Short Story
A young lesbian walking home alone at night is rescued
from a gang by a mysterious woman named Katy. Intrigued by the
encounter, she seeks out Katy at a local bar, only to discover there's a
lot more to Katy - and her encounter - than what she initially thought.
Excerpt
"You're being followed."
"Huh?" I said, not very brightly. She had spoken in a whisper, but the
effect was the same as if she had shouted. The voice, practically in my
ear, made me jump. I hadn't heard anybody even approaching me, would
have sworn I was entirely alone on the street. A woman, walking by
yourself late at night, you needed to be careful. I had thought I was.
Where the hell had she come from?
I looked sideways. A stranger, cute, young, white-blonde hair. In the
moonlight, her eyes, staring hard into mine, looked fashioned of silver.
"What did you say?" I was still having trouble getting a handle on this.
What was going on here?
"Not so loud," she said, still whispering. "I said, you're being
followed. No, don't look. If they know you're on to them, they'll take
after you."
"They who? And who the hell are you?"
"They're gangbangers, five of them. They've been tailing you since you
left The Midnight Oil."
"Why?"
Her smile was mirthless. "Why do you think?"
"Well, yeah, but, Jesus, that's four, five blocks. If that's what they
wanted to do…"
A car went by. I saw as it passed that it was a cop car. The guy on the
passenger side glanced over at us, said something to the driver. I
thought about flagging them down, but by the time I'd had that idea,
they were gone, disappearing down the street. Another car went by in the
opposite direction, a woman, driving alone, staring steadfastly straight
ahead.
"That's why," she said. "It's too public here. They're waiting for you
to turn down one of the side streets, where they can do it without
witnesses."
"This is crazy," I said. "I live down Adams Street. It's like a tomb
there, no street lights, everybody'll be in bed by this time. You mean
as soon as I turn down there, try to go home, they'll come after me?
What am I supposed to do? Shouldn't we start running now, or something?
Try to get away from them before I get to my street?"
"Worst thing you could do. It's like a mountain lion, someone starts to
run, it gets the cat excited, he goes after them. That's what they like,
these guys, they want to know that you're scared, it turns them on."
I was scared, and getting more so by the minute. Two women, five guys,
probably hopped up on something. "What, then?" I asked, my voice going
up in pitch, even though we were still whispering.
"Then…this." She gave me a sudden shove. We were at a corner, one of
those dark side streets she had mentioned, and before I knew it, we were
around it. "Now we run," she said, grabbing my arm to emphasize her words.
We did. I thought I heard a shout behind me, and I wondered if we could
really outrun them. I jog, not as regularly as I should—not as regularly
as I now wished I did—but it was almost 2 a.m., and I'd had half a dozen
beers at The Midnight Oil. I hadn't planned on any track practice.
"Here," she said, pulling me through a tall, open gate, and behind stone
walls, thick and ivy covered.
We were in a cemetery, the old Saint Agnes Cemetery, no longer used
since they'd built the new one at the edge of town. She tugged, me,
breathing a little too hard, behind a big stone angel on an oversized
pedestal, the kind of monument no one put up today. I was glad someone
had, whenever. I dropped to my knees in damp grass.
Just in time, too. I heard footsteps running past beyond the wall, deep
male voices exchanging barely discernable remarks: "…a car down there,
maybe she…where'd she…fuckin' bitch.…"
"They'll come back," I started to get up. "They'll look for us. We need
to get out of here."
"No," she said, her hand on my leg. "No, they'll give it up, now that
you're gone. I know these guys. By now, they're a block or more away.
They'll just keep going. It's what they do."
