The Kazak Guardians (27 page)

"Then your full name is?"

"Master Lynn the Fox."

"Very appropriate, Lynn the Fox. Alright." He sighed. "I'm sure ignoring you is not going to be as simple as you make it sound," he said, just before a knock at the door.

"Father, Sister Margaret is here to see you," his guard dog said and gave me a disapproving look before leaving. Then it was Father Joseph's turn. He gave me a brief smile and nodded toward the door. Now came the reality versus the theory part of
ignore me
. I moved over to the corner of the room.

"Lynn, you can't stay. I need to talk to Sister Margaret alone." He again nodded toward the door. I didn't move.

"Ignore me," I said but didn't smile.

"You can't stay when someone wants to talk with me."

"I'll only be watching to see if they want to kill you, not listening. If this is a game, I'll leave. I don't care about you or the bishop. I'm a Kazak, not a puppy." I wanted this resolved now, not later. Sister Margaret stood in the doorway, frozen. Father Joseph stared off into space for several minutes. He was either praying for guidance or to have God smote me.

"No, you are definitely not a puppy. I'll try
...
ignoring you. I hope everyone else can." He looked at the young nun standing in the doorway. "Come in, Sister Margaret. Ignore the Kazak in the corner. She assures me she doesn't listen."

The nun nodded, closed the door, and sat in the chair facing his desk. Of course, I'd lied. I listen to everything that's said. But I don't care what is said. The sister had some questions about her upcoming Sunday school class, which was very uninteresting. I concluded she wasn't planning to kill Father Joseph during their talk. This job would be so much easier if I were a Ghost Assassin.

That night we discussed the sleeping arrangements. Well maybe discuss wasn't the right word.

"Don't even think about sleeping in my bedroom!" He looked determined, his lips squeezed together and his face muscles all bunched up.

"Does it have a window? If it does, we have to find a solution I'm comfortable with or I do sleep in your bedroom. In a chair or on the floor."

"Neither!"

"You're not going to bed until we come up with a solution. Let me look at the window." I waved toward his bedroom door. He reluctantly opened the door and I walked in. Very neat. The window was a four-by-four and you could open it about half way. It was just enough for someone to crawl through and plenty big enough to shoot through. I should sleep in here but knew I wouldn't win this argument. I stood looking at the window, feeling Father Joseph behind me, glaring. "I'll stay in your living room if you can find some heavy curtains to cover your window."

We spent the next half an hour making a bedspread into a curtain and hanging it. I placed a small table next to the window, laid the bottom of the make-shift curtain on the table, and arranged two glasses on the cloth. If anyone moved the curtain, the glasses would fall, and I would be in the room, shooting.

"Aren't you carrying this guarding me a bit too far?"

"Actually, I'm being far too lenient. Because you're going to heaven when you die, you may not care if you get killed, but I'll be left here, blaming myself for letting you go," I said as I exited the room. I lay down on the couch after hearing his door close and went to sleep.

Fortunately, he was still alive the next morning. He was dressed when he came out. He then proceeded to make breakfast for us without uttering a word. After a short, silent prayer, he looked up.

"I'm still alive."

"Good thing."

Things went fairly well for the next two days, although I knew he was praying to God for strength. When we entered the church on Saturday, he stopped and faced me.

"Lynn, there is no compromise here. I'm going to hear confessions today. You cannot be standing over me." He looked angry. I thought it was the cumulative frustration he had been feeling the past few days.

"Father, my rules are simple. I must be able to see you and be within reach at all times." I held up my hand before he tried to interrupt. "I understand that this is one rule I must concede with you. Don't smile. I will watch every person that enters that booth and will have no reservation about interfering with them entering the booth or bringing articles I deem potentially dangerous. If your religious need for privacy gets you killed in the confessional, it's your fault. If I let an Assassin by or don't confiscate something potentially dangerous, it's my fault. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I know the Lord must be testing my faith." He entered the booth shaking his head. Eight individuals entered the confessional over the next two hours, mostly women. I suspected men were averse to admitting they ever did anything wrong. I had to admit I might be biased.

***

At mass on Sunday, I stood off to the side of the altar watching the people. I was close enough I might be able to get to him in an emergency. I wished I'd refused this assignment. Instead, I agreed to reach acceptable, if not ideal, compromises when it involved the sacraments of the church. They were probably reasonable, since neither of us liked them. On Monday, Archbishop Clemens paid Father Joseph a visit. Joseph looked at me when Clemens entered.

"Don't bother, Joseph. I talked to Witton when I found out he had sent a woman. He said she had rules and won't budge for you, me, or Him. He then told me a couple of incidents involving her. Some were rather funny. I know it has been hard on you, but I'm pleased with you and
...
Lynn. If nothing happens in a month, I'll end the contract." Clemens turned to face me. "Well, Kazak Lynn, how do you like this assignment?"

"In a sense, every assignment is interesting because of the person I'm guarding and their environment. On the other hand, every assignment is the same. My total focus is on protecting their life."

"Yes, you were a good choice, Lynn. You just need a little getting used to." He gave a small laugh before leaving. After he left, Father Joseph began his normal week. He spent the afternoon at a halfway house where he had organized a seven-day-a-week soup kitchen. The people who worked there were all volunteers. And the money to keep it going came from donations Joseph managed to secure through his contacts and local events he organized.

The next day he attended the monthly Chamber of Commerce orientation for new members. This gave him an opportunity to network and stay informed and involved with the many programs and services available in the Vegas community. The forum provided him an opportunity to meet new business owners and lobby for contributions for his many projects. I wandered around like one of the crowd, staying close to Joseph. Several times people tried to engage me in a conversation. I pretended to be deaf and used what I thought looked like sign language. They shrugged and continued moving.

The third day we visited several hospitals where Father Joseph talked to the patients, regardless of their religious preference. He loved entertaining the children with small tricks of magic and fairy tales. I spent my time ensuring each patient, nurse, and doctor wasn't intent on killing him.

By the fourth day, I decided he truly would go to heaven-but not on my watch.

That week and another went by without incident. We survived-him through prayer and me through meditation. At the end of the second week, we flew to Carson City where he was on the Nevada State Prison list of official chaplains. We were escorted to a medium-sized room where five men waited. Joseph went to the front of the room, and I stood against the wall half way between the door and Joseph.

He had only been talking a few minutes when the guard opened the door and two skinheads entered. The guard looked nervous and quickly left, closing the door behind him. The two were particularly ugly with tattoos on their bare arms, necks, and scalps. They were smiling as they headed directly toward Joseph. Shanks emerged as I took two steps into them. I used both forearms to block a fist from the one closest to me, while I drove a hard knife-edged kick to the other one's knee. I didn't feel that satisfying crack of bone, but his leg did buckle under him. He fell onto his knee, dropping his shank.

I slid one hand down the arm of the other man and grabbed the wrist I had blocked, while driving an elbow into his face. I may have broken his crooked nose, since blood spurted out. He jerked back a few inches, and I lost control of the wrist with the shank. His grin was twisted with pleasure, as he looked down at me. He was big and strong. No doubt he'd spent hours in the yard lifting weights and was used to knock-down drag-out fights. As I started to step away, his free hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me into him, and he wrapped his arm around my neck. I drove my elbow into his ribs and stomped down on his foot, feeling bones shatter-with little effect. Pain exploded in my side as his fist and shank drove home. He had me locked in place and could stab or cut me at will. Unless. I bent my head as far as I could to the side and drove my fingers back toward where I thought his face should be. I felt soft material give as pain again ripped through my ribs. He let go screaming.

"You whoring bitch! I'm going to reach into that cunt of yours and rib out your insides."

I believed him. When I felt my side, the shank still lay buried there. On the floor, the other skinhead had Father Joseph by the leg with one hand and was pulling the priest toward him, a shank in his other hand. I pulled out the shank in my side and dove at the skinhead on the floor. I landed on his back and dragged the shank across his throat. Blood spurted like a fire hose, splashing over my hand, Joseph's pants, and the floor. I used his back to push myself to my knees, then staggered up just in time to see my original skinhead advancing on me, his face twisted in blind rage and one eye torn and bleeding. He extended his arms to make sure I didn't slip away to either side.

"I'm going to rip your face off, bitch."

When I backed up a step, his eyes brightened in anticipation. I took a step forward, slipping my hand with two fingers extended into the lower part of his throat. Before I could get leverage he stepped backward. I knew that spot was extremely sensitive and every person intuitively knew it was lethal. He kept stumbling backward as I kept pushing. He slammed into the wall and stopped. I didn't. I continued going, driving my fingers into the cavity, crushing his trachea. In the process, his arm came flying around into my body, sending me twisting away. When I hit the floor my lungs felt like they exploded and pain pulsed through my body. God, I was bone tired. I watched in satisfaction as the skinhead fought for air that would never come. He sank to his knees and collapsed onto his face.

Just then, two guards entered.
Brave now that it's all over.

"Get the Father and me to the infirmary!" I tried to shout but it came out weakly. I staggered to my feet.

"Is Father Joseph hurt?" one of the guards asked.

"Now or you'll need a medic!" I reached over and pushed Father Joseph toward the guard, who turned and began a fast walk with Joseph and me following. Joseph said nothing but kept looking over his shoulder at me. I thought he might be in shock. After passing through several locked doors, we reached the dispensary. I knew because it smelled of antiseptics. I was getting used to the smell. The doctor was talking to a man sitting on the edge of one of the beds. He didn't look sick.

"Doctor, I need more attention than him. Get over here," I managed to shout.

"Father, are you hurt?" he asked, looking at Joseph, who shook his head.

"Me, you idiot."

The doctor finally looked at me and my blood-stained shirt, which I was in the process of removing. My side radiated pain through every part of me. He walked over and poked a few places with his finger, which I contemplated breaking. He went over to a steel cabinet and returned with a wad of cloth.

"Father, hold this here. Young lady, I'm going to sedate you so I can treat these cuts. They will need sutures."

"No, just get on with it. Father, you stay here so I can see you and the door." I wasn't sure how I thought I could defend him at that point-maybe if I'd had a gun. The doctor shook his head and began. More pain. I sat upright watching the door and let the temple on the Hill silently surround me. I had spent hundreds of hours there and it was part of my very essence. That day, it helped me manage the pain, like watching someone else getting treated, and stay focused.

He had just finished bandaging me when the door burst open and a pudgy little man in a suit and tie strode into the room with two guards following. "Young lady, you killed two of my inmates. I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you under arrest."

I jumped off the table and my legs almost buckled under me. I managed to lunge over to him, grab him by the neck, and ram him against the wall. My fingers dug into the fleshy part around his trachea. I looked over to the guards.

"Unless you want to die along with this jackass, stay where you are." I fished out my cell phone and dialed Witton, leaving the speaker on. Ann Marie answered. "Ann Marie, get Witton before I die." I heard Witton pick up.

"What?"

"I'm at the Nevada State Prison. I've killed two skinheads that attacked Father Joseph. I've got the warden by the throat-in a killing grip. He wants to arrest me for killing the two assholes his guards intentionally let in the room with shanks. I think he and his guards feel they're here to make the prisoners' lives comfortable. I can't hold out much longer. I've been stabbed twice. If I pass out, I'm taking the warden's throat with me to the floor."

"Wait." Witton's end of the line went silent. I waited for what seemed like hours. My head was spinning and my legs felt wobbly.

"Two SWAT teams are on the way. One will be there within the next twenty minutes and the other in thirty. They are coming from different places. Put the warden under arrest and place the prison on lock-down." I had laid the phone down so everyone could hear. "By order of the governor's office. Try not to kill the warden." The phone went dead.

"Notice he didn't say 'don't.' You two," I pointed to the guards. "You heard. Order a lock-down. There's a SWAT team coming, and they are going to be pissed if that yard isn't cleared and everyone in their cells." I watched them run out, and a minute later I heard the sirens indicating a lock-down.