Chapter 9

Amy Fox placed her hands around the soft folds of the man’s plump neck and tightened her grip, her cold fingers sinking into his doughy flesh.

Her pressure made him feel uncomfortable, made his throat tighten, and cut off his oxygen. The man raised his hand to his neck and kneaded fatty skin. He swallowed hard, trying to loosen the constriction, but it didn’t help. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of heartburn medicine.

Amy whispered into his ear. “This ain’t no heartburn, honey. This is karma. Meds aren’t going to help you now.”

She closed her eyes to concentrate, increasing the pressure. Her vice-like hold tightened.

He choked, crying out, his hands clawing at his throat.

“I can’t breathe, agghhhhhhhhhhh…” He screamed long and loud, a pig in agony.

The children outside stopped to listen to the strange noise coming from the Stinky Man’s flat. They looked to each other unsure what to do.

“Agghhhhhhh,” he screamed again.

The children raced to the window, stood on tiptoes, and peeked through the gap in the curtain. They could see Stinky Man sitting in a dark room, at his desk, writhing in his chair, pulling at his neck. Alone.

They didn’t see Amy standing over him, her blonde curls falling over her scrunched face, her arms ramrodded straight, her hands wrapped around his thick throat while she cursed at him and willed him to die.

“Jeez, for fuck’s sake. Die, you bastard… die,” she hissed.

Gripping with all her strength, she tried to strangle the life out of him, against his pathetic flailing struggle. Confident she had about succeeded, a disturbing slam jarred her concentration. Over her shoulder, she saw that the flat door had burst open. The one person she’d hoped to avoid long enough to complete the mission strolled into the room.

Her mentor and partner, Jack. All tall, dark, handsome, six-foot-four of him. His long black trench coat billowed from broad shoulders as his stride stirred up a recognisable wind.

He assessed the scene with a sweeping gaze from cheeky brown eyes, strutted over to the man’s desk, swept papers and mess aside, and plopped down on the desktop, hands in his pockets, his face full of amusement as he observed her.

“Miss Fox,” he said, greeting her with a calm nod of his head.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Get out! I’m in a meeting.” She panted, trying to keep a grip on her slippery, squealing prey.

Jack shook his head with a sigh and gave her a lethargic raised eyebrow.

“Really?” he twinkled. “What are you doing, Ames?” His brown eyes bore down on her through thick dark lashes.

“Killing him! What the bloody hell does it look like?” barked Amy, angry at being interrupted, tightening her hold on the wriggling man.

“But he’s not on the list. You don’t have authorisation.” Jack shook his head. “Have you been working solo...again?”

Her silence answered him. Jack ran his hand through his long shaggy hair and sighed. He took a deep breath and with a sweep of his arm waved his hand through the air and flicked his finger towards the sofa. Amy’s body abruptly rose in the air and flew through the air across the room. She landed in an undignified heap between the sofa and rubbish bags. She hated it when he did that.

The man, grateful for the sudden release on his throat, pulled himself up out of the chair, and scrambled out of the room, coughing and spluttering in search of a drink. The children at the window burst into giggles as his dressing gown wafted open, revealing his naked body. They ran down the walkway to tell their friends.

Amy eased herself into a sitting position, blowing her dishevelled hair from her face.

“I hate it when you do that. How come that magnetic shit works for you and not for me?” She dusted herself off, her black suit the lone article in her wardrobe.

“It takes practice,” Jack said, flashing one of his famous grins. “You’re a newbie.”

“Hardly. I arrived only a few months after you,” she muttered, brushing the dust from her legs.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got previous history in the body-throwing business. The Army taught me well.”

“You make it look so easy.”

“You can use the guns, can’t you?”

She nodded.

“Well, use the same technique but cut out the grabbing. You’re trying too hard. You don’t really need to touch anything. Empty your mind, hover your hand over the object, feel the energy, let it build, and throw in the direction you want it to go. E-F-B-T: empty, feel, build, and throw…simple.” He reached down to offer her his hand.

She reluctantly snatched it and pulled herself up, slapping the last of the dirt off her backside.

“Jeez, when did he last clean this place?”

For the zillionth time since they’d started working together, Jack tilted his head and studied her. She was beautiful. He could watch her all day.

“You went off grid again, Ames. You know you can’t do that. We have to work as a team, or we’ll be chucked out. Maggie will have our guts for garters,” he chided.

“Yes, but the Unit doesn’t get to enough of these people fast enough. All this permission-seeking takes up too much time.” She gave him a long side look. “Besides, people like him are my reason.”

“I know, I know…but rules are rules, Ames. You have to do this right or they’ll get rid of us.”

“Me, not us,” she said, correcting him, staring up at his face.

Jack subconsciously ran a hand across his forehead, his fingers following the ugly scars that dragged around his eye socket and across his cheek. He turned away from her glare, frightened of seeing the distaste in her eyes.

“You’re my partner. I am responsible for you. I’ll get chucked out, too,” he muttered.

With a frustrated sigh, she blew hair out of her eyes, the blonde strands momentarily lifted, then settled back down framing her face. He watched out of the corner of his eyes, he loved it when she did that.

“You need a haircut,” he teased.

She ignored him, sulking, kicking at the corner of the man’s desk.

Jack softened; he knew what Dick Parker had done to her, and understood her revenge more than anyone. He stepped closer and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

“We have so much more work to do before our time is up. If we don’t follow the rules, we’re out, and I’m not ready to stop just yet. Are you?”

She shook her head. Not until she got to Dick Parker.

The man shuffled back into the room, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. Newly composed, the spluttering subsided; he sat back down at his computer and carried on surfing images of children. Jack and Amy watched him.

Unable to bear her revulsion, Amy pulled out of Jack’s arms and rushed forward, reaching for the man’s neck.

“The bastard,” she spat. “Just let me…”

“No,” snapped Jack, clicking his fingers over her hands. Her arms flailed up and out, swinging into a wide circle, as if warming up for a workout.

“OK, OK, grrrrrr…so many rules.” She stamped her foot in anger. He also loved it when she did that; he loved everything about her.

“They don’t play by the rules, so why the hell should we?” Amy sulked.

“Because if we don’t, we’re as bad as they are,” he reminded her shrugging. “Karma sorts it, eventually.”

She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and gave him a jaded look.

“We are karma, Jack. We are the ones that sort it. We’ve got to crack on with it. All this waiting for authorisation is getting on my tits. Do you know how many children get abused every day? Fear and shame keep them from speaking out. We have to do something.”

He nodded. He understood her frustration, but she had to learn to look at the bigger picture.