Judgment at Alcatraz by Dave Edlund (carter reed .txt) 📕

in the day, the creature would, no doubt, saunter off in search of shade. Danya leaned down and scratched the fella on the head. He groaned and stretched his legs before relaxing again.

She heard a horn toot and brakes squeal as another pickup with faded paint and dented fenders pulled to an abrupt stop at the fuel pumps on the opposite side of the island. She watched as the driver jumped out and removed the gas cap. He seemed to be in a hurry, saying something unintelligible to the attendant, who was doing her best to ignore him.

As Danya entered the market, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was a pleasant change from the harsh scent of petroleum. She navigated through the narrow aisles packed with snack foods, magazines, and sundries—a compromise between the necessity to carry varied inventory, and limited space.

The store was empty. Still, she looked back over her shoulder before entering the restroom—a practice drilled into her over years of training.

It felt invigorating to walk, even a short distance, after sitting for…she glanced at her watch. She’d been driving for a little over four hours, and her athletic frame protested such a long spell of inactivity.

After washing up, she wove back to the cash register and coffee machine. She was pouring a steaming cup when the female attendant, having finished the immediate task at the pumps, re-entered the store. The young woman appeared harried as she crossed behind the checkout counter. Her straight, coal-black hair was tucked behind her ears and tied in twin braids that extended to the middle of her back. Her mocha eyes were set above high cheekbones, and her skin was tanned as if regularly exposed to sunshine, but still smooth and youthful.

“Anything else?” the attendant said, her mind clearly on other matters.

“Just the coffee.” Danya pointed to the cup.

As she reached into her pocket for some bills, a man with short blond hair entered and strode up to the counter. He leaned forward, resting on his hands, with a devilish grin plastered across his face.

“Come on, Toby. I know you want to.”

Toby turned to face the man. “Cole, I told you no. Now leave me alone.” Her voice crackled with fear and embarrassment.

The man reached across the counter and grabbed Toby’s arm.

“Listen—”

Danya jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re listening, mister.”

He looked at Danya, acknowledging her presence for the first time.

“This ain’t no concern of yours, lady.”

“She said no.”

Cole released his grip and squared off with Danya. At six-one, he was six inches taller, and she estimated he weighed about 190 pounds. His physique was trim and fit, suggesting he might be a manual laborer. Still, his behavior was sloppy and overconfident. She had encountered men like him before—bullies who relied on bluster and intimidation to exert control over others. But when pushed into a fight, they lacked the skills of a warrior, and were almost always decisively beaten.

“I’m just asking my lady friend out on a date. Now go along and mind your own business.”

Toby had backed as far away from the counter as she could, her back pressing against a rack filled with packs of cigarettes.

“Please, Cole,” she said. “Just leave.”

He snorted a laugh. “Or what? What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll call the sheriff.”

“Now you and I both know that ain’t gonna do no good. Hell, it’ll be at least an hour before a deputy shows up. That’s if they even bother to send a car. Which they won’t.”

“Listen, Cole,” Danya said. “Is that your name?”

He faced her again, annoyance replacing the jovialness.

“What is your problem, lady? Just leave your money on the counter and move along. Or—”

“Or what?” She took a half-step closer.

Cole pinched his eyebrows. “Don’t start something you can’t finish. I can break you in half with one hand.”

With a blur of motion, she punched him in the face. He stumbled backwards, tripped, and fell into an ice bucket loaded with soft drinks. He swiped a hand across his nose, leaving a bloody smear on his upper lip and cheek.

“That was your first mistake, Cole,” she said. “Learn from it. You’d best get on your way.”

His gaze flitted from Danya to Toby, and back again. Then he pushed himself to his feet. Wiped the blood from his nose again, and glared at Toby.

“You’re gonna regret that.” He stumbled out the door and paused next to the resting hound to regain his composure.

The dog objected to his presence with a growl.

Cole lashed out with a vicious kick into the dog’s ribs.

“You need to get your dog under control, Toby, or I’ll file a complaint with animal control. Or maybe I’ll just shoot him myself.”

In four strides, Danya was on Cole, ramming the heal of her hand into the base of his skull at the juncture with his spine. He stumbled forward, his arms tingling from the blow. But he didn’t go down. Instead, he turned like a wounded beast. His face was a mask of rage as he pulled his arm back, signaling his intent to strike.

She kicked him between the legs, and he bent forward, hands cupped over his groin. Then he dropped to one knee, his head drooped. Strings of saliva hung from his open mouth before breaking off and falling to the pavement, where it mixed with splattered blood.

“I warned you, Cole. That was mistake number two. Now get out of here while you can still walk.” She turned to finish paying for her gas and coffee.

“Watch out!” Toby shouted.

Danya spun on her heals and raised her arm as a shield to the unseen attack…mistake number three.

She deflected the roundhouse punch aimed at her head, and returned a blow to Cole’s solar plexus. He gasped, eyes bulging and mouth open as he struggled to suck in air. She grabbed his ears and rammed his face downward as she thrust her knee upwards. The cartilage in his noise succumbed with a sickening crunch, leaving a bloody imprint on her jeans. She released her