The Run

The Run

She heard it ever single day for the first 15 years of her life; it was no surprise to hear it ringing in her ears as she ran. That deep guttural growl, rising from somewhere dark and hot; grating and cutting like a rusty hand saw.

“Hey dummy, what’s the matter? “Is the dumb little bitch, tired? Is she ready to quit? Ready to lie down and die? Is the useless piece of shit going to cry?”

He managed to make her listen, made her know; that no matter what the insult, no matter the vile things he said, the cruelest names he could think of, she would startle and look up.

There was a difference though; all those years, every time she heard it, her first instinct, her first reaction, was exactly what he said, exactly what he wanted. She would cry, she would falter, she would lie down and quit.

During those times; if she did not quit, if she showed any sign of resistance, the beatings would come. She learned early; she never was the dumb little bitch he imagined, the useless piece of shit he tried to force her to be. The endurance and strength beaten into her over the years, it took some time, but eventually, that hammering tempered her spine enough.

The look of surprise in his eyes as the knife slid between his ribs almost made her cry, the feeling of victory was so sweet, it only intensified as she rose up on her toes to twist and yank the blade free. The blood spurted brightly, the surprise in his eyes quickly turned to horror, something she was sure, he had never felt before. Before he could reach out to grab her, she deftly moved behind him, pulled the wallet from his pocket and drew the knife quickly across his throat.

She never looked back to see him fall. Her bags had been packed and hidden away for days. She checked herself in the mirror; ragged short blonde hair, fair to medium skin tone, glacially green eyes deep and dark. There was no obvious splatter on her clothes, she carefully wiped the blood from her hands and bent to light the loose piles of papers scattered around, picked up her bags and walked out the door.

At that moment, Martha Ann Stewart ceased to exist. Lila Williams hurried down the street; she had only a few minutes before the bus was due to leave.

In one way or another she had been running every since then; she got by, one thing she had learned well from the old man was how to blend in, how to not bring attention to what you really were. That talent, her strength and incredible endurance, took her pretty far in the dark shadow world of the city streets.

Lila had barely got off the bus before an enterprising young pimp that regularly trolled the station in search of potential young “talent”, spotted her. Since she needed a place to stay and some way to make a living, she went along quite willingly.

The first couple of years her fresh young face and supple, slim body made the pimp quite a bit of money. He was never comfortable when she was alone with him though and after a couple of years, he sold her “contract”. This story played out many times over the years, pimp masters bought her for her beauty, but soon felt uncomfortable with her ambition and brains, eventually she moved up the ladder into “middle management”.

There was a need for someone who could control the girls, make sure that they made plenty of money and quality of services was controlled. Lila learned quickly that she could do all of that, she could do it quite well. She didn't care that the girls were little more than slaves, their bodies were to be used to fill her pockets as well as the boss's. She had survived being a slave and had made her own way out, if the girls were smarter she figured, they would find their own way out.

She lived quite comfortably and mostly, quietly. She feared nobody; no matter what or who, she faced over the next ten years, none was as tough or as mean as her father had been, none stood much of a chance when in her way.

Until today.

Over the years, she learned all of the rules, it may be surprising, but even in the underworld, there are many rules. If you lived the life, you learned the rules; the quicker you learned them, the fewer scars you carried later. The number one rule was not much different than it was in the business world out in the open, YOU DON’T STEAL FROM THE BOSS! Especially if the boss was the most feared gangster in the city and most especially, if “Little Bill” Easton was the one the boss sent to collect.

She almost made it; she had hidden out for three days and nights in the worst kinds of places, she could find. The kinds of places she knew no one would ever voluntarily go. All she had to do was climb that last set of stairs, run out through the trees to the waiting car and she would be out of town, out of the state and very soon, out of the country.

“Little Bill” had appeared out of the shadows of the archway like a sudden wisp of smoke.

He didn't say a word; there wasn't anything he had to say she didn't already know. She didn't say anything either, there would be no use to pleading or trying womanly charms. The blade was quick; the blood was thick, warm and copious. As the life faded from her eyes, young Martha Ann Stewart gazed up the long stairway, “It wasn't that far, I almost made it!”

1020 words