LANCELOT Page 6

  Julie led the way into her small kitchen. She poured two glasses of white wine, gesturing toward one of the kitchen chairs. “Take a load off, and tell me what this is all about. What’s your name, for starters?”

  “Vivian…Vivian Camlann,” the woman answered, accepting the half-full wine glass from Julie, and taking a sip. “Did you know Mr. Benwick very well?”

  “I doubt that anyone really knew him,” Julie replied, sitting down opposite Vivian with her wine. “We were friends. A few days ago his enlistment was up. He left for up North shortly after his discharge from the Marines.”

  Julie saw the disappointment on Vivian’s face.

  “You said you’d been looking for Jim for months. What for?”

  “That…that’s the hard part,” Vivian admitted, looking away. “I don’t really know. A year ago, I started having a recurring dream about this huge, dark-looking guy named Benwick. My foster parents thought I was nuts when I started asking them about birth parents.”

  “So, Jim’s a brother…a cousin…?” Julie asked, taking a gulp of her wine.

  “He’s not a relation,” Vivian admitted. “I’d only been with my latest pair of foster parents for about six months. Because I’d been bounced around through the system so many times – I’ve been in trouble since I was nine – they naturally had inquired as to who my birth parents were. My Mom’s a ‘crack ho’ in East LA, and my Dad died of a drug overdose when I was two.”

  “So, did you find out what Jim has to do with you?” Julie asked, becoming interested in Vivian’s explanation. “What have you been getting into trouble for, by the way?”

  “Boys, drugs, and booze,” Vivian answered truthfully with a shrug. “My foster parents didn’t have a clue as to what anybody named Benwick had to do with me. Since my attitude changed drastically once I began dreaming of this Benwick character, the foster parents pitched in. There aren’t too many James Lancelot Benwicks around. Together, we were able to find a marine with that name. We tried reaching him, but he was in Iraq, and for some reason he’d made sure no one could acquire his mailing address.”

  “Wow, his middle name’s Lancelot? No wonder I never saw it spelled out anywhere,” Julie replied, laughing. “Anyway, he only returned from overseas a month ago, and I’ve never seen him get anything in the mail besides general post office junk addressed to occupant. I’ve never known him to have a cell-phone either. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if he had a phone in his apartment. So, when you turned eighteen, you just took off?”

  “I had money saved from a part-time job I worked my last year of high school. My foster parents tried to talk me out of it. I told them it was something I had to do, and there really wasn’t anything they could do to stop me. They bought me one of those throw-away cell-phones for an emergency, and told me to keep in touch.”

  “I’m sorry you missed him, kid,” Julie said. “I’ll give you the address he gave me.”

  “Thanks,” Vivian sighed, taking another swallow of wine. “I’d hoped this would be the last part of my mystery trip. I won’t bother you any longer. If you’ll write the address down for me, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Have dinner with me, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow I’ll give you a lift to the bus station on my way to work,” Julie offered.

  “No offense, but you’re giving a lot of help to a stranger,” Vivian observed, smiling to take the edge off her words. “Were you and Benwick that good of friends?”

  “I’d say we were pretty good friends,” Julie smiled back, remembering the last night with Lancelot. “I admit to being more than a little curious about this dream business. Do you always dream of people before you meet them?”

  “This is the first time. Were you and Jim lovers?”

  “None of your business, stranger,” Julie retorted, feeling a curious tug to tell her the truth immediately.

  “That means yes,” Vivian declared, giggling. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t any of my business.”

  “No big deal,” Julie shrugged. “I’d been after him for a long time. The night before he left was the first night we spent together.”

  “No fireworks?”

  “Oh, there were plenty of them, but…he was… I don’t know…too much of a good thing. He turned me inside out, and left me with the feeling that I didn’t want a rematch.”

  “There really is too much of a good thing?” Vivian asked doubtfully.

  “I didn’t think so until that night,” Julie admitted, wondering at the young woman’s perceptive abilities. “I’m hungry. Want to split a pizza?”

  “Sure. Any chance you’ll give me the details of your sleepover with Benwick?”

  “Slim and none, nosy,” Julie snapped, blushing for the first time in a long while, and finishing off the rest of her wine. She glanced over at Vivian and shook her head. “You’re too young to be so curious about my sex life.”

  “C’mon, I’m a stranger. Who am I going to tell? Not that I ever would,” Vivian urged, leaning forward. “What’d he do to you?”

  “You’ve been watching too much reality TV,” Julie admonished, getting up to pour herself some more wine, again feeling the urge to describe the event. Facing away from Vivian, Julie confessed, “He spanked me.”

  “He did?” Vivian exclaimed excitedly. “Wow, why?”

  “Jim heard me mention getting turned on while getting spanked one time in high school, and he didn’t forget. I was goading him a little the other night. He turned the tables on me,” Julie admitted, still turned away from the table. “If you find him, you’ll have to be careful. You think at first you know everything there is to know about him…” Julie faced Vivian, sipping her wine. “And then he pulls something like that.”

  “Yeah, but you liked it,” Vivian said accusingly, pointing her finger at Julie in jest.

  “Oh God…” Julie chuckled, bewildered at how easily she felt with this complete stranger. “I refuse to think about how much I liked being under his control, even for a night.”

  Vivian held out her glass for more wine, and Julie filled it.

  “I don’t think I’d like that,” Vivian whispered, but her face told a different story.

  “Hummm…” Julie murmured, putting aside her glass, her breathing heavier. “Maybe you shouldn’t look Jim up, then.”

  “You mean he might be dangerous?”

  “Oh, he’s dangerous,” Julie replied, “but he won’t hurt you. I’m thinking more in line with you falling for him. Jim’s not the type to get attached.”

  “I have to find out what he is to me, and why I keep dreaming of him.” Vivian shrugged. “I don’t have anything to lose by finding out.”

  “You might have more to lose than you think,” Julie said cryptically, picking up the phone. “I’ll order the pizza.”

  ***

  Vivian exited the bus and went inside the Oakland, California terminal. She found a public pay phone, which was no easy task. She called information, and breathed a sigh of relief as the operator was immediately able to furnish the newly listed phone number for a James Lancelot Benwick. Vivian wrote it down on her notepad. As she called the number, her heart racing, she recalled Julie’s warning.

  “Hello?” A gruff voice acknowledged the call on the third ring.

  “Ah…hi, you don’t know me…but-”

  “Sorry, I’m not interested.” Lancelot hung up, thinking it was a telemarketer.

  Vivian cursed herself and redialed.

  “Hey, look…I’m not…” Lancelot began.

  “Please don’t hang up. I know Julie. My name’s Vivian Camlann. I just want to talk.”

  “What did you say your name is?” Lancelot asked in disbelief.

  “Vivian…Vivian Camlann.”

  “Where are you?” Lancelot asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “I’m at the Greyhound bus station in Oakland. See…it’s kind of hard to explain, but I’ve had this dream-”

  “Stay where you are. I’ll be th
ere in twenty minutes, tops,” Lancelot told her quickly.

  “Do…do you know me?”

  “That’s what we have to find out, right?” Lancelot asked, trying not to spook the girl, who he perceived to be very young by the sound of her voice. It was tantalizingly familiar, yet different.

  “Yes…I think so,” Vivian answered, suddenly not so sure. “I’ll be out front, waiting for you. I’m wearing jeans and a blue windbreaker. I have dark hair, and I’m five feet seven inches tall.”

  “I’ll be driving a black Pontiac Grand Prix. See you soon.”

  Vivian hung up the phone with trembling hand. She would finally meet the mystery man from her dreams, and she was frightened. With her traveling interlude coming to a close, Vivian wondered what the outcome would be. Grabbing up her bag, she walked outside and waited in plain sight by the curb on San Pablo Avenue. Glancing around uneasily, she felt fortunate for the daylight. Four young men, who had watched her make the phone call, followed her out of the terminal.

  “Hey, baby doll, wait up,” one of them called out from close behind her, as another of the group grabbed her arm. “Where ‘ya goin’?”

  Vivian twisted free, looking the four over with a smile. She had grown up in foster homes, and had run away to live on the streets more than a few times. Already, she gripped the can of pepper spray inside her bag. “I’m waiting for a friend who’ll be here shortly, guys,” she explained, keeping the four in front of her and moving back when they tried to encircle her.

  “Be nice, now,” the leader cajoled. “How ‘bout checkin’ out a party with us?”

  “Not going to happen, but thanks anyway,” Vivian answered calmly, moving along the curb, while edging the pepper spray into a position where she could use it quickly without revealing it. “C’mon, guys, let it go. This is broad daylight. Walk away.”

  The leader laughed, as did the other three, and Vivian started paying more attention. They were all wearing loose black-and-gray clothing. All of them were taller than she. Worst of all, three more dressed the same way were walking toward the group from the terminal. Vivian glanced around hurriedly, smiling as if she were in on a joke, while looking for a policeman, security guard, or someone with a cell phone.

  “There ain’t nobody around to help you, girl. Might as well show us a good time,” the leader said, holding his arms out in welcoming fashion.

  “Not going to happen,” Vivian repeated, holding onto her smile as the seven men began spreading out. “I’ll start screaming if you take one more step.”

  “Scream away, baby,” the leader invited, rushing toward her.

  Vivian sprayed the attacking thug dead center in the face. He screamed in anguish a moment later, pawing at his eyes and lurching toward the terminal. Another man, who had been closest to the pepper-sprayed leader, threw a coat over Vivian’s hand and pepper spray. The others rushed in to rip the coat and spray can from Vivian’s hand. She side-kicked the knee of the closest assailant, sending him to the sidewalk, where he clutched his knee in agony. Vivian twisted to run across the street, but one of the thugs caught a handful of her hair. He yanked her backwards off her feet. She landed heavily on her back, gasping for breath.

  Kicking and throwing punches, Vivian hoped to hold them off until someone from the terminal noticed her plight. The guy who had pulled her to the ground landed a glancing blow to her nose with a downward punch. Spitting blood, Vivian kicked the Achilles’ tendon of the man in front of her as he turned away to watch the street. The man she kicked pitched forward off his feet, cursing Vivian as he gripped his throbbing ankle with both hands. Vivian tried to jackknife away, as the rest of the gang began kicking her. The man holding her hair punched down at her face. Cringing away from the blow, Vivian saw a shadow pass over the attacker. An enormous hand caught the descending fist. Bones snapped hideously, as the screaming gang member was pulled and tossed away to the side like a sack of bad fruit.

  Vivian saw a massive man with short-cropped hair – clad in a black tee shirt – reach down and grip her shoulders while her attackers fell back a step. The new arrival had Vivian on her feet and shoved behind him in a split second. The man Vivian had kicked crawled painfully away, unable to stay on his feet. The leader sat in the middle of the sidewalk between the rest of his gang and the terminal, rocking back and forth, his hands clamped tightly against his eyes. Off to the right, another groaned as he lay holding his maimed hand against his chest.

  Spitting more blood and pinching off the flow from her nose, Vivian grinned. She could feel the rage radiating from the man shielding her. Muscles snaked under his skin as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

  “Back off, motherfucker!” One of the remaining goons screamed, reaching under his black windbreaker.

  Instantly, a booted foot streaked up, smashing the man in the face and catapulting him to the sidewalk as blood spurted from his ruined nose. He twitched slightly, and lay still. His companions had not even seen the big man move.

  “Take her, man, and leave,” another of the gang told the new arrival, making a gesture for the men still standing to back away.

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Vivian thought the gravelly voice sounded like Darth Vader, only with sheer naked menace added.

  “Get the fuck outta here!” the man repeated. “We won’t stop you.”

  “Your bunch attacked this young woman, and hurt her. I’ve already called 911, and the cops are on their way. All of you will wait here for them.”

  “Fuck this!” a man on their left said as he turned to run off.

  A roundhouse kick to the face ended his intended flight, and no one had seen the kicker’s movement, other than a blur. A thousand years of unarmed combat experience had honed Lancelot into a murderously dangerous fighter. He rarely allowed anyone to see his skill. The thought that this gang could have killed the young woman before he found out who she was made it nearly impossible for him to keep from killing them all. He took a deep breath. His next words were filled with deadly promise.

  “You and your buddy here, can sit down where you are with the rest of your posse, and wait for the cops, or you can wait unconscious and maimed for the ambulance. Your call.”

  The two thugs looked at the man shielding Vivian, and then at each other. They sat down on the sidewalk. By this time, they had drawn a crowd from the terminal, and sirens wailed in the distance. Lancelot pointed a warning finger at the man who had told him to leave.

  “Don’t move an inch, or by God, I’ll rip something off you. Understand?”

  Both sitting men nodded their heads vigorously. Pulling a clean handkerchief from his pants, Lancelot turned slightly, to check on Vivian. He handed her the cloth, and she pressed it to her still-bleeding nose. Lancelot kept his eyes on all seven of the men. He had no intention of letting any of them get away. The crowd began to applaud. Three squad cars roared up in front of the terminal.

  “T’anks,” Vivian told him gratefully.

  “I’ll let the police know what happened. I’m Jim Benwick, and you must be Vivian,” Lancelot remarked, smiling slightly as he noticed Vivian’s very familiar shining blue eyes.

  “You…you’re Benwick?” Vivian asked nasally.

  “Yep. I’ll be right back. Can you stand okay?”

  Vivian nodded, and watched Lancelot meet with the two officers walking toward them. The policemen eyed Lancelot with some trepidation. Lancelot showed them his military ID card and California driver’s license. The police relaxed visibly.

  “I was to meet this young lady here at the terminal,” Lancelot explained. “When I drove up, these men were attacking her.”

  “You did all this?” the black police officer asked incredulously, gesturing at the crew being rounded up by his fellow officers.

  “The young lady took care of two – one with pepper spray and the other with a kick to what looks like his Achilles’ tendon.” Lancelot glanced over at the man two officers were helping to stand. Lancelot sm
iled. “I’ll bet she cracked it. The guy over there on his back is dead.”

  “Was he shot?”

  “No. He went for the gun in his waistband, and I kicked him in the face,” Lancelot explained matter-of-factly. “Did you call for an ambulance? My friend will need attention.”

  “One’s on the way,” the black officer with Williams on his nametag answered, shaking his head. “We’ll need the coroner, now, too. I don’t suppose there was any way to avoid killing him?”

  “Sure. I could have let him shoot us.” Lancelot delivered the line with a straight face, which evoked muffled laughter from both police officers.

  “Okay, Benwick. Go and wait with your friend,” Officer Williams directed. “After the EMTs look her over, I’m afraid you’ll both have to come down to the station with us, if she doesn’t have to be hospitalized.”