With my head ducked deep into my turned-up collar and wisps of hair dancing around my face, I couldn’t see much more than my feet beating a quick pace to my apartment building. I gave up the idea of calling Tom. My right hand pressed deep into my pocket, hiding from the cold, while my brave left hand pulled the collar close to my face so only my eyes and nose poked above it.
When the clouds above me opened and the rain came, I squinted against the sharp prickles of ice that stung my face. My quick walk became a hurried trot. It was then I noticed the accompanying trot behind me. Someone else was hurrying to get wherever he needed to go. Despite the fact that I was moving pretty fast, the person behind me was moving faster.
I glanced back. A man in a black Windbreaker was closing. With it being so dark, and with the icy rain blurring the street and my vision, I couldn’t tell the guy’s age, but he had to be fairly young-or in very good shape-to be moving at such a quick clip. Wearing blue jeans and shoes that made a unique double-clicking sound as he walked-almost as though he wore tap shoes-the man kept his head down. He wore a baseball cap with a dark hooded sweatshirt pulled tight around his face. Both hands were stuffed in his pockets.
Maintaining my own hurried pace, I eased to the right of the sidewalk to let the runner go by, peering over the edge of my collar as he got close enough to pass. He was tall-maybe six foot-and if the tight jacket was any indication, he weighed more than two hundred pounds.
There was a tree in my path. I could scoot left and possibly bump this guy, or go way off to the right, near the curb.
I veered right, hoping to reclaim my wide sidewalk berth once the guy passed me.
But he didn’t.
Coming around the tree, I was forced to either speed up or slow down. He’d slowed his own pace and was now blocking my way. This was like a bad merge on an expressway.
I wrinkled my nose against the cold and eased in behind him. My apartment was just another couple of blocks away, and I rationalized that this big, bulky guy would block the wind for me.
But when I got behind him, he slowed down again. The trot lessened to a brisk walk, then lessened again to what could only generously be called a stroll.
Was this guy playing games with me? Did he not know I was behind him?
Whatever was going on, it was giving me the creeps. My building wasn’t much farther, and I’d planned to cross the street at the light, but common sense told me to change my course right now.
I shot over to the curb and waited for a pair of shiny headlights to pass before racing across the street. My heart pounded as I skipped up the far curb. I chastised myself for my anxiety. Just my imagination working overtime again. I knew I had a paranoid streak, but the truth was, that paranoia had come in handy more times than I cared to count.
I pulled my collar close again, and tried to make out where the guy across the street had gone. The sleet was heavier and the cold seemed to worsen with every slash of rain against the dark cement. I couldn’t wait to climb into my flannels and pull a cover over my chilled limbs. I couldn’t see the opposite side of the street, but I took comfort in the fact that it meant he couldn’t see me either.
Just the same, I resumed my trot. A moving target is harder to hit, as Tom always tells me. I smiled again at the thought of calling him. With any luck, he’d brave the elements and we could snuggle under those covers together.
My smile vanished when I heard the double-clicks again. Behind me. No way.
I was about to turn to see what I already knew-that the bulky guy was back-but by the time my head twisted over my shoulder, it was too late.
In a searingly hot second, he kicked me in the left knee. I shouted, both in pain and surprise. Unprepared for the attack, I flew facefirst to the sidewalk, my arms coming up just in time to break my fall. Even as I went down screaming, I prayed my hands and fingers wouldn’t be hurt. They were my life, my livelihood.
The bulky guy didn’t break stride, didn’t turn.
Once I was down, he broke into a full-out run and was gone.
“Hey!” I yelled, noticing belatedly that my purse was gone. “Hey!” I said again, but by then I knew it was futile. I tried sitting up, but in the cold my knees felt as brittle as glass. At the same time, my palms burned from where I’d skimmed the sidewalk.
I shouted after him. “You big jerk!”
A soft voice next to me. “Are you okay?”
I felt a tug at my elbow. A small man hovered over me. Even from my seat on the wet sidewalk, I could tell he was shorter than I was. He pulled at my elbow again, trying to help me stand up. When I tried to get my footing, I slipped and sat down hard in wet dirt.
“Ick,” I said, wincing as I struggled to my feet. “I’m okay.”
“You are sure?” The man’s voice held the touch of an accent and now that I stood up, I got a better look at my would-be rescuer. He was of Asian descent with hair so short as to be almost invisible. Although I couldn’t peg his age, I guessed him to be on the far side of fifty. “What did that man do to you?” Using just his eyes, he gestured toward an idling car. “I was driving past and I saw him push you down.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, trying to compose myself. The past several days had crushed the very energy out of everyone at the White House. But this was too much. After everything we’d been through, I shouldn’t have to deal with this. Not today. I stared after the jerk who’d grabbed my purse, fighting overwhelming despair. All my ID was in there. Everything. I’d have to jump through a hundred hoops tomorrow just to get into work. I shook my head, then realized the little guy was waiting for me to say something. “I’m okay. He kicked me. Stole my purse.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Yeah,” I said, blinking against the rain. “Me, too.”
“I am Shan-Yu,” he said, stepping forward.
“I’m Ollie,” I said, responding automatically, thinking that I’d prefer to limp home in a hurry rather than stand in the sleet and chat. My mind was furiously trying to process everything that had just happened, but ingrained politeness kept me steady.
Shan-Yu gestured again with his eyes, keeping his hands together low at his waist. “May I offer you a ride?”
“No, thank you,” I said, slapping my backside to release the dirt that crusted there. It hurt my hands, so I stopped immediately. “I live on the next block.”
“As do I,” he said, then mentioned his address.
“That’s my building, too,” I said.
He smiled. “Please, it would be my pleasure to help you after your encounter.”
The biting rain had turned into a full-out downpour. I looked at the little guy standing next to me, his smile the only brightness in the dark enveloping rain.
“Thanks,” I said. “That would be nice.”
The Toyota Celica’s windshield wipers were flapping as we made our way over. “Allow me,” he said, and he glided ahead to open the passenger door.
We were directly under a streetlight, and as I started around him, I turned once more to take a look at my backside. “Oh,” I said, “I can’t get in your car like this. I’ll get mud all over your seats.”
“Not a problem,” he said, just a little bit too quickly.
I turned, ready to explain again about the dirt on my backside, but the little guy’s eyes suddenly shifted. Too close to me now, he said, “Get in.”
“No, really, I-”
Before I could react, he hit me, hard, in the abdomen. I doubled over and he shoved me into the open door, pushing me down onto the seat. Neither of us counted on the ground being wet, however, and to his dismay and my delight, I slipped and fell to the ground, out of his immediate reach. Scrambling toward the back of the car on all fours, I screamed, both in terror and from the pain. “Help me!”