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m-danson.livejournal.comThe spells that maintained her strength had long since worn off. She no longer had enough energy to renew them so she had to fall back on a cop's best friend... strong black coffee. She was on her sixth cup when they came for her.
She was the restaurant's lone customer amidst the sea of upturned chairs. One petite unarmed woman should not have been threatening. She sat at the bar, sipping coffee and eating sushi with her fingers. The uniformed police officers approached her carefully, as if approaching a particularly venomous snake. She ignored them and popped another piece of sashami into her mouth. The officers hesitated then looked to their commanding officer. He straightened his vest then stepped forward.
"Ms. Danson?"
She acknowledged his question with a half-glance over her shoulder.
"Ms. Danson. We are here..."
The door to the kitchen swung open. Startled, the cops brought their guns to bear on a middle-aged Japanese man carrying a steaming bowl of miso soup. Both sides stared at each other uncertain until Ms. Danson spoke into the tense silence,
"You came here to arrest me."
The officer in charge stumbled over his reply.
"Yes director... mame... I mean... You are..."
Danson smiled to herself.
"Don't worry. I will come peacefully."
They relaxed.
"After I finish eating."
She signaled for the chef to bring the soup and bowed slightly to him as he set the bowl in front of her. He withdrew behind the bar. The officers exchanged confused glances as they were ordered to stand down and wait. Shielded from view by the bulk of her body her hands shook in thier attempts to bring soup to her mouth. When it became clear that spoon was not going to cooperate she carefully set it aside and lifted the bowl to her lips. Both elbows rested on the bar bracing her arms and holding the bowl steady. Deliberate and natural. No signs of weakness.
An officer coughed.
Another fidgeted as the chef polished his knives.
Danson savoured her soup.
With a contented sigh she set the bowl down and rose to her feet. The police snapped to attention behind her. She reached behind her. They tensed. She pulled out her wallet. They relaxed. She dumped a wad of bills onto the bar in front of the japanese man. For just a moment before she turned they shared a glance. A shared good-bye full of sadness and understanding.
"Let's get this show on the road then," she said as she presented her wrists to the officer in charge.
Cuffed and guarded she was lead out to the waiting patrol car.
He waited until the flashing lights were a memory and the echos of the siren could no longer be heard before he pulled the card out from under the pile of cash. Carefully he put it in the pocket of his coat. He locked the front door behind him. Two streets over he found an unoccupied pay phone and called the number on the card. A few brief words was all that was needed. Three blocks further down he found a second pay phone. This time he dialed from memory, an international number. This call took longer. As he made his report a tear rolled down his face. Absently he reached up to wipe it away. For just a second his sleeve fell open exposing the small tattoo on the inside of his wrist. A stylized flame growing from the center of three concentric circles.
She was the restaurant's lone customer amidst the sea of upturned chairs. One petite unarmed woman should not have been threatening. She sat at the bar, sipping coffee and eating sushi with her fingers. The uniformed police officers approached her carefully, as if approaching a particularly venomous snake. She ignored them and popped another piece of sashami into her mouth. The officers hesitated then looked to their commanding officer. He straightened his vest then stepped forward.
"Ms. Danson?"
She acknowledged his question with a half-glance over her shoulder.
"Ms. Danson. We are here..."
The door to the kitchen swung open. Startled, the cops brought their guns to bear on a middle-aged Japanese man carrying a steaming bowl of miso soup. Both sides stared at each other uncertain until Ms. Danson spoke into the tense silence,
"You came here to arrest me."
The officer in charge stumbled over his reply.
"Yes director... mame... I mean... You are..."
Danson smiled to herself.
"Don't worry. I will come peacefully."
They relaxed.
"After I finish eating."
She signaled for the chef to bring the soup and bowed slightly to him as he set the bowl in front of her. He withdrew behind the bar. The officers exchanged confused glances as they were ordered to stand down and wait. Shielded from view by the bulk of her body her hands shook in thier attempts to bring soup to her mouth. When it became clear that spoon was not going to cooperate she carefully set it aside and lifted the bowl to her lips. Both elbows rested on the bar bracing her arms and holding the bowl steady. Deliberate and natural. No signs of weakness.
An officer coughed.
Another fidgeted as the chef polished his knives.
Danson savoured her soup.
With a contented sigh she set the bowl down and rose to her feet. The police snapped to attention behind her. She reached behind her. They tensed. She pulled out her wallet. They relaxed. She dumped a wad of bills onto the bar in front of the japanese man. For just a moment before she turned they shared a glance. A shared good-bye full of sadness and understanding.
"Let's get this show on the road then," she said as she presented her wrists to the officer in charge.
Cuffed and guarded she was lead out to the waiting patrol car.
He waited until the flashing lights were a memory and the echos of the siren could no longer be heard before he pulled the card out from under the pile of cash. Carefully he put it in the pocket of his coat. He locked the front door behind him. Two streets over he found an unoccupied pay phone and called the number on the card. A few brief words was all that was needed. Three blocks further down he found a second pay phone. This time he dialed from memory, an international number. This call took longer. As he made his report a tear rolled down his face. Absently he reached up to wipe it away. For just a second his sleeve fell open exposing the small tattoo on the inside of his wrist. A stylized flame growing from the center of three concentric circles.
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