On the outside I was putting up a pretty good show of you-don’t-scare-me nonchalance. On the inside I was a mess. Rapid heartbeat and scramble-brain. We were the only ones in the lot, and I doubted anyone would hear me if I started screaming. My phone was in the front pocket of my messenger bag. I reached for the phone and he yanked the bag off my shoulder.

“Hey!” I said. “Give it back.”

He dangled it in front of me. “Make me.”

He was in his late twenties and bulked up like a gym monkey in too-tight dress slacks and a three-button, collared knit shirt that was bursting at the seams over his pecs and biceps. The other guy was my height with no apparent muscle, wearing a slim-fit navy suit with a tapered leg. He had a jagged scar running from the outer corner of his eye to the bottom of his chin. The gun on his hip was too large for the cut of the suit. Neither of the men was attractive. Both of them looked like they were enjoying tormenting dumb little me.

“We’re going to take you for a ride now, Sweetie Pie,” the gym monkey said. “You can come with us nice and easy or Sanchez can stun-gun you.”

“Nice and easy,” I said.

He smiled and relaxed a little, and I sucker-punched him in the throat. I hit him square in the Adam’s apple, and his eyes almost popped out of his head. Truth is, I was as shocked as he was. My self-defense skills are sadly lacking, and I’d acted out of terrified desperation. I thought it was a miracle that I made contact, much less with such precision.

He was gasping and choking, and before Sanchez could grab me, I was off and running. I couldn’t get into the Buick because I didn’t have my messenger bag with the key. I couldn’t get into my building because they were between me and the building, so I ran across the lot toward a residential area. I could hear Sanchez running after me, but I had a head start and I was motivated. I reached the edge of the lot, crossed the street, and ran for the nearest house. I ran up to the front door and hammered my fist on the door and yelled “Help!”

Sanchez caught up to me and reached out with the stun gun. I stumbled trying to get away from him and knocked us both off the small concrete and brick porch. I rolled away from him, tried to get to my feet, and he grabbed my ankle. I went into blind panic mode, screaming and thrashing around, trying to get free, and somehow managed to kick him in the face. Blood gushed out of his nose or maybe his mouth. I didn’t hang around long enough to find out which. I was on my feet and running again.

I ran between two houses and cut across two backyards. I had no idea if he was following me or not. My heart was pounding so hard and my breathing was so labored, I couldn’t hear a stampeding herd of buffalo if they were on my heels. I hid behind a detached single-car garage and bent at the waist to catch my breath. I peeked out and didn’t see him. I stayed there until I no longer felt like throwing up and then I ventured out. I heard a car cruise down the street. It didn’t stop. I didn’t hear any footsteps. No heavy breathing.

I took the long way back to my apartment building, going one block over and coming into the lot from the service entrance. I paused behind an SUV and looked and listened. There weren’t a lot of cars parked. Residents were out doing weekend things. This is good, I thought. Fewer places for the bad guys to hide. I could see my messenger bag lying on the ground by the Buick. I ventured out and was almost at the Buick when Sanchez and the gym monkey appeared from behind Mr. Mullen’s ancient Lincoln Town Car.

“No more fun time,” gym monkey said. “You run this time and Sanchez is going to shoot you.”

Sanchez had a wad of tissues stuffed into his nose, and even at a short distance the nose looked crooked and his eyes were beginning to bruise and swell.

“I’m a crack shot,” Sanchez said, “and I’m not going to shoot to kill. I’m going to shoot you someplace real painful, and then when we bring you to Mr. Shine, you’re going to be cooperative. And maybe he’ll let us play with you when he’s done.”

I’d skinned my knee when I fell off the porch and I didn’t know how much more running I had in me. I thought I might be able to dodge around a couple of cars and make it to my building’s back door. If luck was with me Sanchez wouldn’t be a crack shot with a broken nose and swollen eyes.

I ran for the nearest car, ducked down behind it, and Sanchez got off a shot that zinged over my head. I ran to another car, ducked down, and in my peripheral vision I caught a flash of black. It was Gabriela in the Mercedes. She sped past me and drove straight for Sanchez. He uttered something in Spanish and pointed the gun at the Mercedes. Gabriela slammed into him before he could get a shot off, punting him at least twenty feet. She skidded to a stop, put the car into reverse, and took down gym monkey. He went down with a cell phone in one hand and a gun in the other. Gabriela put the Mercedes into drive and ran over him a second time.

I worried that I might be next, but she drove out of the lot and didn’t look back.

Sanchez wasn’t moving. Gym monkey was moaning a little, and there was what looked like leg bone sticking out of a tear in his trousers. I retrieved my messenger bag, ran into the building, and locked myself in my apartment. I walked to the window on shaky legs, looked down at the parking lot, and dialed 911. I told dispatch that a hit-and-run had occurred, but I hadn’t gotten a good look at the car.

I wasn’t sure what to do about identifying Gabriela. She probably saved my life. Why was the big question.

While I was on the line with 911, the blue pickup raced into the lot. A couple of young guys in jeans and T-shirts got out, scooped up Sanchez and gym monkey, and took off.

“Hold on a minute,” I said to dispatch. “The two hit-and-run victims just left. Sorry for the false alarm.”

I stood at the window for a couple of minutes, staring down at the empty pavement. Good thing my jeans were torn, and my knee was bleeding, because otherwise I might think I hallucinated the entire episode.

I went into the kitchen and searched for something comforting, settling on a handful of Froot Loops and a spoonful of peanut butter.

“My life is crap,” I said to Rex. “On the other hand, I didn’t just get run over by a car, twice. And I think my hair still looks good. Even Arnold Rugalowski thought it was pretty.”

No comments from Rex.

I put a huge Band-Aid on my knee, changed into new jeans, and went back to the kitchen for more peanut butter. I was contemplating washing the peanut butter down with a beer, and I heard something bump against my front door. I looked out my peephole and saw the back of Potts’s head.

“I had a feeling you were home,” he said when I opened the door. “It was one of those telepathic things. So, what are we doing today?”

“I need to find Shine.”

“That might be difficult.”

“And I wouldn’t mind talking to Gabriela.”

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