The words “fan club” still hung in the air when Tia heard the loud crack of two quick shots. For an instant Seale’s expression turned to one of mild surprise, and then profound sadness. His eyes grew unnaturally wide just as he disappeared in an explosion of blood. Tia felt and tasted a warm sticky liquid spray out, getting in her eyes and covering her nose and mouth. Seale fell forward, and what had been his face settled unevenly against the Formica surface. Tia looked on in horror as the table turned into a growing sea of red liquid. There was a gaping round hole at the base of Seale’s skull and most of the top of his head was gone. Two shots. Both lethal. Seale was most certainly dead, and the man who killed him stood less than three feet away.
Acting on extinct, Tia hunkered down to pull her 9mm from her ankle holster. As she bent low, her chest banged against the tabletop and her fingertips touched the hard plastic grips that were just beyond her reach. Tia shifted her body but kept her eyes locked on the man who was now adjusting his point of aim. Tia continued to fumble for her gun even as the snub-nosed barrel swung her way. The gun was poised inches from her face, and Tia could see down the length of the short barrel as though it were the opening of a train tunnel. She watched as the cylinder began to turn.
No time, Suarez.
Tia reached out with her arm and smacked the man’s wrist just as the gun fired. A bright flash flooded her vision as the path of the bullet screamed past her ear along with the sound of patrons running for the exit. A dozen or more dishes crashed to the floor somewhere behind her, and Tia sensed the atmosphere of bedlam. Her ears rang from the gunfire, but as her vision cleared she could see the gun beginning to swing back her way. Tia pushed out of her seat while at the same time she picked up the mug of steaming coffee and flung it at her attacker. He screamed in pain and covered his face with his free hand. In that moment she was on him.
Tia broke free of the restricting table and positioned herself in front of the gunman. She grabbed his gun with both hands while delivering a knee strike to his groin. Tia knew by his forward momentum that she had found her mark. She pulled hard on the gun, but his grip remained firm. Keeping one hand on the gun, she pulled back her other fist to deliver a strike to his face, but his body suddenly pushed forward and forced her to the ground. He landed on top of her, and she felt the hard metal settle against her rib cage. Tia reached down and got both hands back on the gun. She grabbed the cylinder and squeezed her fist around it. Even as she held it, she could feel his finger against the trigger. She knew he too was squeezing hard as the cylinder turned slowly beneath her grip. She squeezed harder and still the cylinder turned. She looked toward his face and their eyes met.
Tia heard the explosion at the same time a burning sensation spread through her midsection. Her hand went numb and her fingertips slid off the cylinder. A second round was less painful, but somehow she could almost trace the path of the bullet as it nicked her spleen and exited out her back. Tia took a desperate breath, forcing herself to be calm and surrender to whatever her fate might be.
Lying flat on her back, searching for a last moment of peace, twenty-eight-year-old Tia Suarez allowed herself to drift away. The gunman pulled himself to his feet and stood over her. He pointed the gun at her face as she pictured her parents on their farm in Jalisco. She closed her eyes and conjured a mental image of the family she might one day have had. She heard the repeating clicks of the hammer as it fell on empty cylinders. Tia opened her eyes and a child appeared before her, calm and smiling as the gunman limped and stumbled away. A girl, Tia thought her to be four, maybe five years old was out of place in the café that was now deserted and quiet. Tia lay on the floor, and the little girl, ghost-like yet firm, pulled her close. Strength flowed from the child and Tia’s pain disappeared. Her body now weightless, Tia watched the café drift away behind her.
“Come with me, it’s not your time,” the child whispered.
Tia sensed an intense familiarity, although the little one was unknown to her. “Where do we go, mija?”
“No es tu tiempo. Ven con migo y te mostraré el camino a casa.”
Tia took the small girl’s offered hand. Together they walked down a path of shimmering shallow water, moving away from a distant brilliant light. Tia stood straight, overcome by a sense of wonder at the possibilities of what might come next.