“Not again,” she trembled, after opening her eyes and examining the unfamiliar benches she found herself sitting on. It was dark, almost one in the morning according to her ever faithful wristwatch, but the street lights provided enough illumination for Elizabeth to quickly scout her immediate surroundings. If it weren’t for the unfamiliar rotting wood benches, and the cement walk between them, she would have assumed that she was on Manhattan’s Park Avenue. But this was not Park Avenue. So where was she and how on earth did she get there? Standing up on wobbly legs, Liz, an attractive, middle-aged woman, with curly brown shoulder length hair, grabbed hold of the bench as she tried to regain her balance and assuage her dizzy spell. That’s more like it, Liz thought, as she began to feel herself finally return to full consciousness. Diagonally across from the park, neon lights illuminated a coffee shop, which breathed life with late night diners.
As she walked towards the coffee shop a hand reached out and grabbed her arm, startling her. A teenager held her captive while his friend leered at her and whistled. “Hey Mamacita. You look good enough to eat. Doesn’t she look tasty, Hector?” he said, as he licked his upper lip and made chewing motions with his mouth. He was about sixteen years old with jet-black curls and an unsightly scarred face atop a slim, but muscular physique. The switchblade was barely sticking out of his pocket, but it was visible enough for Elizabeth to spot. Just keep calm, she thought. Just keep calm and try to act cool. Don’t let them know you’re frightened out of your wits. Okay! Okay... shit. What should I do? You’re a damn psychic, Liz. Intuit what to do. Oh God, nothing’s coming to me. I’m too nervous to intuit anything. Okay, relax. Don’t show them fear. Try to act cool. As she thought about how she could possibly act cool under the circumstances, she let out a light sarcastic snicker.
The youths heard the snicker and didn’t know what to make of it.
“You think we’re just fuckin’ with you, Bitch?” threatened Hector.
Hector was about the same age as her assailant, with straight dark brown hair tied behind his head in a ponytail. He was shorter and stockier than his friend. A bulge under Liz’s blouse, near her waist, suddenly caught his attention. It seemed to him that the woman might be packing a pistol, which only meant one thing. “Yeah Jo Jo, she sure does look hot,” he said, as his metallic front tooth glistened from the glare of the dim street lights, “but we better not mess with her.” He continued to whisper to his friend, “I think she’s a cop.”
When Elizabeth heard the whispered words, she stopped shaking. Her shuddering must have been more internal than external, because she knew that the boys couldn’t tell. Elizabeth pulled out her police ID, the identification card she was given by the police allowing her entry to crime scenes, and waved it in front of the two youths, “My partner is in an unmarked car behind us. One word from me, and you’re both chopped meat.” She paused for a moment to see if her words had any effect. The two youths stiffened a bit, so she continued, “I’ll let you off the hook this time, but if I ever catch you accosting anyone again, I’ll see to it that you’re locked up for a long time. I can do that! Now get on home.... Now!” The teens quickly followed Liz’s orders, and in the blink of an eye, they were gone.
“Phew,” she breathed in relief, as she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead. “That was a close call. These damn blackout spells take me off my guard. Man, I didn’t even realize that these kids were here.” She peered at her Police ID as she put it back into her pocket. She was glad that she had agreed to work as a psychic for the police department. Her Police ID had come in handy on numerous occasions.
The neon sign on the coffee shop read - CENTRAL CAFÉ - Good Food - (Open 24 Hours). It was a dilapidated dive, but the strong scent of coffee beckoned her. A couple of booths were occupied with customers, some eating burgers, some indulging in succulent sweets and others just slurping coffee. Elizabeth walked over to a vacant stool at the counter. The counter was fairly empty, with the exception of two elderly men involved in a heated debate in another language, which to Elizabeth’s ears sounded like Spanish.
The seat that Elizabeth was sitting on was in dire need of repair, but the other empty stools looked even less comfortable, with springs sticking out every which way. The counter waiter approached Liz as she was fixing her hair while peering into her small pocket mirror. Dark circles abounded under puffy eyes. These were the same symptoms she had noticed the last few times she had one of those unexplained blackouts. In addition, she noticed long bloody scratches on her arms. She had observed other scratches and bruises on her body as well each time she had one of those episodes. It is about time I see a doctor about these fainting spells, she thought, as she ordered a black coffee.
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