Her Kind Of Hero. Carol Steward

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СКАЧАТЬ Another bust. She may not be able to find the proof she needed to put the gang’s leader away, but she could make Tiger’s “work” more difficult.

      She stepped on the gas pedal but it was too late. A white police car fishtailed as it rounded the curve. It slid on the ice and headed toward her.

      Calli pumped the brakes. Time stopped, and the terror seemed to continue in slow motion. It was no use. Her tires couldn’t grip.

      She pressed the brakes again. Harder. Still nothing. Finally she slammed her foot to the floorboard and gripped the steering wheel, directing her skid away from the police cruiser.

      Her four-wheel drive slammed into the curb and jerked to a stop. Seconds later, the officer pulled closer and rolled down his window. The set of his strong, square jaw personified authority. She couldn’t look away from the deep-set eyes and rugged features that expressed sincere concern.

      Trembling, Calli opened her window. The dark-haired officer leaned out of his car. “Are you okay?”

      She nodded stiffly, and they drove on, into the parking lot. Pull yourself together, Cal. Get going. She shifted into first and stepped on the gas.

      The truck didn’t budge.

      Depressing the clutch, Calli turned the key. “Come on, start.” Without allowing the engine to settle into an even idle, she pulled away.

      “That was too close for comfort. I’ve got to get out of here. Where’s the phone?” She found it in the far corner of the floorboard and shut it off, then turned south on Columbia Boulevard. A few minutes later, flashing lights beckoned in her rearview mirror as backup turned into the apartment complex. “They’re all yours, guys. I’ve done as much as I can.”

      Calli’s heart raced in an unsteady rhythm as the motor purred down the street. Four miles later, she pulled into the parking lot of Teodoro’s, the Quonset hut-turned restaurant she frequented. She clicked off the ignition and leaned her head against the seat. Darn it, Calli. You’re pushing too hard. You’ve got to stop.

      Tugging the bristly hair from her head, she stuffed the blond wig into the bag and let out a deep breath. She gazed into the rearview mirror, removed the glasses and studied herself disapprovingly. After wiping the gauche color from her lips, she applied ointment to help remove the remaining tint. The near-accident replayed in her mind as she yanked a brush through the matted mess of black curls. She had hung around too long, almost long enough to meet the cops in person. That was one complication she didn’t need.

      Stuffing the sundries and the makeup bag into her purse, she slammed the truck door, then walked to the restaurant entrance. Calli took a deep breath and tugged the glass-and-iron door open, anxious to meet friendly faces.

      “May I help you?” the young woman asked.

      Calli didn’t even consult the menu. “Barbaccoa with black beans instead of pintos, and a large diet cola.” She watched as rice and beans were piled onto the tortilla, then salsa and shredded beef. Last was the cheese and sour cream.

      Teodoro’s owner, “Teddy” Chavez, greeted her with a smile. “Your usual, eh, Calli? What are you doing out this late?”

      She let his friendly wink soothe her nerves. A member of her neighborhood watch group, he knew very well what kept her out this late. Yet he always shared her silent celebration at making it through another night safely. She glanced at the staff, and went along with the conversation. “Couldn’t wait for one of your burritos. Just thinking of them keeps me awake at night.”

      “That’s no good. Ah, well, eat and enjoy.” He turned to his employees and rattled off directions to them while Calli crossed the room and seated herself in the plywood chair. She rested her head in her hands and begged her heart to slow down.

      Eating alone beneath the dangling halogen light bulb was much too comfortable. She sliced the giant burrito into two halves and set one aside for tomorrow’s lunch. Her kid brother had always teased her about eating when she was upset If he could only see her now. Listening to alternative music in a dingy restaurant, trying to forget the goodlooking cop who’d nearly run her over.

      Calli pulled the journal from her purse and turned to today’s date.

      January 22, 11:05 p.m.

      She documented her evening’s patrolling events, descriptions and response time of the local law enforcement on the blank pages.

      Calli had started journaling in her early teens, as a way to deal with the loneliness of frequent moves, foreign languages and the other drawbacks of being an army brat. But in recent years the pages were filled with fewer emotions, and more details.

      She thought through the events of the day, then wrote.

      Has no one ever realized the guilt I feel? Surely they have. Over and again, Mom and Dad tell me it wasn’t my fault—that Mike had snuck out before, that nothing anyone had tried had helped him. Why can’t I move on?

      It was not my fault. But maybe if someone had called the cops, maybe he’d be alive today.

      She closed her eyes and whispered, “As in David’s day, I see violence and strife in our streets, on city walls. Be my shelter and my strength, Father.”

      How can I stop now? Community involvement is making a difference. The neighborhood’s crime rate has dropped. I have to keep trying.

      The media tries to convince us that gangs are losing their appeal. They say gang members are frightened off by friends getting hurt and others sent to prisons. Yet, every week, I still see them out there, luring innocent kids into believing that they’ve found a place to belong. Tempting them with the promise of easy money. Trapping them into a life without hope.

      Calli recalled the look in the youth’s eyes as he stared at her. Fear, raw and exposed, spoke to her.

      What was that kid looking back for? A way out, or someone they left behind?

      Police sirens jolted her back to the present. The cruiser sped past the front of the restaurant. The officer she’d nearly collided with reappeared in her mind. His concerned gaze lingered there, like an unwelcome guest. Reflections of light glimmered over his handsome face. She shook her head. He’s just another cop. They all have that look.

      Thankful that she took the time to don her disguise, Calli wondered if they would place her as the caller. Did they get her license number? Hopefully she’d gotten away before they had the chance.

      How can I give up now? There has to be a way to help kids like that.

      The pen stopped.

      Kids like Mike. She never believed that he wanted in to the gang. Never allowed herself to see him as needing something more in his life. Maybe she’d been wrong. About Mike, and the gangs, and thinking she could make a difference—to anybody.

      She noticed the employees wiping Formica-topped tables, wrapping stainless-steel food bins and polishing the glass block room divider.

      “Calli, we’re closing.” Teddy set a foil sheet next to her plastic basket. “For your leftovers.”

      She finished chewing and gulped her soda to wash the bite down her dry throat. After closing her journal, Calli wrapped the extra half. СКАЧАТЬ