As his head snapped back, she whipped the cuffs out of his hands with surprising strength and hit him square in the jaw with them. The café let out a collective gasp as Steven fell back, crashing into his table and landing sprawled, moaning on his back. ILLUSTRATION| JOHN NYAGA
She was a fascinating character herself, but her arms, those you stared at long after she turned her beautiful angular face away.
Tall, broad, even then at 17 a hard look already apparent on his handsome face, though it was severely softened as he gazed down at a wiry, dark haired girl beside him who had a thin but prominent snaking tattoo running up the arm that was visible in the picture, a tattoo of roses, vines and butterflies.
Loretta’s arms were captivating to look at, not just for their shape and fine boned elegance, but also for the myriad of patterns and graphics that snaked their way up, down and around her graceful arms; tattoos of flowers, vines that intertwined with butterflies, and tribal markings dotted in perfect synchronicity with each other.
She was a fascinating character herself, but her arms, those you stared at long after she turned her beautiful angular face away. Even now, sitting outside a bustling café, sipping on a strong coffee as she scrolled languidly on her phone, she was striking to watch.
“What’re you looking at?” her voice was low, soft as if she were simply exhaling, but her eyes flashed dangerously.
“Your tattoos,” the man she’d addressed replied, he wasn’t bad to look at, but he was painfully plain, an unremarkable face, in an unremarkable black suit, almost like he was trying not to be noticed or remembered.
“What about them?” Loretta cut in, her voice still breathless as a whisper, but somehow audible in the packed café.
“I like them,” he smiled, showing a set of teeth that were too perfect to be natural, “I especially like that,” he added pointing to her left wrist, where a butterfly morphed into a spider that wrapped itself around her slender bone, “It’s…art!” he shot her another shark like grin but his eyes twinkled genuinely.
Loretta knew she stood out, but she didn’t care. She was as low key as one could be in every other area of her life, almost non-existent, a ghost. A loner who came and went and no one really knew. She would occasionally pop into the little town nestled serenely amongst countless rolling towering hills, covered in lush forestland, browsing through the town’s shops and market places, picking up fresh cuts of free range beef, loaves of fragrant bread, groceries to last a couple of weeks and stopping for a coffee before disappearing again.
“Thanks,” Loretta smiled and turned away. She’d been wary of how intensely this stranger had been staring at her, she’d never seen him before on any of her trips into town since she’d moved into the area seven years ago. But her tattoos were a work of art, and the man seemed harmless enough. Turning her attention back to her warm frothy coffee and the article she’d been reading on her phone, Loretta didn’t see the quick sudden movement from the man, she only felt the cold hard bite of metal as one half of a handcuff clamped down on her left wrist.
“I’m special investigator Steven with the Criminal Department, and we know who you are,” he flashed his immaculate smile at her again, his eyes alight with victory and vengeance.
Despite a conspicuous lack of a ring on her fourth left hand finger, she was rumoured to be married to one of the most powerful men in the country, a kingpin, one who’d simply disappeared eight years before, minutes before he was about to be arrested by the authorities. Steven had been searching for her since he’d found an old photograph of two teenagers holding hands coyly in an open grassy field at sunset. The boy was unmistakable. The man he’d been after for so long, Rick.
Tall, broad, even then at 17 a hard look already apparent on his handsome face, though it was severely softened as he gazed down at a wiry, dark haired girl beside him who had a thin but prominent snaking tattoo running up the arm that was visible in the picture, a tattoo of roses, vines and butterflies.
Loretta may have let her guard down for a minute, but her reflexes were sharpened by years of having had to slip through tight situations. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, striking out with her right hand under Steven’s chin.
As his head snapped back, she whipped the cuffs out of his hands with surprising strength and hit him square in the jaw with them. The café let out a collective gasp as Steven fell back, crashing into his table and landing sprawled, moaning on his back.
Loretta, one hand still in cuffs, took off to where her car was parked under a low, shady tree along with a few others on the main street, noticing three more men in unremarkable black suits leap out of nowhere and start after her. Swinging into her seat, she revved her engine to life, reversed and swerved onto the road, her tires squealing, with two cars in tow.
“Pick up,” Loretta mumbled, one hand on the wheel as she frantically dialed Rick, her husband, “Hello?”
“Hi, did you get the…” his deep voice was smooth, calm.
“They’ve found us!” Loretta cried, her breathless voice a whistle, as fear added several octaves to it, “Three men…four,” she corrected herself knowing she had only stunned Steven temporarily in the café, “They’re behind me now!”
“Take the dirt road, turn off onto the cliff road,” Rick was alert now, sounding calm in spite of his worry for her, “Just…stay safe and get here,” he exhaled, “I’ll be waiting.”
The line went dead as Loretta’s rear window exploded in a shower of twinkling, tinkling glass. She screamed and swerved dangerously. They were shooting at her! She gripped the wheel tighter, lowered her head and pressed her foot to the gas.
