Chapter 8 Fight, No Flight #2
Lilia laughed softly. “Yes, I’m serious.
Yes, I have bosses. And yes, I can do that, because I’ve been saving a slot for you for whenever you might need it.
I have a small amount of slack here that credits me the ability to offer some ‘charity’ work, they would prefer it’s something that could make for good PR for the firm, but how is repaying a debt to the nurse who saved my niece’s life not good PR?
And what you’re asking? It might be a bigger job, but it’ll damn sure show the people they care to impress that we step up.
So, yes, Lynnette, I’m dead serious. This is a good cause.
I’d give you a hell of a deal even if I didn’t owe you a life, anyway. ”
Lynnette blew out a breath that had her eyes burning for a dangerous second. “Bitch, I need you to warn me before you say stuff like that.”
Lilia’s next laugh was louder. When she composed herself, she refocused the conversation.
“Now, about this department. I don’t want to screw around on this.
If Jenna wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak directly with Steph’s mother—Martha, right?
I need as much first-hand information as possible.
Quotes, timelines, everything. I’ll need recorded statements from all of you.
In writing with signatures is always preferred, but video testimony is allowable these days.
Once we’ve got those things in-hand, I’m filing.
There will be a chance for them to rectify their misdeeds and demonstrate improvement, unfortunately, but in the event that they fail to do so, I’m going to push for emergency impeachment of every badge-carrying member of that department we can connect to this shitshow. ”
Lynnette came to a full stop. “And it’ll just happen?”
“Oh, god, no,” Lilia said with a dismissive snort.
“I just made it sound easy to help you understand the goals. There will be mountains of forms, filing, wait times while the opposition is notified, more wait times while they’re allowed to respond, more forms and whatever other bullshit is prompted from those responses—it does not happen overnight.
That’s why I don’t want to delay. I can draw up our contract to get this all started, and I’ll put Martha’s name on it, too, and email it out as soon as I have everyone’s emails. That much I can accomplish tonight.”
“I don’t know why you haven’t made partner yet,” Lynnette said, a smile lifting her lips, “but when this is done, they’ll be begging you. Thanks so much, Lil.”
“Are you kidding? What you described is terrible, but I’m freaking salivating at the notion of taking these assholes down. Get back with me with Martha’s info, okay?”
“Will do.” Lynnette disconnected and twisted back toward Jenna, finally feeling lighter. It wasn’t the help they’d wanted to get, but it was help nonetheless.
“Oh my God,” Jenna exclaimed after Lynnette shared Lilia’s plans, more or less. Jenna wiped a tear from her eye and hurried to dial Martha to loop the woman in.
By the time that was done, and they’d both taken another moment to breathe, the tension that had surrounded them felt as though it was ebbing.
Finally. Lynnette had pulled herself back up onto her tailgate, a bit more settled in her skin again, and it took her a second too long to process the sounds of approaching vehicles.
But the sounds were too close, which fully penetrated when the engines stopped.
Lynnette twisted and pushed to her feet inside the truck bed, spotting two unfamiliar vehicles that had come to a stop, angled perfectly to pin her and Jenna in at the edge of the parking lot.
There was more than enough space to maneuver through the lot, so there was no denying the move was intentional.
As she watched, doors opened, and four men stepped out. All tatted up. All armed.
Alarm rang through her and she stomped up until the backside of her truck roof physically held her in check.
“Hey, what’s the big idea, blocking us in?
We’re not bothering anyone.” She bounced her eyes between each man, committing their exposed faces and what she saw of their tattoos to memory.
Their faces, hair, eyes, and ink would be a lot more helpful in identifying them later than their choice of clothing.
But everything about them concerned her.
They screamed gangster without making a sound.
It was stereotyping, yes, but stereotypes only developed because there was always some truth to them.
And the four men closing in on the space between her truck and Jenna’s SUV were not doing their fellows any favors.
The man with the distinctive neck tattoo took a step forward and raised his chin.
From Lynnette’s perspective she could make out a stylized Z, V, E, and another letter that included a vertical bar.
Or perhaps it was an I. She couldn’t see around his neck well enough to follow it.
His Spanish accent was unmistakable, but his English was perfectly clear when he spoke, his glare aimed past her—to Jenna. “PJ sends his regards.”
Lynnette frowned. Who in the hell is PJ?
There was no time to ask, though, because the group of armed men was moving forward.
And if their glare had been any indication, Jenna was their target.
Jenna, her best friend who preferred to avoid confrontations.
Jenna who, when she absolutely couldn’t avoid a confrontation, always tried to end them with kind or thoughtful words and pastries.
None of that was going to help.
Lynnette yanked her keys from her shirt pocket and pivoted, tossing the keys into Jenna’s lap as she moved.
She really hated the idea of what she’d have to do, and of what Jenna would have to do, but there was no avoiding it.
These assholes were insisting on violence. So, she would give them violence.
To Jenna, she said, “As soon as you get the chance, get behind the wheel and force your way through!” It made her heart hurt a little, because that meant her truck would take damage. But better her truck than her living, breathing friend.
She heard Jenna call out to her as she launched herself over the side of the truck and directly into the path of their assailants, but she couldn’t afford to divert her attention any longer.
She swallowed a curse as she examined them.
Only three. The fourth had peeled off. Probably gone around for another angle. Fuck.
All Lynnette could do was hope Jenna would be able to handle one, or at least dodge one.
The three in front of her began to snicker and spread out, trying to surround her.
There was just enough room between her truck and Jenna’s SUV that they’d be able to if she let them.
They kept their eyes on her but started speaking to each other in Spanish, slinging insults and derogatory comments about her they clearly didn’t think she could understand.
She knew better than to let herself react to it. The words only hurt if she let them. It was the knives in their hands she needed to be cautious of.
She drew a slow, deep breath and held still, feet apart, waiting for someone to make a move. They were obviously eager to do their worst. One of them would move. And one of them did, practically before she could think it.
The man to her left, closest to her truck, dove forward.
He had his open-handed arm up and knife held with the clear intention to stab her.
Lynnette twisted into his reach and side-chopped his inner wrist to forcefully unclench his hand.
She followed that with a throat-grab and slammed her knee into his gut, just below his ribcage, which knocked the entire man into the side of her truck.
Since she’d held onto him, his impact was minimum and probably didn’t leave a dent in the metal.
She dropped the wheezing man and spun, confident that at least one of the others was trying to take advantage of her supposed distraction.
She tipped the toe of her boot onto the fallen knife and sharply kicked it forward, into the path of one of the others, causing the jackass to stumble back.
His compatriot closed in with a particularly crude insult about her biology, so Lynnette ducked beneath his high swing, clasped her hands together, and jammed her elbow in hard to his ribs.
Bone cracked. His knife clattered to the ground as he sank to his knees practically on top of her, suddenly gasping for air.
Lynnette caught him by the arm, heaved herself backward, and spun him mercilessly around into her first assailant who thought he’d caught his second wind. The pair crashed back into her truck and sank to the ground once more.
The third asshole, with the fancy neck tat, had decided to keep his distance. He’d picked up that she wasn’t a slouch in hand-to-hand. Smart for him, annoying for her.
So, she tried the juvenile tactic and pulled her lips into a smirk as if she were having fun, quipping, “Aw, are you only brave when you have armed friends flanking you, hombrecito?”
Neck Tat’s lips curled back in a snarl of visible rage.
She wasn’t honestly sure if that was because of her taunting or due to her revealing that she knew his language.
He didn’t know her, so he didn’t know she’d grown up in California.
That was his bad. When he spoke again, he spoke in English, leading her to believe the anger she’d seen was over losing his supposed leverage.
“I’m gonna cut you open and leave you for the vultures. ”
Lynnette straightened her posture. “You’ll have to get a little closer for that.” She let her eyes issue the challenge. Neck Tat was not the largest of the three she’d intercepted, and the other two were still groaning on the ground.
He promptly cut his eyes to the side and bit out an order for them to get to their feet, in Spanish.