The Paladin (2 page)

"He seems very mature for his age, don't you think? Whose class is he in?"

"Whatever. Mr. Angel is your new student, Harry," said Misty. "I was bringing him to you when he pulled a Houdini."

Harry smiled and put her arm about Larry's shoulders.

"Looks like you are all mine, Larry."

"Miss Smith is beautiful," he said. "Very pretty eyes. Very pretty
soul
."

"You are the first and only male of the species to ever call me beautiful," she said, squeezing the giggling little boy. "If you were of legal age, I would marry you on the spot. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Larry."

"By the way, Harry," said Misty, "Mr. Angel's father said that he was going to be late picking up his spawn today. I was wondering…I have an early date…can you stay over…please?"

Harry rolled her eyes. "This is the third time this month."

"It will be the last, I promise."

"I've heard that before," said Harry.

"Please, stay with me, Harry," said Larry. "I don't like her. She smells bad."

"Why, you little—"

"All right, all right, I'll stay," Harry said. "But you owe me."

Misty smiled brightly. "Tomorrow, lunch is on me."

"It had better be good."

***

Harry looked at her Timex and frowned.
It's already half past four; how late are they going to be?
Harry looked on as Larry busied himself at a toy easel with a small pad of watercolors. Larry turned and gave Harry a dimpled smile.

"What are you painting, my little man?"

"Blue dog. I like blue dogs."

"Best blue dog I ever saw," she said, as she rubbed his head. "Larry, what do your parents do for a living?"

"I don't have a mom," he said, not turning away from his creation, "but Dad runs the universe."

Sounds like your daddy has the same God complex as Principal Anders.

"He isn't as bad as Principal Anders," said Larry.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I said, I think I will name my blue dog Prince Sanders."

Larry turned and gave Harry a smile that for some reason sent chills through her.

"I need a vacation," she muttered. Leaving the chubby little boy to his azure canine creation, Harry walked to the front of the room and settled on the corner of her desk. Taking her satchel in hand, she unzipped the leather case.

"What the—" she said, as she pulled out a copy of
The Return of the Blue Fox.
"That's impossible. I know for a fact that wasn't there fifteen minutes ago. Besides, Dr. Bitch tossed away the only copy I had."

A bright red silken bookmark divided the book in half.

Harry opened the book at the ribbon, where a highlighted passage caught her eye.

While the incredibly handsome and talented Larry Angel painted yet another blue dog masterpiece, Harry Smith sat on the corner of her desk reading from a book that should not be there, unaware that life as she knows it, is about to change forever…

Harry let out a yelp and dropped the book as if it were a poisonous serpent. At that precise moment, a man dressed in black and wearing a ski mask burst into the room. Larry dropped his paint set, screamed, and ran behind Harry.

"OK, Bozo, give me the kid and I won't hurt you," said the intruder, as he closed and locked the only exit from the room.

Instead of panicking, Harry calmly took stock of her opponent, looking for a weakness she could exploit.

"Bozo?" spat Harry as her temper flared brightly at the hated nickname from her childhood.

"You are one ugly skank," he chuckled as he moved toward her and the cowering child. "Bet this will be as close to a date as your ugly ass has ever been on."

Stay frosty, Harry. Don't let your temper get the best of you.

Harry turned and snatched up a set of solid wooden blocks from a table.

"Skank this, creep!" said Harry. With the accuracy and power of a major league pitcher, the unassuming yet extraordinarily athletic woman pelted him. "Never rush the mound while the pitcher has the ball, you idiot!"

"You're making me mad, bitch—ow, shit!" he yelped as a block stamped with the letter "Z" bounced off his head.

"You'll pay for that," he screamed as she ran out of the stinging projectiles.

With the alphabet exhausted, Harry slipped out of her confining jacket, kicked off her shoes, and made ready to defend Larry.

"Larry, when I say go, run out the door and go get help," she said, never taking her eyes off the man in black.

"Never leave Harry," he said with tears streaming down his face.

"Do what I say!" she yelled over her shoulder as she launched herself at the intruder.

The enormous man grabbed for Harry, but she proved to be too quick. Ducking under his outstretched arms she smashed her left fist into his jaw. Thrown off balance, he stumbled but did not go down. Pivoting on her left foot, she slammed her right heel into the side of his right knee. Harry smiled as she felt the joint snap apart. The big man screamed and went down hard, taking out two rows of desks.

Snatching up Larry, she ran past the moaning and cursing thug only to find the classroom door missing.

"What is going on?" she cried, staring at the now doorless wall. Looking around, she was shocked to find that not only was the would-be kidnapper back on his feet, but there were now five intruders, all identically dressed in black clothing and ski masks, slowly moving across the room toward her.

Harry did not take the time to wrap her mind around the bizarre situation; that was for later. Right now her only concern was to protect a helpless little boy.

"Run, Larry," she whispered." I'll keep them busy while you go out the window."

Harry picked up an overhead projector and hurled it at the nearest masked thug. As the man grunted and collapsed, Harry snatched up a flagpole. Using it like a staff, she quickly struck down two more. To her surprise, regardless of the damaging blows she imparted, her assailants brushed them off and came back for more.

While Harry fought a losing battle, Larry did not run to the open window as ordered, but instead he walked to his fallen tin of watercolors. Taking a big brush, he filled the bristles with color and crawled upon a table near the dry erase board. Looking back at the raging battle, he chuckled. Lazily, he drew a large rectangle on the wall, roughly the size of a door. With a flourish, he painted a big lopsided doorknob complete with an old-fashioned keyhole.

Tossing the brush over his shoulder, he grasped at the doorknob, and with a sharp click, the door swung inward, revealing a pitch-black rectangle. The black void made an eerie whistling sound as if it were drawing the air from the room.

Looking back, he found the room in complete shambles from the brawl. The five masked intruders had at last overpowered and pinned Harry Smith to the floor. The teacher cursed and swore at the intruders until one clamped a big hand over her mouth.

"Boss, she's a wildcat!" one of the men said to Larry. "Even we can't take much more."

Harry pulled an arm free and smashed her right elbow into the nose of the one with his hand over her mouth. The man let out a groan, then fell backwards with a thump. The others struggled to keep her down.

"I have seen enough, boys, time to go," said Larry.

"Oh…my…God!" Harriet cried as she beheld the doorway. "What's going on you little shit?"

"What is going on," said Larry sporting a big grin, "is that you have passed with flying colors, Harry. Congratulations!"

The five men picked up the kicking, biting young woman and carried her into the painted portal.

***

Principal Norma Anders was leaned back in her chair, absorbed in
The Return of the Blue Fox
when she heard the racket coming from Harry's room.

Laying the book down, she went to investigate. "What on earth is that addled-brained girl doing in there?" she said, as she heard Harry swearing at the top of her lungs. "This is the last straw! Harry Smith is through! I won't stand for her shenanigans any longer!"

As Norma's outstretched hand was mere inches from the doorknob, the racket suddenly ceased. Ripping open the door to the classroom, she let out a surprised yelp as she came face to face with a smiling Harry Smith.

"Miss Smith, I demand to know what is going on here! Your language was inexcusable! Thank God no parents were present to hear such a foul tirade; it would have ruined my reputation!"

Looking past the young woman, Norma saw that the room was spotlessly clean and well ordered. Not a single block, crayon, or book was out of place.

"Principal Anders," said Harry, extending a copy of her neatly printed and signed resignation. "I hereby turn in my notice, effective immediately. I am afraid that the Applewood Academy isn't up to
my
standards. Ta ta, Norma."

Harry pushed past the stunned principal.

"Good riddance," said Norma. "Go back to the trailer park you came from, white trash!"

Harry paused and turned back to the domineering, sadistic woman.

"Now that wasn't a very nice thing to say, now was it, Norma? By the way, I think you have a wrinkle in your panty hose. My bad, you aren’t wearing hose…or well…" Harry finished with a laugh.

Looking down, Principal Anders gasped in horror. Her clothes were simply gone. Shocked at her surprise nudity, Norma screamed and ran for her office.

As "Harry" turned and walked away, Larry thought,
Damn, I'm good.

1

Humming a happy tune, Elsa Philips peered into the small compact and carefully touched up her lipstick and makeup.

Elsa wrote, produced, and hosted her own television show called
Friends and Neighbors,
a program that highlighted the local people and places of East Tennessee. The twenty-two minute program dominated its Monday morning 3 AM time slot.

Today's interview was a bit different from the normal old-geezer-reminiscing-about-the-good-old-days kind of spot she normally produced. Today, Elsa had an exclusive one-on-one with a local legend: The Angel of Bryson City himself, John Beck.

Too much beauty for mortal man to bear,
she thought as she put away her mirror. Her smile vanished as she watched her cameraman fumble setting up his tripod.

The tall, overweight man with the graying goatee cursed the stubborn tripod at the top of his lungs, using epithets that made Elsa blush.

Elsa rummaged through her overstuffed shoulder bag. "The station manager hates me,"
she mumbled. "Would it have killed him to send Bobby or Phil to help me? Oh no, they are too busy covering real news, so I get stuck with Ray. I don't care if he is the station manager's nephew, if Ray screws this up, he's dead!"

Ray Goodman looked up from his work and felt envy creep over him as he looked around the expensively appointed private library.

Three walls of the two-story room were filled to capacity with thousands of volumes, most of which were rare first editions. A graceful black iron spiral staircase in the far corner gave access to a narrow upper walkway that encircled the room and the second floor shelves. To his right was an elegant fireplace. Over the carved mahogany mantle hung a portrait of a stunningly beautiful woman dressed in white with upswept dark hair and violet eyes.

Situated near a set of French doors that opened to a breathtaking view of the distant Smoky Mountains sat a massive mahogany desk flanked by a matching cabinet humidor.

"Some people know how to live," he said, stroking his beard. "I didn't know anyone in Bryson City could afford a setup like this. Sure beats the hell out of my trailer."

"An outhouse beats the hell out of your trailer," said Elsa. "But you're right; this is
very
nice."

"Elsa, do you see the humidor? Bet cash money those cigars alone are worth thousands. Old man Beck must be rolling in the dough. No wonder he can afford to be so generous."

"I just hope this interview goes well," she said, producing a notebook. "A new anchor position is going to be open at the end of the month and I need some points with the boss."

"Good luck with that," laughed Ray. "Brittney has a lock on that job and you know it."

"Brittney James is barely coherent!"

"Maybe, but she is a major babe."

"I have a degree from Columbia, while she majored in cheerleading at Podunk University!"

"You know, Elsa, I just thought of something. Remember the interview with Mr. Hensley, you know, the grain and feed manager?"

Elsa let out a sigh, "I remember. Poor fellow told the same story three times and kept nodding off. It wasn't my finest interview."

"That's just it. From what I hear, Beck is a good twenty years older than Hensley. That must make this old fart almost a million years old."

"Keep your voice down, you idiot!" she hissed. "It took me a year of begging to convince Mr. Beck's people to allow this interview. If you get us kicked out, so help me…"

Ray chuckled as he connected the Sony to the tripod.

"Nobody has seen old man Beck for nigh on six years. Hell, I thought the old boy was dead until today. Bet he has dementia so bad that he can barely string two words together."

"Be quiet, you clown! I'm not going to tell you again."

Frustrated by her obnoxious cameraman, Elsa produced a cigarette from her carryall.

"What did I do with my lighter?" she said under her breath. Giving up her futile search, she turned to Ray.

"Ray, give me your lighter, I need a smoke before we start."

"Sorry, left it back at the truck," he said as he clipped a wireless microphone to her blouse.

"Great," she exclaimed, sitting back in the oversized leather chair. "I guess it will have to wait."

"My dear, I am sorry to have kept you waiting."

Elsa and Ray wheeled about at the sound of the voice.

Coming through the wide oak doors was John Beck. His powered wheelchair scarcely made a sound on the expensive carpet as he navigated across the room.

"Mr. Beck," said Elsa, rising from her chair and flashing a polished smile. "This is indeed an honor."