Chapter 1. Charlie Mack Mystery
Chapter 1
Charlie’s chest clenched. Her lungs fought violently for air.
Can’t breathe.
She shook her head, causing a cascade of pain.
Oooh… my head. What’s happened? Where..?
Trying to remember, she reached for the ache but her bound hands thwarted the effort.
Shit. It was Barnes.
Cold crept along her hip bone, shoulder and ankle where the ground touched her. She felt a slight vibration accompanied by a faint sound. She strained to hear.
A truck…maybe a car. Must be near a road.
She swallowed hard, then let out a yell but her taped lips sent the scream ricocheting inside her throbbing head. A spasm of dread raced down her spine.
Oh God, help me.
With numbing fingers, she clawed at grass, mud, but nothing to grasp onto. Suddenly aware of her damp jeans and t-shirt, she hoped it wasn’t blood.
Can’t panic. Must focus.
Charlie tensed her body then relaxed, the way she’d taught others to do, and concentrated on what she could smell: earth, mildew, rust?
What is this place? How will anyone find me here? Mandy will find me. Oh, Don. Don will look for me. He’s too pig-headed to give up.
Cold and unconsciousness threatened her.
“Ms. Mack, I see you’ve taught karate,” Don Rutkowski announced to the class of new agents at the Immigration and Naturalization Service in Detroit. “So why don’t you join me in a quick self-defense demonstration.”
Charlie’s self-assurance lagged behind as she trudged to the front of the room, the eyes of the other recruits crawling her back. She wore the trainee uniform: a white polo shirt, beige belted trousers, grey cotton jacket and steel-toed shoes. Not the best gear for sparring.
“The most common mistake rookies make is to misjudge the potential of violence in our day-to-day work,” Don began. “It’s true, most of our field work will involve routine investigation but we must be prepared for the person who becomes aggressive. So Mack, let’s see your close-combat technique. You take the offense.”
Charlie picked up a long-handled flashlight from the equipment table and faced off with Don. The arrogant smirk on his face pissed her off. She lunged, swinging the light at Don’s knee, but he deftly pivoted away from the blow, pulled the tail of her jacket over her head, and slung her to the floor. The room erupted in laughter. Charlie leapt to her feet, untangling from her jacket, and stood, red-faced, in front of her classmates.
Don smiled and invited her to try again. Charlie clamped the flashlight under her arm to zip up her jacket, then purposely dropped it at his feet. When Don glanced down, she swept her foot into his left leg, catching it with the steel toe of her shoe. He buckled, tried to steady himself, but it was too late. Charlie had him in a choke hold and he slumped to the floor. The room hushed.
“Okay,” Don said catching his breath. “What we learned here is never underestimate a smaller opponent.” He stood, giving Charlie a look of appraisal, and smirked again. “Mack, let’s do one more. Here’s the scenario: you’re going door to door trying to find a witness, and I answer. So let’s go,” he ordered.
Her confidence restored, Charlie got into the role: “I’m looking for a Mr. Patel. Does he live here?”
“No, Patel here, lady.” Don lifted the handgun from his holster and pointed it at her solar plexus. “Just Mr. Ruger.”
Charlie froze in place along with everyone in the room.
“So what does a black belt do in this situation?” Don asked sarcastically.
Someone reported his unorthodox lesson to the higher-ups, but Charlie never complained. A few days later, Don pulled her to the side to give her his highest compliment: “I’ll say one thing for you, Mack. You’re no crybaby.”
Yes. Don will find me, but first I have to stay alive.
Charlie flexed and released, concentrating on keeping her muscles warm and trying to loosen her bindings.
Mustn’t fall asleep . . .
Published by Bywater Books and Available in paperback, Kindle and ebook.
