"I can see why. Although your face is unmarked, you have injuries to your head, which probably caused at least a minor concussion-besides a wicked headache-and you have injuries to your ribs-probably bruises or minor fractures. And probably multiple bruises and scrapes elsewhere," I said, evaluating what I could see from the way she moved.
"You are very observant." She gave me a hard look.
"Your life may depend upon me being observant. I'm more effective when I know trouble is imminent." I smiled to make up for my tantrum before, not that it wasn't partly justified.
"Witton did say you had rules. We might as well come to an agreement about them. What are they?" The lawyer in her leaned forward, ready for counter arguments.
"They boil down to,
ignore me.
"
She laughed. "I somehow think that simple explanation, while it may be correct, is far more complex in practice."
"When you get annoyed and angry at me consider this. I'm willing to risk my life to protect you. Unless I'm in a position to protect you, I'm protecting me not you."
"Fair enough. I'll try. Now I need to continue my appointment with Mr. Tomson." She buzzed Dorothy, and a few minutes later Tomson walked through the door. I moved back against the wall.
"I'm afraid you can't stay, Lynn."
"Ignore me. People are going to have to understand I'm a Kazak. I don't care about your secrets or theirs. I have diplomatic immunity and attorney/client privilege. We couldn't protect politicians, diplomats, and business leaders without those conditions. I've trained longer to be a Kazak than you did to be a lawyer."
"I knew just
ignore me
wasn't as simple as it sounded." She had three client meetings that day. It took ten minutes to convince each one that I wasn't a threat. After five minutes or so, she and the client ignored me.
"I have to admit that
ignore me
isn't as bad as I had imagined. You do tend to go unnoticed after a while; however, I'm sure there are more surprises to come. It's time to call it a day. I'm tired. I assume you are going to follow me home?"
"Yes. Until the current situation is resolved, you and I are Siamese twins. I can't protect you in the next room, or following you in a car, or
...
"
She grabbed her coat, pushed some papers into a briefcase, and left. Her apartment was less than a mile from her office in a middle-class neighborhood-medium-sized apartment buildings, twenty-year-old condos, and several mom and pop restaurants and businesses. It was early in the evening and the streets were busy. Caitlin's condo was in a well-maintained four-story building. We rode a small elevator to the third floor where there were eight units. As I entered, the eclectic feel of the room struck me. It was neither modern nor old but a blend of both, a good room in which to relax after the stress and strain of a hectic day. It struck me how hard it was to evaluate people without seeing all aspects of their lives.
"Well, Lynn. I imagine you're off to eat and get some rest. It must be hard standing around waiting for something to happen. I noticed that you never relax. You evaluate every person that approaches me. It must be exhausting."
"Remember my Siamese twins statement? I'll be with you twenty-four-seven until this assignment ends. Say hello to your new shadow." I made a small bow.
"You're kidding. No one works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."
"Caitlin, the people that hate you don't take time off during the night and give you rest periods-just the opposite. They want you on edge every hour of every day. It's the same terrorism we associate with car bombs overseas. They want you to fear every sound you hear, every person you see, and your own shadow." I watched her as she removed her coat and placed the briefcase on a small table at the entrance. I could see her start to tremble as I talked. "I don't mean to be cruel, but you need to understand these people. They begin because they dislike what you're doing but soon become obsessed with the power it gives them over you. Most people have no defense against these tactics. You have me. As they are about to find out, Kazaks are bad people to make mad."
She gave me a weak grin. "Then I'll need to prepare meals for two."
"I'll pay for the food and prepare my own or help you in any way you want. I noticed you have only one bedroom. I'll sleep out here on the couch, if you don't mind."
She made a good-tasting stew. Afterward we sat around talking. She nervously described the two attacks. From her description of the incidents, I felt they were local thugs or friends of someone in a position of importance-a valued citizen of the city- eager to help.
At bedtime, I walked around the unit and found several old blankets to cover the windows during the night and put a table in front of the only door. She gave me strange looks but said nothing. The next morning, while having cereal and milk for breakfast, she made a list of groceries needed to feed two. I added coffee since she preferred tea.
The day was quiet. She saw two clients, and spent several hours reading and preparing legal documents. We left earlier in the afternoon than we had the previous day, so she could shop. I followed, watching people as usual. I didn't see any signs of her being watched or followed. That night I helped prepare dinner, mostly cutting up and washing things. I certainly wasn't a cook. The Hill had convinced me that food was necessary to keep the body going, nothing more. Consequently, it didn't matter what I ate or when. That was not to say that I didn't like some foods more than others. I just wouldn't go out of my way to get them.
Two days later, she attended a meeting representing her clients-Gay and Lesbian Rights Coalition, GLRC-against the Citizens for Decency Rights Council, CDRC.
"Who's that?" one of the lawyers for the other side asked when he saw me standing against the wall off to the side.
"My chaperone. You apparently have sympathizers that don't believe in the legal system of justice. They act like lawless vigilantes. She's the sheriff."
"Are you accusing my clients of using violence?"
"Terrill, quit posturing. Your clients are here with their lawyers, not guns, but this suit is an emotional issue. There are those who believe they have a right to use violence. I'm sure you and your clients have had it happen to you."
She appeared to have a reasonable case as the opposition was going to great pains to reach a compromise that would preclude legal compliance. The meeting ended after a lot of talking and no agreement. Most of the opposition ignored me, except for one man, who gave me an appraising look before leaving. If he weren't part of what was going on, he would like to be.
The next day was quiet. Caitlin spent the entire day either on the phone or preparing legal documents.
"Lynn, I usually eat out at that small Italian restaurant on the corner. Do you mind? You may enjoy the food." She was a tough litigator, but a gentle woman being terrorized by criminals who thought they were good, responsible citizens.
"I want to disrupt your life as little as possible, as hard as that might be to believe. I hate to introduce another rule, but for restaurants, you must pick a table near or against a wall in an area where I can see the entire room. If I eat, it will be something I can hold in my hand. I'll be standing while you eat. No, I don't think it's necessary at this time. It's my current opinion that you are being terrorized by thugs, who are being encouraged by otherwise upstanding citizens. If that is the case, they will attempt to attack you when you're alone, not in a restaurant or store. If these upstanding citizens fail to intimidate you into dropping the suit, then they may feel they have God's approval to contract a professional enforcer or an Assassin.
They
will attack you anywhere. Sorry. You have a naturally paranoid Kazak watching after you, whose motto is better safe than sorry."
"I don't know if I feel worse about the
...
thugs, or the discomfort you're imposing on yourself for my protection."
"Don't feel sorry for me. I love my work and my life. There is nothing I'd rather do, just as I'm sure you love your work, although it's stressful and unappreciated at times."
"You're a strange person, Kazak Lynn. Your rules seem ridiculous to me, but they make me feel safe." She did decide to eat at the small restaurant she patronized regularly. Everyone stared at her and me, until I caught his or her eyes. The chef seemed to take it in stride and brought me a meatball sub. I suspect he knew that Caitlin had been assaulted and liked the idea that she had protection.
It was late when we arrived back at Caitlin's condo. The building had no security but the door to the entrance was locked. The problem was that the residents could buzz someone in from their units. All you had to do was claim you had a delivery, or wait for someone to enter and walk in after them, claiming you were a cousin or some other excuse. If you waited for an older person, they were unlikely to argue with you.
I had just stepped off the elevator when I saw two men, one on my left and the other on my right. I pushed Caitlin back in as the door closed.
"Lookie what we have here, Artie. Babbcox's lesbian friend. A good fuck by real men should change her preferences."
"Hank, I get her first," Artie said, to distract me as Hank swung his bat at my ribs. Rather than move away toward Artie, I moved into Hank. Lesson 101 from the Hill-for a long weapon, move in close, making it ineffective; for a short weapon, move away. His bat hit the wall behind me, as I was inside his arm and up close and personal. As the sound reverberated throughout the hallway, my knee drove into his balls, my elbow into his jaw, and my foot into his instep. My knee produced a loud woof, my elbow caused blood to splatter against the far wall, and my foot created a satisfying feeling of crunching bones. I turned toward Artie as Hank spun away into the wall.
Artie was a couple of yards away and had been slow to react. He rushed me, bat over his head for a downward strike. I moved in again, this time with my arms crossed in an X, catching his downward strike. I slid a hand down his arm and grasped his wrist. Then I twisted it hard and drove the elbow of my other arm into his extended arm. I felt the joint dislodge. As it did, I caught the bat he had released and rotated it over my head in a 360-degree circle into his knee. He fell to the floor screaming. I waited, until the screams turned to sobs.
"Well, Artie. Now that we've gotten to know each other, I'd like to know the name of the man who sent you here."
"He'll have... " sob, "
...
you arrested for
...
" sob, "
...
this, you freak."
"Artie, his name please." I tapped lightly on his damaged knee with the bat. He screamed. I couldn't blame him. I'd bet it hurt. It looked to be a compound fracture. "I'll bet if I hit you right here," I tapped the bat against his knee for another scream, "that I could damage that knee so badly they would have to amputate." I raised the bat, staring at his knee.
"McCabe, Henry." He lay back, tears running down his face and blood dripping from his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue. Just then, an elderly man stuck his head half way out his door.
"Sir, please call 9-1-1. We have two men who seem to have hurt themselves. I think they'll need medical assistance. I'd help but I'm not a doctor." I smiled sweetly. Just then the elevator door opened and Caitlin looked out.
"I know I shouldn't have come back up but
...
Oh my God." She stared at the mayhem around me.
"Well we know who doesn't like you. A Mr. Henry McCabe."
***
Two policemen and two medics arrived a while later. Caitlin appeared in shock, so I had her go into her unit. Now, all the tenants were in the hall whispering. When the sergeant got out of the elevator, he spent several minutes looking at the men on the floor, then up and down the hallway. I raised my hand.
"These two men attacked Miss Babbcox and me, as we exited the elevator."
"Did you do this? Who are you?" He moved to face me.
"I'm Kazak Lynn and yes, I did this," I said politely.
He pulled his gun. The junior policeman with him just stood there with his hand on his gun.
"You're under arrest."
"For what?"
"For attacking these men." He grinned. I smashed the wrist with the gun, knocking it out of his hand, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall, while drawing my gun and pointing it in the other policeman's face.
"If either of you move, I'll kill you. These men attacked Miss Babbcox and me. It's obvious, since there are two baseball bats on the floor, and they don't live in this building. Second, I told you I'm a Kazak. You can't arrest a Kazak. Third, if I kill you nothing will happen except your wife and a few relatives might grieve over your death. I have diplomatic immunity. So I'll go free," I said. The sergeant's face had gone pale, maybe because my fingers were digging into his throat. I opened my cell phone and hit
1
on the speed dial.
"Yes," Witton answered.
Elegant answering skills.
"Miss Babbcox and I were attacked in the hallway of her condo building. I defended myself. Because I was in a good mood, they'll be on their way to the hospital rather than the morgue. I have a police sergeant... " I looked at his name tag, "Ricker, by the neck with one hand, and the other has my gun in his face. Ricker wants to arrest me for attacking the two men who attacked me. I told him I was a Kazak, but he doesn't seem to know and can't or doesn't care to find out what that means. Can you take care of this misunderstanding?" I had the phone on speaker.
"Don't kill him." The phone went on hold.
"Both of you, lie on the floor face down." My arm was getting tired. When they were down, I relieved them of their weapons. Five minutes later, the phone came off hold.
"Ricker's captain will call him shortly. He's on the way to Babbcox's condo." The phone went dead. Sure enough, Ricker's police radio came to life a minute later.
"Ricker!" the voice said. "This is Captain Miller. Leave that Kazak alone. That's an order. I'll be there in ten minutes." The radio went dead. I let Ricker and his partner get up, and handed them their guns. I knew Ricker would have liked to shoot me. With reluctance, he returned his gun to his holster. I decided to wait with my client in her unit. Sometime later, there was a knock at the door. I answered. A police captain stood there waiting.