The Karate Kid…
Amanda checked the public and private restrooms. She popped her head into Space F and called to Marc, but Sara had not returned. Left holding the bag of food, Amanda felt paranoia take over. Had Sara stood her up? Somehow that didn’t feel right. She became convinced something bad had happened.
Rushing back to the café, she recognized three teenaged girls who had been sitting at a table nearby.
“Hey, do you remember the woman who was sitting with me at that table over there?”
The little redhead with braces shrugged, but the blond one said, “Sure, I saw her. She left with some dude, and she didn’t look real happy.”
“What dude?”
“Big bald guy with tattoos up his neck,” the pretty African-American girl replied. “He was comin’ on real strong, and the woman kept pushin’ him away. Seemed like she was really mad.”
“Where did they go?” Amanda fretted as a surge of adrenaline pumped through her veins.
“I think he was drunk,” said the little redhead, who’d acted like she hadn’t seen anything. “He dragged that woman outside the building.” She pointed to the south exit.
Shit, shit, shit! Should she go back for Marc, or do this on her own? Unable to make a decision, she dropped the bag of food into the nearest trash can and ran out the exit. She saw six cops at that door, four more than were stationed at Amanda’s end of the building. No doubt they were the security detail for the Lincoln-Davis letter.
Amanda heard the screaming before she saw anything, and soon three of the cops were running toward the sound. With Amanda on their heels, they arrived between two pickup trucks in time to see a bald thug punch Sara in the face. Then he shoved her against the bed of one of the trucks and tried to force his leg between her knees.
But Sara was having none of it. With lightning speed, she brought her knee up hard and hit him in the crotch. When he staggered back, moaning in pain, she rammed two stiff fingers into his eyes, then followed it up with a vicious fist punch to his jaw. Moments later her attacker sank to the ground, squealing like a stuck pig.
He did not get up.
Sara bent forward panting, her head down while she caught her breath.
Amanda was in shock.
Maybe someday they’d laugh about this. She’d call Sara the Karate Kid, or some such thing. But for now, she felt like weeping in relief. She reached the scene about ten paces behind the cops. One officer, a big black guy, kneeled beside the fallen thug. The other two flanked Sara, prepared to restrain her if she tried to run.
“I know this man,” the black cop said. “He’s a parole officer. Do you think the girl is one of his skips?”
“Nope, this is Dr. Orlando, she’s a shrink at the Charlotte Community Center,” the oldest cop explained. “Hey, Doc, where’d you learn those moves? You can partner with me any day.”
“If these are both good guys, then what the hell just happened?” The youngest cop, obviously a rookie, let go of Sara’s arm.
Amanda knew exactly what had happened. Obviously this was the amorous stalker Marc had described yesterday, the “pervert” named Ben. Marc had threatened to kill him if he ever came around, but this evening, Sara had nearly managed it herself.
“Are you okay, Sara?” she stupidly asked.
Sara nodded, but did not lift her head. Amanda had seldom felt so useless. She willed her heart to stop racing and wiped her palms on her jeans.
“Do you know what happened, miss?” The black officer turned to Amanda.
But Amanda shook her head. If anyone was going to explain this, it had to be Sara. By this time her attacker had uncoiled from his fetal position and was rubbing his injured eyes.
“You saw it, Officer. That bitch tried to kill me,” he whined.
“But she didn’t throw the first punch. Aren’t you Ben Marsh, used to be a cop down at the Seventh District?” the senior police officer asked.
The man sat upright and nodded. He took a moment to compose himself and get his anger under control. “It was all a misunderstanding. Dr. Orlando has one of my boys in therapy. Let’s just say we disagree on the treatment plan.”
Sara coughed a derisive little laugh. Everyone knew Ben’s explanation was totally lame, but up close and personal, the jerk looked halfway presentable. He wore a neat polo sweater, pressed chinos and polished shoes. Except for the snake tat crawling up the back of his neck, he was a clean-cut guy.
“What’s the verdict, Doc?” the older cop asked. “Do you want to press charges?”
Of course she did! Amanda, filled with righteous indignation, waited for Sara to drop the hammer on this creep. But instead, Sara stood upright and shook her head.
“Oh, fuck it.” Sara sighed. “Let it go. I think maybe Ben’s learned his lesson.”
Even the cops seemed surprised.
“Are you sure, Doc? You’re gonna have one mean shiner come morning.” The black officer nudged Ben with his shoe. “Have you been drinkin’, man?”
“I’ve had a couple of beers, but I’m not driving,” Ben said. “You heard the lady. Help me up, and we’ll call it a day.”
This wasn’t happening. Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. Sara was letting him off scot-free.
“Do you need a ride home, Mr. Marsh?” the rookie offered.
“I’ll take a cab.” He shot a dirty look at Sara. “Or maybe you should call me an ambulance.”
Completely nonplussed, Amanda walked up and touched Sara’s arm. When they connected, she saw a glaze of tears in Sara’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
Sara jerked away. “Leave me alone, please.”
Amanda looked out at the fairgrounds, where most of the cars and a procession of trucks were leaving. She watched their taillights moving slowly through the dusk and saw the pale outline of the moon composing itself. For a long moment, everyone just stared at one another.
“I guess we’re done here, then.” The senior cop spread his hands, then headed back to the detail stationed at the door of Building 16. “Make sure Mr. Marsh calls that cab.”
The black officer pulled Ben roughly to his feet. Ben brushed off the seat of his pants and allowed himself to be escorted to a lighted phone booth.
Sara defiantly tossed back her long black hair and began walking in the opposite direction, toward the field.
“Where are you going?” Amanda was desperate. “Aren’t you coming inside?”
“I told you to leave me alone.” She turned around long enough to jab an emphatic index finger at Amanda. “And don’t you dare tell my brother.”
Seconds later, Amanda was standing alone with the rookie, who looked just as confused as she felt.