From Coital to Hero

First thing to go was her shoes, then her purse fell in a heap on a dining room chair. Ned followed close behind removing articles with hell bent speed. Gawkily the two collapsed into a love seat, mid strip. A sudden epiphany hit Donna and she weaseled out from under him promising, that it was just foreplay. Donna rushed into the bathroom to remove the pair of thunder panties that had gotten her through the night. She heard something odd and found herself walking back in the living room.

“Shit!”

The tell tale hollow clink of an aluminum bat echoed all the way up to Ned’s third story apartment. In the night, in the street, bad men worked their trade on a poor boy who had the gall to say no. Donna could not stay still. Ned went to call 911 but the line was busy. Donna had a more drastic solution. She went to her purse and wrote a check for five hundred dollars. Then she walked ten paces back from the wall and lined herself up with a large window facing the street.

She sighed. It was a very nice window but none the less there was a job to do. With fists forward she took a running jump through the window. Ned turned just in time to see his girlfriend plummet to the ground. With the grace of a rock, she belly flopped onto asphalt three floors down. The crack of glass had turned every one’s head. Donna slowly rose. Glass stuck out of her hands, already brown and black with blood. In front of her, a bottle of bourbon laid shattered on the ground. She smiled as she stepped into it.

There before the North Oakland Boyz, toughest guys on the east side, stood a pale white pixie of a girl wearing thunder panties and a sports bra with glass sticking out of her extremities. She was tensing and showing muscles. The weed they had been apparently very strong… yesterday. After a second to digest the surreal image, she loosed a smile both gleeful and like a wolf. Four against one, songs have been made about that.

First came Frankie with a shiny slugger aimed straight for Donna’s head. Donna blocked with her right arm, momentarily breaking the appendage. With a fist full of glass, she struck Frankie’s chin. That sent him to the ground. Terry was next, he had himself a little knife and a simple plan. He went to her gut and there his knife stayed. She swung her miraculous right arm in a sloppy hay maker and knocked Terry cold and bloody. With a sucking of breath she pulled the knife out.

“Got me a knife.” She spoke joyously.

Tate wasn’t scared though. Tate was a big man with his gun. The fancy little 9 mm popped three times, each one landing right in center mass. She dropped to her knees and crumbled on the ground. The sirens were closing in on the block. Tate, Frankie and Luke left Terry on the ground along side Donna. Ned came racing towards the body of his surely dead girlfriend. He mumbled vague prayers as he cradled her.

“Hey Ned, did the kid leave?”

“I think so.” He was shocked and still sure he was talking to a dead woman.

“Good.” With a grunt she rose back to her feet and inspected herself. A ruined undershirt, destroyed socks and a broken window. All together the night cost her five hundred and five dollars, not bad as far as these things go.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Remember when I said I was nothing special?”

He stared up at the small woman towering above his two meter frame.

“Yeah, I lied.”

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