Babe was wrong. People met strangers all the time, didn’t they? On airplanes, blind dates, hookups in bars. I dropped that train of thought when I realized I was making her case for not meeting him instead of my own for keeping the appointment.
I drove home and prepared to meet Jeff Warren, even though it was hours before the appointed time. I must have changed clothes half a dozen times. It wasn’t about making a fashion statement. Unconsciously, I was practicing defensive dressing. Sneakers would be good if I had to run, but cowboy boots would be better if I had to deliver a good, swift kick. Nothing in my closet would stop a bullet, but why make it easy for someone to grab, stab, or throttle me? I opted for boots, jeans, and my leather jacket over a thick but loose hoodie.
It reminded me of October 11, 2001, the first time I flew after 9/11. I dressed for the flight as if I was preparing for an undercover SWAT mission: heavy denim layers, steel-toed work boots, and a hardcover copy of The Corrections, which I figured I could use as a weapon if necessary. I’d seen a man killed with a pair of eyeglasses in a movie once, but I was wearing contacts and I didn’t think they’d do much good. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop. I’d let Babe give me the heebie-jeebies.
If I really thought it was dangerous, why would I be going? And Jeff Warren would hardly call his sweet old gray-haired mother before he planned to rape and kill someone. Would he? Unless this was one of those twisted Ma Barker or honeymoon killers-type scenarios…
I needed to ratchet down. I made a pot of green tea and sat in my kitchen all bundled up, tapping my toes, watching the clock, and sweating it out until 11:45, when I convinced myself it wasn’t too early to leave.
The shopping strip across from the diner was almost dark; one streetlight a football field away was the only public lighting. I turned into the lot on the far right side of the strip, adjacent to a nearby gas station, where I hoped my Jeep would look like any of the other vehicles in for repairs and overflowing from the station’s own small triangular lot. It was also as far away from our meeting place as I could park and still be within walking distance.
The temperature had dropped considerably and the wind was kicking up. That made me feel a little less foolish for all the layers-although they were so loose, the cold air blew up my cuffs and down my collar and sent a chill right down my vertebrae to the base of my spine. I could see my breath. I zipped up, flipped up the hood of my sweatshirt, and buried my hands deep in my pockets. Should have worn gloves.
Even walking fast, I took almost ten minutes to get from my end of the lot; down a few short steps; past the shuttered nail salon, karate school, and liquor store; past the police substation and dimly lit Dunkin’ Donuts all the way to the other end, where I’d planned to crouch down and give myself an unobstructed view of Babe’s and the door to her office.
I scoped out my surroundings. Two cars in the lot probably belonged to the Dunkin’ Donuts employees. Across the street, the Paradise was closed, nothing visible except the pale blue light from the Snapple fridge. Next to the diner was an ATM, the last vestige of a bank branch that had shuttered its doors five years earlier, and a gas station that had also gone belly-up and was awaiting demolition to make room for a piano showroom, which had to be a front for some other more questionable activity, since why would anyone build a piano showroom on a quiet stretch of road like this? And it was quiet.
During the day, inside the Paradise Diner, the air was warm with the mingled fragrances of cinnamon, bacon, and comfort foods; and this was an idyllic spot with ducks and geese fluttering over the lake or waddling onto the shore. From my new vantage point it was as cold and lifeless as a postcard.
On my side of the road, the police substation had one light on. It no longer fooled any of the locals, but it was a gentle reminder of the long arm of the law, especially for anyone coming off the highway and not knowing any better. Inside the donut shop the employees were cleaning up, getting ready to close.
Shoot. If I’d arrived earlier I could have bought a coffee to stay warm. I checked my watch-plenty of time before Warren arrived. I was still more than an hour early. I jogged back to the shop and banged on the door with the heel of my hand. The two Indian kids inside looked at me, then each other, warily. Was this a setup? Were my confederates lying in wait, looking for my signal that they should rush the doors, duct-tape the employees, and empty the cash register? Or was I simply a chowhound desperate for caffeine and her next fatty, sugary fix?
One of the kids leaned his mop against the counter, wiped his hands on his apron, and came over to check me out. I pushed my hood down to look a little less gangsta and a little more suburban lady. He squinted, said something to his colleague, and unlocked the door, opening it just a crack.
“Great one, skim milk, no sugar,” he said, nodding.
Those words would probably be chiseled on my tombstone. Between the cold and my covert mission, I smiled a smile I didn’t really feel. That was me, harmless caffeine addict with a six-word bio.
“Got any coffee left? I’m supposed to meet someone here and I’m going to freeze my keister off if I don’t get something warm inside me. Even the dregs.” I tried to sound like an upbeat gal with an appointment, not a woman on a stakeout. “I don’t care, I’ll take anything.” I did want the coffee, but in the back of my mind I thought it wouldn’t hurt to let someone else know my whereabouts. That’s right, Officer, we saw her at around midnight…
The kid in charge told me they’d already closed out the register and made their bank drop across the road at the ATM-either to reiterate that they were closed or to announce that there was no cash on the premises, just in case one of their innocent-looking customers who ordered the same thing every time she came in also knocked over convenience stores in her spare time.
I offered them twenty bucks for a thermos of whatever hot liquid they had left and the two almost stale cinnamon crullers they were going to throw out anyway. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. They conferred, then accepted.
“Eh, if there’s ever something I can do for you…” My meant-to-be-amusing line from The Godfather fell on deaf ears and they tensed up, wondering if they’d made a colossal mistake and had, in fact, let a crazy woman into the store late at night. Now I felt like Babe, bemoaning the younger generation’s lack of a complete cultural education that should rightly include The Godfather saga, even the much-maligned number three.
The kids finished closing, locked up, and drove off in opposite directions, the only vehicles I’d seen on the road since I’d arrived. Now there were no cars in my end of the lot. I went back to my somewhat smaller blind, taking cover on a stone slab in between a spirea hedge and a U.S. mailbox with an elongated front for drive-by mailings. The coffee was still too hot to drink, but it made a nifty heater. I poured some into the thermos cup, trying to calculate how late that much caffeine would keep me awake. I sat cross-legged on the curb, nestling the thermos in between my thighs, blowing on the steaming coffee.
I pushed the light button on my watch: 12:25. Cripes, I didn’t have to worry about Warren harming me, I’d be dead from exposure, sitting on a Belgian block curb for thirty-five minutes in this weather, which was gradually worsening. They’d find me in the morning, butt frozen to the ground, huddled around my Dunkin’ Donuts thermos like some suburban bodhisattva.
I was muttering to myself when I heard something behind me. Probably the wind, whistling through the shrubs, blowing soot and leaves in my eyes and making things even more uncomfortable. I flipped my hood up again and tried to find the cord to tighten it around my head but it must have come out in the wash or the end was floating around inside the seam. I grabbed both sides and held them tight under my chin with one hand. I heard more leaf crunching behind me and exposed one ear to hear better. The noise stopped.
Deer were faster and squirrels didn’t move around much at night. Wild turkeys? Raccoons, maybe. Hadn’t I seen them rummaging around at Babe’s? I was shifting position to get the circulation back in my legs when someone yanked me by the hood of my sweatshirt and pulled me to my feet. The sweatshirt was so big, I was temporarily blinded as it partially covered my face and my eyes.
My assailant grabbed me by the wrist and swung me around, knocking my coffee out of my hands, burning my fingertips. All I could make out before I was twisted around again inside the voluminous sweatshirt was a man with a pair of panty hose over his face. He wrapped his arm around my neck, and I tucked my chin down to keep him from choking me. I tried to wrest myself away from him, and in the course of struggling I kicked the thermos of coffee on the ground. I picked up my right foot and kicked back as hard as I could into his right knee. He loosened his grip and doubled over. I bent down, picked up the container of coffee, twisted off the top, and threw the scalding hot liquid, aiming for the man’s eyes. I must have scored, because he cursed, his hands rushing to his eyes. My cowboy boots turned out to be a fashion do. The creep was a little too tall and I was too far away to reach the number one spot where no man wants to be kicked, so I aimed for his other knee, letting fly with as much power as I could. He cursed again and crumpled to the ground. Now I could reach the good stuff. I hauled off and gave him another kick, with my pointy boot seriously jeopardizing his ability to reproduce. He fell backward.
If he got up fast, I’d have less than a minute to get away. I got lucky: an eighteen-wheeler came by and slowed him down just long enough for me to run across the road, through the parking lot, and to Babe’s back door. The key was in my hand, but I could barely breathe and I fumbled for a few seconds, putting it in upside down. I looked across the street and saw the man staggering to his feet. I took the key out and tried it again. This time it worked. I locked the door behind me and called the cops as I heard him cursing and banging on the door. Then the banging stopped.