The Kill (27 page)

Breaking up Armond’s organization in America a few months back had set many young girls free. What Armond had done was unacceptable. He had to be stopped. A man like that cannot be rehabilitated. Death is the only way.

Yet she didn’t know if she could do it. When the time came, would she pull the trigger? Or did she have to wait until she caught him in a compromising situation to justify the kill?

And why wasn’t Vivian giving her any messages? The last one was in the States. Was it because she was overseas?

Sarah shook her head at that notion.
No way. Couldn’t be. Vivian’s dead. She’s on the Other Side. My sister can travel wherever she wants to be with me.

A soft scuffling sound interrupted her thoughts. She looked around but couldn’t see anything or anyone close. She leaned back against the wall where she’d loitered for the past hour.

Why had there been no communication? Could it be because in the States when Vivian gave her direction it was more about saving those girls while here it’s all about killing Armond? Is that it? If she’s just hunting the man then she’s no better than a mercenary or an assassin hired to execute another? Would Vivian sanction that? Or were there others involved on the Other Side, directing Vivian now?

Sarah looked up at the dark summer sky and asked out loud, “After all the evil Armond has done, isn’t this still righteous? How come it was okay to kill him while he was in the act of harming someone but now when walking through the park it isn’t?”

She had come to Hungary because of Vivian. She took the money from her father for the ticket. He believed in her. And now, after a month, she was no further ahead despite taking a crash course in Hungarian, which seemed to be the hardest language in the world to understand. At least they had North American restaurants and the hotels were quite similar.

But that introduced another problem. She could be found here. In the States she could use motels that took cash. Here she had to use her credit card and show her passport routinely. Anyone who wanted to find her, could. She felt too exposed. Maybe Armond was watching her right now while she hunted him.

How crazy my life has become.

Sarah stepped out of the shadows and edged closer to the street. Online she had read that the eighth district was the most dangerous part of Budapest. She was sadly disappointed. Nothing at all had happened each of the nights she had come here looking to be mugged or attacked.

She brought no weapons of any kind. Her hands were fast enough. She had learned a few pressure points on the human body to know exactly where to touch a two hundred pound man. With her thumb alone she could have a man on the ground choking on his collapsed trachea after having applied the proper pressure.

Yet no one challenged her.

Nearing the street Sarah saw a little Lada Sputnik go by. She watched its taillights disappear down the road, leaving her alone again.

She started the quiet walk back to the Best Western hotel. The stupid heels she wore were getting caught on the uneven pavement and making her stumble. She stopped, reached down and took them both off. Barefoot, she continued walking the empty streets of Budapest.

What about saving people?

Why wouldn’t Vivian send her something so that she could do a few tasks, something to make her feel useful? After all, she was an Automatic Writer. Her sister had been using this talent for many years, saving so many people…and then as soon as she landed in Budapest the well went dry.

Something had changed. It was different now. Maybe the rules on the Other Side had been altered? There was no way for Sarah to know. She would just have to wait. Eventually Vivian would use her again. She’d make contact or Sarah would be forced to fly back to the States. What a waste of time this trip would be if she ended up at home having accomplished nothing.

She turned a corner and slowed up. Three men were whispering to each other on the opposite side of the street. They stood in the shadows under an awning.

Could this be a waste of time? Would any of them have a weapon?

She continued walking. But this time she acted afraid that they might see her. She stayed on her side of the street and even added a little skip in her step. As she passed the three men they turned as one and began walking on their side of the street.

Got their attention. Good.

She kept going, walking so fast now that she was almost doing a slow jog. Up ahead she saw a busier street. It had to be around three in the morning and yet every few seconds another car would pass by.

With the aid of a window in the side of the building she was passing Sarah could see the threesome were crossing the street behind her. They were closing the distance quickly, hoping to stop her before she got to the busier intersection.

Something else caught her eye. A man was leaning against a light post across the street. From the reflection in the window it appeared he was watching her.

She spun around and stared at him. She couldn’t see his face in the dark. He wore a hat with a small brim. After a moment of staring at each other he lowered his head a little and raised his right hand to tip the corner of his hat.

The three men were almost upon her now. She had to move.

One thing she really hated was being followed. By now she would normally have turned around and allowed them the chance to run, but she needed them close.

“Hey baby,” one of them yelled.

She turned to look at them. They were about ten feet behind her. Two of them were of a darker skin color.

Gypsies
.

She’d been warned about them. These gypsies were getting a bad name for themselves in Hungary. There was a small group of men who hunted gypsies. They committed horrible crimes, even killing gypsies. All that perpetuated was more violence and then they got themselves arrested. Who was better with that rationale?

Sarah faced the trio as she started to walk backwards. The busier street was just over a block away now. Even if she ran, they’d catch her.

The time had come.

“Do any of you three speak English?”

The white guy in the middle nodded and smiled. “I speak fluent British English. My two friends here don’t but they can basically understand you. Now tell us, what would you be doing in a neighborhood like this, dressed like that? Are you for hire?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty bitch. I like that.”

She was still walking backwards. She looked for the man in the hat who had been leaning on the light post but he had disappeared. A quick look over her shoulder revealed a drop off in the sidewalk coming. Sarah hopped over a little to her right and used the street. In that second the trio moved as one to close the gap even more. Now they were four feet from her.

“You wanna have some fun with us?”

“Sure, but not tonight. Maybe some other time. Leave me your number. Maybe I’ll call.”

“No. You don’t come down here dressed like that and expect us not to notice. You came looking for some action. We’ve seen you around a couple nights in a row. What else would you be here for if you’re not hooking?”

Even though she knew he was right because she knew how men thought, dressing the way she did was never an open invitation. That was the part of men she hated.

“Hey, asshole. No still means no. It doesn’t matter how a girl dresses.”

One of the gypsies smirked.

“Do that again and I will break your fucking nose,” Sarah said.

The gypsy turned to the leader. It was evident to Sarah that the guy in the middle who’d been doing all the talking was the one they looked up to.

She held both her shoes in her left hand. Without looking down she adjusted the heel of one of the shoes to angle outward and the strap of the other to dangle loosely off her last two fingers.

She had stepped back a few more times. One fast look over her shoulder told her they were running out of time if these boys wanted to dance without being seen by the numerous drivers racing by. Maybe fifteen feet separated her from the sidewalk of the busy street.

She stared at the leader. He was smiling like he knew they had her. He looked confident and filled with attitude. He had to play the part for his boys. She’d seen this all too often.

Sarah slowed her step and then stopped walking about ten feet from the corner. They hadn’t tried anything yet. They’d waited too long. These guys were barely hitting their mid-twenties and were too afraid to outright attack her. Maybe a warning was what was needed. They should learn not to follow girls like they just did.

There was no way they were packing a gun. They weren’t tough enough. This had been a waste of time.

She needed a shot of whiskey and her bed.

“Okay, here’s how we’re going to play this. You three turn around and go back to wherever it is you crawled out of and I am going back to my hotel. That is the only way no one gets hurt. We all act like we didn’t meet each other at all tonight.”

The gypsy smirked at her again but this time he laid his head back, looking down at her along the bridge of his nose.

She’d warned him to not do that. He was taunting her. It was like he raised his nose in the air on purpose to offer it to her.
Here, break it. Show me what you got,
was written all over his face.

Well fuck him. He just bought a free ride to the local hospital
.

Sarah lunged forward with one quick step and raised her right foot into the guy’s stomach. The blow caused him to fold at the waist as the wind was kicked out of his gut. In that brief second, Sarah was already lifting her right elbow up. His face came down and forward as he folded and made contact with her elbow, snapping his nose with an audible crack. She extended her arm fully, using the back of her fist to smash into the side of his head.

The smirking gypsy fell to the ground half moaning, half squealing while he tried to breathe through his wrecked nose. Blood was already oozing down his face as he rolled on the ground.

This all happened in less than four seconds. The only brave one to stay close and not fall back was the English-speaking guy.

Sarah raised her left hand and presented him with the heel.

“Step up motherfucker. Step up and this heel goes in your eye hole.”

He paused a second and then stepped back, his hands out in front of him in surrender.

The guy on the ground moaned increasingly louder.

“I warned him. Now I’m warning you. A woman can dress any way she wants. Just because I have a nice red top and a dress, it doesn’t give you the right to assume I am going to be a willing victim. How do you
not
know that I’m lost. My husband and I might have been out on the town and I got lost.”

“You don’t have a wedding ring,” English said.

“Smart. Okay, be smart. We both know what’s going on here. You three followed me and tried to scare me. That shit is old. It doesn’t work on me. But the problem is, other girls would be afraid. Seriously afraid. Either get jobs and do something productive with your life or you won’t live long.”

What am I doing? Giving motivational speeches to street thugs at three in the morning in downtown Budapest? Better yet, why am I doing it? I can’t save the world.
Maybe my sister needs to make contact so I can stop looking for a fight.

“You are fucked,” English said. “We do have jobs. Good stable ones. We weren’t going to do anything. We were just following you. Taunting, teasing. We aren’t gang bangers as you call it in America. And now you’ve really hurt my friend. Just get out of here. Leave us alone.”

Sarah stepped back. Was she losing it? Is that why Vivian hadn’t been in touch? Did her sister feel she was unstable? Had the pressure been too much? She always thought she could handle it. Why would Vivian start sending her messages in the first place if she felt Sarah was too weak?

Still, these three men had made the wrong choice. They could’ve let her pass. They could’ve continued talking among themselves. But instead they had started to follow her. They had crossed the street and actually made her turn around to watch their progress as they got closer. The street was relatively dark. It was the eighth district. Gypsies had a nasty reputation. It all added together and came out with nothing nice. Any other woman would’ve been terrified. They made the wrong choice.

Fuck it, they deserved this.

“Are any of you three carrying a weapon?”

English looked at his other pal standing to her left. He looked back at her and shook his head. She couldn’t tell what he was feeling. It wasn’t confidence anymore. It was more of a knowing look. Like he’d seen her before or maybe he recognized her. After the Mormon compound was raided, Sarah’s face was plastered on the front pages of hundreds of newspapers across North America. Maybe even parts of Europe reported on her too.

The English-speaking guy did say something a moment ago referencing America. Did he guess based on her look or her voice? Or did he know?