Judgment at Alcatraz

wouldn’t be easily seen from the road, but still afforded a view of the house. She didn’t expect the confrontation with Cole would escalate too far, so she didn’t feel the need for a firearm. Instead, she placed the combat tomahawk on the passenger seat, within easy reach. A certain intimidation factor came with brandishing the time-proven weapon. There, she waited, inside the truck cab, for Cole to show. Of course, there was no guarantee that he would. But if she was reading his character correctly, he’d be steaming with humiliation, and looking to get even with Toby.
The hours slowly ticked by, until it was well-after midnight. The night sky was clear, and the moon was just beginning to rise on the eastern horizon. Danya shook her head, fighting the urge to close her eyes. It would have been nice to have the radio playing something obnoxious—maybe a right-wing or left-wing radio talk show. She found the talking heads to be reliably ignorant and offensive—just the right mix to cause enough irritation to help fight off the fatigue of an all-night stakeout.
She was beginning to think Cole wasn’t going to show. Maybe he’d gone home, wallowed in self-pity and alcohol until he was drunk, and fell asleep. Plausible, but it didn’t fit the type a man she knew him to be. No, he’d be back to take out his rage on Toby. If not tonight, then tomorrow night, or the next. For sure, he would return.
She unscrewed the cap on the Thermos bottle and poured out the last few tablespoons of coffee. She downed it in one gulp, and wished she had another full bottle of the steaming-hot brew. She placed the cup on the floor and then looked out the windshield again. Her pulse quickened as she recognized a flicker of motion. It was only there for an instant, but she was certain there was movement in the bushes near the back door. Anyone else might have written it off as a trick of tired eyes and dim light. But she knew to trust her senses. Doing so had saved her life on more than one occasion.
She looked from side to side, taking advantage of the greater night-vision sensitivity of the human eye just off direct center of one’s field of vision. After nearly a half-minute, she saw it again. As the shrubbery shook, a dark figure rose and glided toward the door. Soon followed by a second figure.
The scene was suddenly bathed in bright light when she turned on the truck’s headlamps. In the light, she recognized Cole. His nose was covered in a white bandage, and the skin surrounding his eyes was blackened from bruising. The second man bore a striking family resemblance. Probably his brother Craig.
“Stop right there, Cole.” She slid from the driver’s seat, tomahawk in her grasp.
Cole and his brother faced her, shielding their eyes.
“Who are you?” Cole said.
“What? Forgot about me so soon? That hurts.” She closed the distance to the two men, and stopped several yards away.
Each man still had a hand raised in a vain effort to block the glare from the headlights, which were on high beam.
Cole said, “Step away from the light so I can see you.”
They were both gripping truncheons, their knuckles appearing white in the light.
“Put the clubs down and go home,” she said.
“Why don’t you come over her and make us,” Craig said.
“Take a look at your brother. You might want to rethink that.”
Craig charged her, his club raised, prepared to strike. She held her ground until the last moment, then ducked and stepped inside his outstretched arm. When he swung the club down, all he got was air.
With both hands locked on the tomahawk, she rammed the heel of the handle into Craig’s solar plexus. His eyes bulged, and he grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. Stunned and gasping for breath, he was hunched over, frozen in time. She whipped the flat side of the steel head across his temple. Craig staggered to the side before collapsing.
At the sight of his brother falling, Cole became enraged.
“What did you do to him? I’ll kill you.” He charged and took a sideways swipe with the billy club, aiming for her head.
She ducked and swung the tomahawk low, the spiked end piercing deep into his thigh.
“Ahhh!” he screamed.
Danya ripped it out, tearing the flesh with the sharp point. She pivoted to the side, taking Cole’s club hand with her. Choking up on the handle of the tomahawk, she used the sharp blade like a knife. With a downward slash, she cleaved a laceration into his forearm just below the elbow. He dropped the truncheon and cried out again.
She released her grip on Cole and stepped backwards to open up a few feet of separation. Then, still clasping the bladed weapon near the head, she swung the lower part of the handle across the back of Cole’s head. He tilted forward and dropped to a knee before arresting his fall.
Craig began to stir, one eye already swollen shut, and a massive bruise discoloring the flesh on the side of his face and head.
Danya wasn’t even breathing hard as she stood over both men.
“It’s over,” she said. “You’re both finished. Now get the hell off this property. You’re trespassing. That means I can continue to beat the shit out of both of you if I so choose.”
Cole stretched out his good hand for the bludgeon. He managed to wrap his fingers around the handle before she smashed her foot on the club, squashing his fingertips in the process, and eliciting a yelp as he worked his hand free.
“Nope. The blackjacks stay here. Both of ‘em.”
“Jesus, lady.” Cole’s voice was anemic—not at all the defiant and threatening personality she’d met before.
“Consider this a warning. Don’t ever bother Toby or her family again. Do you understand me?”
No reply, so she planted her heel in the middle of Cole’s back.
“All right, all right,” he said.
“Now leave. And if I ever