. Had they fought before, maybe in competition? Did she know him? He wore black, resembling the attire of a ninja, and in the night, all she could see were his eyes, which glowed against the light that hung off the roof of the tavern.

Attempting to look in his eyes, Romia kicked and punched quickly, hoping not to lose eye contact with the stranger for more than a millisecond. He blocked each blow with precision.

Just then, a woman screamed. “Shashoni!” Romia called out, thinking it was Keliegh's date being attacked somewhere in the distance. The woman screamed again. “She killed him!”

The attacker struck. Distracted by the woman's scream, Romia caught a blow that drew blood from her lip. When she stumbled back from the hard blow, the attacker took advantage of the time to scurry away. Romia's first instincts were to go after him, but the woman's bellows drew her attention in that direction. She felt her mouth. The blood had started flowing from the small break in the taut skin of her full bottom lip.

Reaching the strange white woman she'd never seen before, she saw the body of a man lying face down. The woman stood there screaming while all the color drained from her face. “Can you shut up?” Romia demanded, looking around for Shashoni.

Romia squatted next to the body, but before she could do her job, the bar began to empty with spectators headed in her direction.

“She killed him,” the woman screeched, pointing at Romia in a tattling fashion.

The men and women began to scramble, heading for cars to avoid the questions from the cops who were sure to come. Others ran back into the bar to get Hank and Aston and Keliegh, no doubt, because within seconds they came out.

“What are you talking about?” Romia asked, realizing only now that the woman was accusing her.

“Freeze, Romee!” Hank yelled, drawing his gun on her.

“Hank, you're kidding, right?” Romia asked, slowly attempting to rise from the body of the man, which now had blood trickling slowly out from under him.

The blood from her face was on her hands, and she could easily see how bad this all looked, yet she had not touched the dead man, not even to check a pulse.

“Stay where you are and put your hands up!” Aston Mitchell, another officer from her precinct, demanded.

“Move away, lady!” Aston yelled at the woman, who then quickly ran toward the bar. Romia wished she had gotten a better look at her, because she had a strange feeling this was to be the last she would see of the woman outside of a courtroom.

“Romee, what the hell happened?” Keliegh asked as he quickly pushed through the growing crowd.

Glancing up at him, her green eyes were aglow against the light of the full moon. Her mouth was now covered with blood from the wound that at first had seemed so minor. She bled easily from her full lips and, therefore, usually made a point of not getting hit in the mouth.

“He went that way.” Reaching under her jacket, she realized then her gun was gone. Her eyes immediately focused on the one laying next to the body. It was hers. “What the…” She picked it up.

“Drop it, Romee!” Hank yelled.

“What the hell are you doing, Hank? It's Romee!” Keliegh jumped between the officers and Romia, who was staring at the gun: the weapon that had apparently killed the man laying face down in the dirt. It was the man from the bar who had touched her breast. This didn't look good at all.

Keliegh was looking stunned, and a bit confused, but stood his ground. There was no way he was going to arrest her, or allow Hank or Aston to either.

“I…I didn't…” Romia stammered, hearing sirens in the distance.
Someone must have called
, she thought.

“Drop the gun,” Keliegh whispered over his shoulder while standing between the drawn weapons and Romia.

“Get out of the way, Kel,” Hank ordered.

“No, now come on…This is crazy! Get that woman out here to tell what she saw,” Keliegh insisted.

“I don't know what happened, Aston. I don't know what's going on. It happened too fast,” Romia said to Aston, who looked determined to arrest her.

“Romia Smith, you're under arrest. You have the right…” Aston began, while pulling out his handcuffs from the back of his trousers. He stepped forward, but Keliegh refused to allow him to get close enough to put the cuffs on.

“Get out of the way!” Aston ordered, stepping toward Keliegh as if to go through him. Aston was going to prove he had no hesitation arresting a colleague.

Suddenly, Romia dropped the gun, pushed Keliegh aside, and stepped forward, snatching Aston's weapon from him and dismantling it with one hand before twisting his arm behind him. She had to get away before the squad car arrived.

Keliegh swung on Hank before he could fire.

Aston freed himself from Romia's loose grip. She'd not really tried to restrain him so much as buy a moment to think. He swung on her, but Romia easily ducked back and flat-hand punched him across the face, stunning him.

Everyone knew of her fighting skills, but also her restrictions. She could kill him within seconds—Aston knew it as well as she did. She was not allowed to street fight. It was all but illegal for her, but there was no way she was going to jail tonight. “Come on, Romee,” Aston said, holding his cheek while moving lightly on his feet, as if contemplating taking on the challenge of fighting her. He charged at her only to have her hit him twice, this time with a closed fist. She held back on the power of her punch, but still drew blood from his nose. He cursed her and swung again, but she easily ducked the telegraphed punch.

Hearing the sirens closing in, she knew time was running out on this game. Aston kicked at her; he'd apparently been practicing his karate moves, but was no competition. She caught the kick, turning his foot just enough to cause pain but not break. He yelped and crumbled to the ground. Standing in a guarded stance, she began inching her way clear to break for her bike.

Keliegh had wrestled the gun from Hank and tossed it aside. They were both breathing heavily from their momentary tussle before Hank pulled a smaller weapon from the back of his pants.

“Don't try it, Romia. I'll shoot you,” Hank said.

Romia raised her hands. “Stop! This has to stop!”

Again Keliegh jumped between Hank and Romia, tackling Hank to the ground. Hank's gun went off, but the shot ricocheted in the darkness, missing Romia by a mile as she leapt onto the seat of her bike. It started up without delay, almost as if sensing her need for speed. She took off without even putting on her helmet, which was still held tight to the bike by its cord.

The squad car pulled in just as she swerved around it, spitting up dust as she avoided the head-on collision. The officer behind the wheel hung a tight U-turn and pursued her. She could see the car right on her tail in her rearview mirror.

Why are they not listening to me? Why is this happening? Who was that woman?
Something didn't feel right. Something wasn't right. But Romia wasn't going to stop and ask questions. Pushing the bike to top speed, causing the front wheel to rise a couple of feet off the ground before gripping the road, she grew the distance between them. She had to get out of there, but where would she go?

Still hearing the sirens close behind her, she turned the bike into the first alleyway she approached. She was in an area known as the Palemos; it was a ghetto and basically abandoned by the city dollars. There were many dark and deserted hiding places, and she planned to take advantage of one of them. They would be calling for backup, if they hadn't already, so she knew she needed to get off the main streets to get around easier, faster, and without much detection. They would never find her in this neighborhood—everyone on a beat knew that if a suspect ducked into the Palemos you could forget finding him unless you had a good snitch. Romia was certain the cops would never find her once she got on foot.

Screeching the bike to a halt, she quickly dismounted, leaving the helmet hooked on the bungee. The golden phoenix glowed against the moonlight. Her heart was tearing apart as she freed herself of the custom jacket that everyone recognized and knew she wore—and that she loved—tossing it aside. Looking back as she started to run off, the regret was too much; dashing back, she ripped the helmet from the bungee and slammed it on her head before looking around and then upward for a fire escape. Finding one, and without pulling the ladder down, she jumped high, gripping the bar tightly while pulling herself up to the first rung and flipping her legs over her head and through the bars. Acrobatically, she then pulled herself toward her feet, flipping over the railing and climbing five stories until she found a broken window with an opening big enough to climb through. She ducked inside the empty office building.

Memories

“Mommy, why my hair is brown and yours is yellow?” the small child, Romia, asked her mother. She had lightly tugged at the ends of it that hung long down her back.

Her mother responded, smiling down at her while picking the healthier box of cereal off the top rack of the shelf. “My hair is yellow because the sun made it that way.”

“Will the sun do that to my hair one day?”

Bending down, she kissed her on the cheek. “The sun will never need to. You are safe as you are. You are blessed and safe as you,” she added. “But if you ever feel as though you are not safe, you will simply ask the sun to make your hair yellow, and your eyes blue”—she bent down close to Romia's ear—“when they are actually green.”

Romia thought about those words all day. She was a deep-thinking child who was affected by every word from her mother's lips. Each word touched her deeply and lessons taught would never be forgotten—stored deeply, true—but never forgotten. Her mother laughed after speaking to her in the riddle-like fashion. She often spoke that way to her. Thinking back on her, Romia sometimes wondered if perhaps English wasn't her first language, although she would be hard-pressed to figure out what other language her mother could have spoken, considering English was the only language she heard from her.

“Let's see if Mrs. Thurston is ready to leave the store,” she said, moving her basket toward another aisle. They often shopped with the older woman who lived next door. Romia had come to view that woman as a grandmother. When her mother died, she wasn't surprised to find her being one of the women helping to pack up her mother's things. She was surprised to find that she wasn't going to be living with her, but thinking back now, surely the woman was too old to care for a child her age. Even then she had to be around fifty.

Suddenly, her mother stopped as if frozen in time. She stared off into space and then spun on her heels, causing Romia to look in the same direction. At the end of the aisle stood a tall, dark, mysterious-looking man who was not even looking their way, yet her mother became instantly fearful. Romia could sense her feelings through her hand that tightly grasped her own.

“Sweetheart,” she said calmly in Romia's ear after lifting her onto her hip, “we'll wait in the car for Mrs. Thurston, okay?”

Romia looked at the groceries. “But what about—”

“Never mind that,” she answered, moving her quickly through the next aisle and out of the store. She continually looked back toward the door of the store until they reached the car.

“You were taking awhile. I got finished and came out to the car,” Mrs. Thurston said, smiling all the while.

“Wonderful,” her mother snapped quickly, unlocking the door for Mrs. Thurston to get in.

“Where is your fo—” Mrs. Thurston began to ask before Romia's mother all but shoved her into the car.

She opened the back door and hoisted Romia inside. “Put on your seatbelt, sweetheart,” she said, sounding nearly out of breath, still glancing back at the store.

Romia obeyed.

They rushed home. Romia remembered her mother pacing most of the evening, yet breaking into a bright smile every time their eyes met. “I love you with more than all my heart,” she said.

This was but one strange memory Romia had of her mother. Some would come and go quickly, oddly. But this one would play over and over, the same way each time.

Almost instantly, the light beams shone around the room and Romia could hear voices floating up from down below. “If she's on foot we'll never find her,” someone said. The sounds of sirens poured into the alley; there were at least four squad cars.

“I know, have you ever clocked her? She's fast. I trained with her once and she was amazing. She—”

“Quit talking about her like she's a superwoman,” another office said.

“I'm just sayin'…we're not going to find her.”

Romia moved close in to the wall as the light flew across the room. “This is crazy,” someone admitted. “Did she really kill somebody?”

“Anybody see anything?”

“Who was the victim?”

“I hear it was another cop.” The voices continued until finally the sounds grew muffled and distant.

“Romia killed a cop?” The voices sounded like a crowd growing as the officers below scoured the alleyway. Without the ladder being lowered, they would be hard-pressed to assume she was in one of the buildings. Even if they reasoned on it, it would take a psychic to figure out she was in this particular building—unless she made a sound, which she couldn't do now if she tried.

Finally, and suddenly, they were gone.

Stiff with mortification and shock, Romia didn't move for what felt like hours. Standing in the darkness still wearing her helmet, she felt sick, nausea forming deep in the pit of her belly until finally, as if awakening from a half sleep, she slowly removed the helmet and set it quietly on the floor—afraid to make a peep.
I'll be okay here for the night
,
I guess
, she thought, her eyes adjusting to the dark room lightened only by the reflection off the liquor store across street. Its neon sign showed bright down the alleyway as the night began to come alive. It was always that way in the Palemos at night.

Normally, Romia would walk the streets unbothered by the elements. She was fearless—especially when working a beat. She was a plainclothes cop, although most people knew her, so working undercover was generally a waste of time. Besides, a reputation like hers traveled fast. She was tough, but trustworthy. She had a lot of friends on the street. Tonight, she was counting on that, because tomorrow she needed to get some answers and get them quick before her brothers in the law came after her again.

Romia thought about Keliegh and what he must have gone through having interfered the way he had, allowing her to escape arrest. She needed to get a hold of him, but surely he was either detained or being watched.
Maybe Tamika.
Exhausted, Romia couldn't even finish the thought. She sat on the dirty floor, burying her face in her hands. Closing her eyes, mentally spent, she leaned her head back against the wall until soon she dozed off, jerking fitfully every few moments.

Suddenly, she jerked fully awake. The presence of the shadowy figure brought her to full alert…That, plus the gun pressing against her forehead. “I can't believe you're asleep,” the shadow said, chuckling wickedly with a hint of disappointment in his tone. “I've been holding this here for at least a minute. I could have killed you ten times.”

“Once would be plenty,” Romia answered, bringing her leg up between the shadows legs with lightening speed, but he was faster, blocking her. She slapped the gun away only to catch a blow to the head from the opposite hand. Unfazed, she knew the hit had been pulled back. It was as if the shadow was sparring with her and had no plans to kill her. With the agility and speed of a puma, she jumped to a crouching position, blocking quick-coming blows until she maneuvered herself out of the corner she was in. “What do you want? Who are you?”

“As if I would answer you. What is the honor in that? The challenge?” the shadow spoke. His words came without any show of strain or effort while he swung on her effortlessly, maintaining remarkable speed.

Finally, he stepped back from her and stood in the darkness. Dressed completely in black and with his face covered except for his eyes, his features were indistinguishable. But she knew the shadow as male; it was obvious by his build and heavy masculine voice—although he had masked it, whispering huskily when he spoke. As if both sensing the same feelings, she reached for her helmet, but not before he grabbed it. “Aw, the phoenix,” he said, smacking his lips sarcastically. “Elusive little bird…Rises from the ashes, they say. Tsk tsk. As if only you deserved to wear it.”

Romia said nothing. She was thinking too hard, trying to get ahead of this shadow, trying to figure out what was happening to her. “I do deserve it,” she finally blurted, sounding like a little girl instead of the tough cookie everyone knew her to be.

“I'll determine that, but as for now, you're just a criminal—a murderer.”

“I didn't kill that man.”

The shadow laughed. “I know that. You were playing with me behind the bar when it happened. But then again, I'm a terrible alibi, don't you think?”

He was right, he was no better than the mysterious one-armed man from the movies. No one would believe her if she told them of the encounter with the shadow. She'd have to prove her innocence by finding the killer. It was the only way.

“Who killed him?”

“Who do you think?”

“I don't know. I…” Romia thought about the scene. “The woman!” Romia gasped. The man chuckled. “Who was she? You know, don't you?”

“Too easy, but a good start.” The shadow started for the window, but Romia charged at him to get her helmet back. A back kick sent her tumbling. This time he did not hold back. The blow stunned her and she hesitated before getting up, assessing her ribs. “You'll get this back when you deserve it,” he said, disappearing out the window, taking her helmet with him.

Romia struggled to her feet and ran to the window, only to see an empty alley below.
How did he know I was here?
she asked herself, feeling the chill of violation. Again she looked around the room. She needed to sleep. It was late, but she knew time was of the essence. Tomorrow would be too late. The trail would be cold. She had to get some answers…now!

She had to get out of her boots and get into some travel gear. She had no gun, no jacket, no vehicle, and now…no lucky charm. All this dawned on her as she slinked through the dark streets, darting in and out of alleyways, avoiding streets where the night people were foraging for food and finding places to sleep warmly.

Surviving.

She felt vulnerable without her bike, jacket, and helmet. Those belongings that bore the symbol that represented her strength were missing now. The police had taken her bike; it was gone when she came down from the building to see if, just in case, they had left it. No such luck. Looking around, she assumed they had her jacket, too.

Framed and hanging on the wall in her apartment, the tapestry was all she had left and she was determined to get it before the police got to her place. Like a cat in the night she moved through the crowded streets undetected without her normal attire.