Lioness

LIONESS

by Steve M

Yeah, I wrote this.  Blame no one else.

2017

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

WHO IS STEVE M?

CHAPTER ONE

ANNA STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of the living room, a gun in each hand.  She looked out the large front window.  Nothing yet.  The right lens of her glasses was broken, a piece missing.  Blood was coming from a cut on her scalp and her eyebrow. Her clothes were stretched and out of place on her body.  She was breathing hard.  She had blood on her pretty, tanned legs, but it wasn’t hers.  In the den at the back of the house, the curtains were on fire on the floor.  One end of the blue sofa was covered in small orange flickers as the heavy fabric began to ignite.  The room also contained four bodies. 

Job done.

And every now and then, when fate offered bonus points?  Take ‘em. 

Two of the bodies were cops. 

She moved back into the den.  As she entered, she stepped over the body of the late Jase Winter.  Moments before, big fat Jase, six feet tall and over 300 pounds, had served as a human shield.  He had provided protection from bullets, pieces of glass from the sliding door, and metal shards from the BBQ grill and two exploding propane tanks.  There was a large piece of metal embedded deep into Jase’s chest.  She looked down at him, and realized that if it weren’t for Jase, that large piece of stainless steel would be sticking out of her face. But then, if it weren’t for Jase, she wouldn’t be there at all. 

She hadn’t cared whether she survived today.  Secretly, way down deep, past the platitudes and the mask shown to the external world...she’d hoped she wouldn’t.  She had accepted that her chances of survival were slim.  Dying had seemed guaranteed.  Four against one. This was about payback; nothing else.  Revenge is a special affliction.  It grabs a hold of the soul, deeply and doesn’t release until it’s satisfied or the host dies.  And there are instances in each human history when everyone losing is considered a win. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. 

No, Anna had not cared one damned bit about herself, not until right before the shit went down.  That’s when fate, the universe, and everything in it stepped in to fuck with her head.  A couple of minutes before the start of her war, she was given strong reminders of why she should live.  From that point forward, she reacted with instinct and intellect toward one single objective: survival. 

She moved further into the room.  She stepped over the body of Allie Devereaux.  Allie was the queen and Jase was her king.  Together, they ran a small and bloody little crime wave specializing in armed robbery ugliness.  Her short, platinum blond hair was stained with her red blood in a pretty white-red contrast.  Well, pretty for a dead person.  Blood covered her face as she lay on her side on the floor.  She had a large hole in her chest, and her t-shirt was almost completely soaked with her blood.  Jase and Allie had recently become engaged.  There was a two-carat diamond ring on her finger. The dead woman was nine weeks pregnant.

Slumped over in the corner of the room, sitting upright and missing a substantial piece of his forehead, was Paul Saeva.  Paul was known as Pablo to his friends, and a mad psycho to anyone else who had the misfortune to cross his path.  He was the triggerman on the jobs.  Now, he didn’t look as cute as he had minutes earlier.  No more dimples.  Pablo had gone to Iraq a decent young man.  He’d believed in the flag, and had loved his country and Jesus.  What came home was not human.  If humans can go feral, like cats, then Pablo had reverted back to his baser nature.  He walked across human histories like Asaka across Nanking in ‘37.

Finally, there was Frenchy.  Nobody knew his last name.  He was from Paris and didn’t talk much.  He lay face down on the floor. His back resembled a pincushion and was covered with shards of glass and metal.  He had been directly in front of the glass doors when the tanks exploded.

Anna caught movement out of the corner of her eye.  She moved back to the door of the living room, and looked across the room and out the front window.  She could see the cops approaching the house with guns drawn and taking those nervous, tippy-toed, ballerina steps, as if they might shit their pants at the first loud sound.  The cop in charge motioned for two others to go around the sides of the house.  Her opportunity for escape was closing fast.  She looked in the mirror hung over the piano.  Pete stood right behind her.  Time to go, baby.  It’s bout to get crowded.

CHAPTER TWO

4 DAYS EARLIER

Anna and Lee stood next to each other in the bathroom.  His electric toothbrush was in his mouth as she put on her makeup.  His long blond and gray hair was in a ponytail and secured with a piece of leather. Round gold-rimmed glasses with ear hooks were secured in place.  He was both healthy and skinny.  He stood just at six feet tall and weighed 165 pounds. 

Lee Hanks was approaching his 47th birthday.  He leaned over and touched the hips of his wife, Anna.  She looked at him and smiled.  It was 6:20 in the morning and they had just gotten out of the shower after making love, part of their morning ritual.

Anna Hanks was a short, pretty woman.  She was the kind of pretty that naturally attracted men, and she was aging well.  Her gold streaked brown hair hung down to her shoulders.  She had a slight case of freckles.  She applied moisturizer to her petite nose. 

Her brown corduroy pants fit as if a tailor had made them specifically for her tight little ass.  Lee always complimented her on them.  She looked at him and smiled.  There didn’t have to be a reason for her to do this.  No other reason than the occasional bliss.  She had loved him since they were kids, years before he’d ever found out about it, and she would love him until the end.  A gold Star of David hung round her neck. 

Anna was smart enough to know that the stories of her tribe were fables used to steer behaviour, control and exploit an unruly and barely civilized population all those years ago.  For those reasons she disapproved of religion, including her own. She was an atheist but wore the star for reasons of domestic tranquillity.

She believed that a moral code, internally defined, was more reliable than one taught or imposed.  Despite these reservations, and many others, her daughter, Carmen, had a Bat Mitzvah when she was thirteen years old.  It kept Anna’s mother quiet. Domestic tranquillity maintained.

Lee moved behind her and pressed himself against her in the way that conjugal couples do.  She pushed back against him hard in a ‘yes’ response.

I love you, she said.

I love you too, Lee replied.

What’s up in the fields today?

I gotta deal with Gramby again, he replied. 

I’m sorry, darling.  That sucks.  Don’t give into him no matter what he tells you.

The Gramby family was a pain in the ass.  The old man, Tito, was proud of himself.  He was the best supplier they had.  He produced the highest quality bud; much better than the four other suppliers.  But he always wanted fifteen or twenty percent more money than the others. 

You know the twenty pounds of Neville’s Haze we got from them last year?  It sold faster than anything we’ve ever carried.

Was that the stuff people were driving in from all over to get? Four week wonder? Anna asked.

Yep, that’s it, he replied.

The girls swear by it.  Best stuff ever for creativity they said. Even Torn complimented it, and that’s saying something.  What did we pay for it? she asked.

$3,300 per pound. 

Was it worth it?

Yes, but it’s not the price so much that annoys me.

Then what’s your problem?  Tito?

It’s what he says and how he says it.  Every time it’s the same. Lee puts on a fake country boy accent and says ‘pleasure doin’ bidness wit ya.’  And it’s always in this tone of voice that means yeah, I just fucked you, Lee said in irritation.

Anna looked at Lee. Does he have his boys with him when this happens?

Yep. I’ve been thinking that it was to look clever in front of them.  But I don’t really care about the reason.

Then TELL HIM.

Lee laughed.  He leaned over and kissed her neck. That’s why I love you, always so practical.

Mostly practical, she agreed. 

Lee Hanks and three partners ran the medical marijuana dispensary on Cherry Hill Road.  It was the only dispensary for thirty miles.  It had originally been down on Main Street in the old Delaney building, but the city council banned them from there.  Next, they moved out to Hiller Road, but they were thrown out of there too, since it was within 1,000 meters of the high school. 

There were three places to buy alcohol and cigarettes within 1,000 meters of the school. And there were also four places to buy a god and eternal submission.  Cannabis was less harmful than both of those. Anna had argued this point unsuccessfully before the city council.

The distance ordinance had originally been written in yards.  It was redrafted to metric units simply to make the Hanks move their dispensary again.  The final Cherry Hill location was in one of the highest traffic areas of town, so the Hanks’s were happy with it.  The city council didn’t know they had helped the dispensary be more profitable, and they likely never would.  They only knew that the Hanks’ had come before the council, gave a presentation with Powerpoint slides and diagrams. They even provided projected tax revenue forecasts.  But most importantly, they had submitted their request to move to the Cherry Hill location to the city council first, for their approval. And that is what it was all about anyway, permission and control.  The new location was larger with side-by-side retail space.  The dispensary was located next door to a coffee shop/bookstore.  The Hanks’ and their partners owned both businesses through a holding company. 

Window time, Anna said.

Excellent.  Make Emma proud, Lee replied.

Anna never took kindly to the bossiness of the city council, and used the large window of the coffee shop next door as a political billboard.  Within weeks it had become a local landmark.  Everyone wanted to know what the crazy lady who ran the bookstore would put up next, in large letters nearly four foot tall.  Local officials were none too pleased when Anna painted the number of people who had been killed by police as if it were a sports score.

Cops: 5  Humanity: 0

The police chief was annoyed because it seemed to condone ordinary people trying to even the score.  He stopped by to complain.  What he expected was respect and compliance.  He got neither.  The conversation started with Anna refusing to shake the chief’s hand, and went downhill from there.  At one point, Anna noticed him fidgeting with his handcuffs.  She reminded him that being contempt of cop was not a crime...yet. 

After the first five minutes of knowing her, Chief Loudain surmised that he was up against a polite, very attractive, and sane middle-aged mother who came armed with a list of facts, a strong facility for argument, and a never-ending cup of relentless. 

She would politely give all the cops a free cup of coffee followed by a smile, and would finish with a detailed explanation of why it was significant that the police had killed more people in the city than had been murdered by other means.  She would close with a demand that all police officers wear cameras. 

Always with a sweet smile and always incendiary. Anna demanded that the police chief resign because over forty percent of arrests involved violent actions by the police against unarmed citizens, as evidenced by the need for medical assistance.  And she made her demand to his face while sitting across the table from him while he sipped a Brazilian blend and looked back at her slight befuddled.  Chief Loudain found it discomforting to hear such bold statements coming from such a small woman.  She was shorter that the chief’s wife, but she possessed many times her vigor.  Louise Loudain was more accepting of her husband’s opinions as her own and easily distracted by trivial aspects of modern existence. 

Lately, the front window had been filled with inflammatory slogans from the Internet. 

-  WAR is when your government tells you who the enemy is; REVOLUTION is when you figure it out for yourself.

-  Thank you Anonymous

-  America’s first serial killer: Christopher Columbus

Anna would make the window shine once more. It was in her blood to always be on the side of those getting screwed in the deal. She put on her peace symbol earrings as a final reminder of her politics.

Lee sat down on a bench at the foot of the bed, and put on his blue socks and light weight hiking boots. Not an inch, darling.  Not the first, not even a single. Never give the bastards any mercy.

Time for another A-day? Anna asked?

Hell yes!  Nice people.  The speakers you arranged were great.  I like the Wobblies.  Nice folks, good goals, Lee gushed.

Definitely good friends to have when the shit comes down.

And don’t forget the sluts.  Sluts will say anything for a discount, Lee laughed.

Fifty percent is a big discount, Anna said, chuckling as well.

Anyone willing to shout, I am an anarchist, at the top of their lungs got the discount on A-day.  Alternatively, they could sit down at the piano and sing it, but they were warned: it better be good, and it better be original.  Anarchist speakers gave lectures and presentations.  They passed out pamphlets explaining the basic concepts of anarchism and how to get in touch with likeminded people.  There were also Libertarian discount days and Socialist discount days, also with speakers with literature. 

The biggest difference between a Libertarian and anarchist discount day was that the cops always showed up on the anarchist days.  They were there to take notes on who attended and what was said.  Contrary to what they might have expected, Anna welcomed the police and thanked them for coming.  Many times in history the tide of oppression changed when that first cop or that first soldier laid down their weapons and refused to carry out an order that demanded brutality.  She knew that it would only take that first one, ‘the spark’ as it’s called by some.  Sure, she was glad to have them in attendance.  She considered it a deprogramming opportunity. 

Wednesdays were always Capitalism Sucks days, meaning that all books were ten percent off.  Except Ayn Rand novels.  Those were marked up to $1,000,000 each.  A steep hike from the everyday price of $100,000 each for both Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead.  The gimmick was popular with the local media.  First, a young newspaper reporter called.  Next, television crews showed up with a chipper, bubbly, bobble-headed woman who asked dumb questions.  Wednesdays spawned a considerable number of hate messages on the bookstore website and Facebook page.  Sales increased significantly with the notoriety. Lots of ordinary people are leftists but mistakenly think they are all alone.

The local newspaper wrote a scathing editorial about the window slogans.  The ‘right to free speech’ was suffixed with a ‘but,’ and then followed by a 300 word spasm of idiocy and intolerance.  When asked for a comment, Anna referred to the newspaper as representatives for white golf slacks with expanding waistbands.  She asked Pageant to paint her response on the window.

Usual in the shop today? Lee asked.

Yep, Anna nodded in reply. We’ve got the Jamaican coffee at last.

The patrons at the coffee shop were a mix.  Students at the nearby university made noise, and slid across the old polished wooden floors to the tunes.  Older hippie types could be found in the second and third rows where the books on new age religion and healthy living were found.  Bald right-wing Libertarians drank lots of coffee and quickly learned that defending Ayn Rand was a mistake, but they were welcome to try.  The resulting debates were always lively and enjoyable.  Some customers dressed only in black. They were younger and had more tats.  Anyone who considered themselves a leftist, a libertarian, a rebel, an outcast, or a free-thinker had a home and a place to hang. Anna would tell many of her customers, ‘I disagree with you, but I’m so glad you’re here.’

I think if Lil’ Bit keeps hanging around we’re gonna have to put her to work, Ann said as she looked for her glasses, put them on then barely avoided tripping over the vacuum cleaner by jumping over it at the last moment..

Bring her on replied Lee. We got a butt load of work in the rooms.  Ask her if she wants to learn how to trim bud.  Or she can learn to make concentrates.

Or she could help out as a DJ added Anna.

The music was reason enough for people to stay longer at the bookstore.  Dubstep mornings and Nine Inch Nails in the afternoon. Asian Dub Foundations Riddim I like was usually the opening song played on the days when Anna arrived first.  She would dance around the coffee shop doing her opening procedures while the speakers all over the building were rocking out to the tune.  She would glide over to check the reverse osmosis filters for the water.  One of the secrets to their coffee: the purest water. 

Hey, Anna said, the girls got back a few days ago from their gigs up in Seattle.

Excellent, Lee exclaimed, Good tunes tonight.

Most mornings a group of darkly dressed, young girls with piercings and tattoos came in to chat with Anna and drink cups of tea.  They were the girls and the girls were in a band.  They lived two blocks away