The Search for Information

Betty and Irena go on a search to find Sheila's whereabouts

By Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com)

"Wasn't that crazy about what happened to Janelle the other day?" Betty Conrad said as she executed a right snap kick.

"Yes, it sounds like something out of a nightmare," Irena Brezhnev said as she performed an over the shoulder throw. "It sounds so hard to believe."

With her closed left fist, Betty threw a forward punch. "I've ran into my share of freaky characters, but those three that terrorized her and Ben take the cake," she said.

"If you ask me, she let that Huntress character off the hook a little too easy," Irena replied as she applied a hip throw. "If someone came to me like that and threatened me and threatened to take William away, she would've had at least a few broken bones for her effort."

Betty executed a heel palm thrust with her right hand, and followed it up with left forward kick. "I have no argument with you there. I also would have to break something. And I thought we were the only ones who had weirdoes show up on our doorstep."

"I guess that old saying is true, just when you think you have it bad, there's always someone else who has it worse. Isn't that right, comrade?" Irena said as she was applying a hammerlock to her victim. The victim only replied in a pained grunt. "What, no threats to pull my hair out or rip my breasts off or to damage my womanhood? I'm disappointed."

"At least your dance partner is still conscious," Betty said as she stood over her defeated foe, a blonde-haired woman dressed in tight blue jeans, a tighter white blouse, and black leather boots. "Then again, the way this woman is dressed, it's a wonder she can breathe at all, much less move."

Irena was literally sitting on her opponent, pulling the woman's arm tightly up her back when it looked like she was going to let loose with another stream of profanity. The downed woman was also dressed in tight blue jeans, a blue T-shirt two sizes too small, and red pumps with spike heels. While the two defeated women seemed to be dressed more for going out to a bar in the red-light district, Betty and Irena were dressed the complete opposite. Irena was wearing a blue pullover sweatshirt with red stripes running along the sleeves and cream colored fleece pants that cut at mid-calf. Betty was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and white leggings with a black stripe down each side. Both were barefoot, as usual.

"One more word about my parents, particularly my mother, where I come from, comparing me with members of the canine family, or asking me to fornicate myself, and you will be carrying this arm home," Irena said.

Betty walked over to where Irena was, then bent down and addressed the pinned woman squirming on the ground.

"Okay, we already know who sent you; it's the same woman who's sent us a steady stream of catfighters for the last several weeks. It's getting rather tiring, really. We just want you to answer one question for us; where is Sheila?" Betty asked.

The woman started to blast Betty with another stream of profanity, then realizing her position, particularly the arm painfully wedged up her back, thought better of it. Instead, she told Betty where she last saw Sheila.

"I saw her the other night at O'Malley's Saloon, Delores talked to her at Smokin' Joe's Pool Hall across the street. She said that you said you were the toughest woman in town. She offered fifty dollars to either or both of us if we could take you down. If we could take your assistant out, we'd get twenty-five dollars. Seventy-five dollars if we took out both of you," the woman said.

Betty exploded. "First of all, I have never said I was the toughest woman in town, some goober pinned that title on me, and I've been trying to get rid of it ever since. Second, fifty bucks? That's all she offered you to get me? Of all the stupid things," she said.

"How do you think I feel?" Irena said. "I'm only the price of a decent oil change. I feel cheap."

"You came to challenge us for a lousy seventy-five dollars? You can step into the ring of a Toughwoman competition and get more than that. As a matter of fact, if you just show up in the ring, you get a couple of hundred or so. Why would you two take us on, especially in that getup?" Betty asked.

"Because you're the toughest girl in town, they say," the woman replied, like the answer was obvious. "And what's wrong with what we're wearing?"

"That's it," Betty said. "You tell Sheila the next time you see her, that I will find her, and whack her across the head so hard, she won't know which way is straight. Let her up, Irena. She has a message to deliver, and I'm waiting on a package to come in back at the garage."

Irena released her. "Don't forget to wake up your friend there, you'll need to fill her in on what she missed," she said.

"And by the way, if you gals plan to take us on again, don't come back until you learn how to fight. The next one who tries to pull my hair or rip my clothes will come back without any teeth," Betty said as her and Irena walked off.

Over the course of several weeks, it almost seemed like there was an attacker every other day at Barefoot Betty's Auto Repair. Though she wasn't a stranger to people coming by and challenging her to a fight, lately it was getting to the point where she couldn't end a regular day at work without a man, woman, or gangs of men or women dropping by and threatening to beat her up because Sheila would give them some incentive to do so. However, being included as part of a seventy-five dollar bounty was the last straw.

"Sheila is getting desperate, sending all these women off the street to get us," Irena said as they drove back to the garage.

"Some of them look like they work on the street," Betty said. "Can you believe that getup that woman had on? Whoever heard of wearing high heeled pumps to a fight?"

"I could see some significance in pulling someone's hair to a point, but what's the reason for trying to rip the other woman's clothes off? Would it not be better to just beat them to a pulp?" Irena said as the two walked in the office door.

"Maybe we should pin one down and ask them. We seem to get one every other day, so ' hey, my package is here!"

Betty shot out the door and almost snatched the package from the deliveryman before she signed her signature. After she gave an apology for her rashness, she dashed back into the office and started tearing at her package like an inpatient child on Christmas day.

"So Betty, what is this package that is so important to you? I have not seen you this excited since you made that sale on that Porsche convertible you rebuilt," Irena said.

Betty opened the box and pulled out a solid black metal object. "It's this baby right here. It's a retractable baton, similar to what policemen use. With a flick of my wrist, I can extend it out to eighteen inches. Pretty cool, huh?"

Irena looked at the baton with fascination. "Yes, that is interesting, but what do you plan on doing with it?" She asked.

"The next time someone messes with me with a knife, a club, or something, I can whip this out and ' bam!" Betty lashed out with the baton in a safe direction, allowing the object to extend to its full length. "I reach out and touch someone. I figured a big fight fan like you would have an appreciation for such a beauty like this."

"I do, but I prefer your sensei's philosophy regarding weapons."

"I feel bad; Kim has taught me Tae Kwon Do for years, and I forgot what her philosophy was on weapons. Please refresh my memory," Betty said.

"She said that the best weapon you can have is yourself. That's because your own body goes everywhere with you, you can make it ready at anytime, and you can always make improvements and "upgrade' it. When you're a living weapon, you can go just about anywhere without having to worry if you're carrying any protection. This starts with your confidence first and your physical skills second," Irena said.

"I remember now, she gave that speech years ago when I just started attending classes as a "green' white belt. You sound like you just started attending her classes. When did you hear this?"

"I dropped by her dojo one evening, and we talked "shop.' She was curious about my black belt in Sambo, and I had a few Tae Kwon Do questions to ask her. We had a nice time. You know, I do other things besides spend time with cars and your brother," Irena said with a grin.

"You know, you could've asked me questions about Tae Kwon Do; I am a black belt, you know," Betty said, almost sounding a little hurt.

"That is true, but you don't have a cousin who is a grandmaster in my disciplines' sister art, judo. I'd like to meet her some day, but in the meantime, I'd have to settle for Kim's stories about her."

"Well you got me there. I do have a cousin who almost looks like me who practices Tae Kwon Do, though. She's an airline stewardess."

"Really? I'd like to meet her."

"No you wouldn't."

"Why is that? She is not a nice person?"

"Yeah she is, but let's put it this way: be glad that your boyfriend is related to me, otherwise things would get a little sticky."

"Oh, she's a man-chaser," Irena said.

"No, a man-eater would be more like it. But she doesn't visit that often, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah. Speaking of items of concern, for a woman who hates being pegged with the title "the toughest girl in town,' you seem to be rather taken with this baton. Are you looking forward to bashing someone's head in with that?"

Betty, who was twirling the baton almost absentmindedly, stopped for a moment. "No, not at all. But if I'm going to be taking on everybody, it wouldn't hurt to have a little something extra every now and then," she said.

"I thought your roundhouse kicks took care of that something "extra.' But then again, I'm a purist when it comes to fighting. By the way, you may want to stop swinging that thing around," Irena said.

"Why, does my baton swinging offend you?"

"No, but it might offend her," Irena said, pointing out the window.

Betty peeked out the window, and saw her old friend, Barbie Kendoll walking toward the garage. Barbie was a blonde woman who stood around 5'6", and ironically in many ways resembled the doll that bore her name. Like her namesake, Barbie had long blonde hair, a cheerful looking face, and her figure was relatively proportionate. Over the period of a little over a year, due to extensive judo training and regularly lifting weights, her figure has become more muscular in appearance. She was wearing a short sleeve white blouse, and black slacks that extended as to mid-calf, showing off her muscular legs and bare feet, the toenails done in a white frost color. Along with her was a woman approximately two inches taller than Barbie with facial characteristics that were clearly Native American. She had a slender but clearly muscled build as one could observe from her attire, consisting of a white sleeveless blouse and a dark tan khaki skirt. Her footwear consisted of only a Native American ankle bracelet around the left ankle.

"Looks like Barbie made another "convert,'" Irena said, and then tried to suppress her laughter as Betty scrambled around the office looking for a place to hide her baton. Finally she pulled open an empty desk drawer and threw the baton in, package and all, and slammed it shut just seconds before Barbie poked her head in the office.

"Hello, are you two busy?" Barbie asked as her and her guest stepped in.

"No, we're not busy at all," Betty replied, sounding just slightly out of breath. She covered it up with clearing her throat, then asked, "Who's your friend?"

"Betty, Irena, this is Lori Twotrees. She and I met at the Saturday morning women's breakfast at church last month. She's a business major at school, and she had some questions to a subject that you two know something about."

"How," Lori said, raising up her hand in greeting, and then laughing from the stereotypical reference.

"Yo," Betty replied.

"I would consider giving you a greeting in Russian, but I'll just say hello," Irena said. "Please forgive my ignorance, but you're the first Native American I've met. If you don't mind my asking, what tribe ' is that the right word ' are you?"

"I don't mind at all, Irena. My father is Navaho, and my mother is Navaho and Cherokee, so you can say I'm Navaho/Cherokee," Lori said. "Just in case you're wondering, we don't talk like Tonto, I have never done a rain dance in my life, and we're not all alcoholics who don't work. I must admit, you're the first Russian I've met."

"Just in case you're wondering, let's see, we don't live on vodka, we bathe regularly, we don't sit in a corner and plot how to take over the United States, and as you can plainly hear, we don't sound like villains from a James Bond movie. Does that cover everything?"

"I think so." Both women laughed.

"Well if you know my parentage, I represent the best of both stereotypes," Betty said.

"I feel like a vanilla wafer in a box of assorted cookies," Barbie said, "But then again, I'm blonde, so I guess I get some misconceptions with that."

After she recovered from laughing, Irena asked, "So what question did you have for us that involved our expertise?"

"She's looking for a place to fight," Barbie said. After Betty and Irena gave her a strange look, she added, "for competition, of course. I figured since we know several experts in the martial arts, Irena participated in the cage fights in Russia, and Betty does, er, well, you know, she might be able to get involved in something."

"Well that depends," Irena said. "What discipline are you schooled in?"

"That's kind of a long story. Back in Colorado where I lived 'which wasn't on a reservation, to kill another stereotype ' our neighborhood was a little rough, so it wasn't unusual for everyone on our street to get in a fight at least once a month. I held my own, but I wanted an edge. Then one night, I saw the movie Enter the Dragon with Bruce Lee, and I was hooked. I wanted to know all about the martial art he practiced, so I bought every book, tape, and DVD on the subject, and every night I practiced Jeet Kune Do," Lori said.

"Wait a minute, you taught yourself Jeet Kune Do?" Betty asked.

"Yeah. All the books and tapes say you should have a trained expert teach you, but where I lived, experts in any fighting art were hard to find, so what was I to do?"

"How well did you do?"

"After I learned the basic techniques, I did very well. After several months, no one messed with me. I was the neighborhood "peacemaker,' protecting our street from rival gangs, major skirmishes, things like that."

"Wow," Betty said.

"Then some guy planted a Baptist church at the end of our street, half of the neighbors got saved, and there were no more fights in the neighborhood. But I found I liked the activity, the exercise, the ' you know what I mean, right?"

"I know what you mean Lori, it was the same way with me," Irena said. "There are a few wrestling clubs around town; the best ones are super competitive. But that's wrestling, you're looking more for a mixed martial arts type deal, right?"

"Yes, my ground skills need work."

"Then I know just the place that may answer all your questions. There's a carpenter, Loretta DeGarmo, who teaches a "boot camp' in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for those who want to compete. I can give you her number."

"Better yet, you can meet her. We're planning on getting together Monday after work to discuss rebuilding a car she found and adding another addition to the office," Betty said. "You're more than welcome to join us."

"Thanks Betty, Irena, thanks a lot. Uh, you wouldn't need help with that addition to the office, would you, Betty?"

"As far as what?"

"Things like indoor plumbing."

"Lori wants to run her own plumbing business," Barbie said.

"So you're majoring in business so you'll know how to run it. That's the same route Betty and I took," Irena said. "You know Betty, an extra bathroom in the garage would be great."

"That's true. Okay, we'll talk about that too, Lori," Betty said. She then looked down at Lori's feet. "I see Barbie has made a believer out of you."

"A believer?" Lori asked.

"Yeah, Barbie seems to be our own "barefoot evangelist.' It appears that within a short time of being with Barbie, people start taking their shoes off."

"Well I always ran and fought better barefoot, but when I came to this college on my track scholarship, I thought I should wear something on my feet so I would look less like a savage and appear more "civilized.' Then I run into Barbie at church, and she told me to take them off and leave them off, so how could I refuse?"

"And I thought she would be a fresh convert," Irena said.

"It's funny you mention the word "convert,'" Barbie said. "That explains the reason I'm here. As the new chairperson of the Evangelism committee at church, I figured I'd try this new idea I've been bouncing around in my head."

"So what's my part in it, get saved, get a free oil change?" Betty asked.

"No, not at all," Barbie said, pulling out a small stack of business-sized cards. She handed a small stack to Betty and Irena, who both looked at them. The cards had what looked like a drawing made in pencil of their church, and a slogan that said, "Come visit our services; you should see what you're missing." Under that slogan were the times for the weekend services and the pastor's name and church's phone number.

"No problem, Barbie, I'll just place a stack of them beside the cash register; they'll be gone in no time," Betty said.

"Actually Betty, that's not the idea. They're actually aids for personal evangelism."

Betty's face came close to becoming pale. "You mean hand these cards out to people, and talk to them?"

Irena patted her on the back. "Of course that's what she meant, comrade; what did you think she meant?" She said.

"I, I don't know if I could do that, Barbie," Betty said in a quiet voice.

Barbie laughed. "Come on Betty, you're one of the bravest people I know if not the bravest. You mean you couldn't hand people a card 'outside of work, of course- and invite them to church?"

"Well personal evangelism isn't one of my strong suits. If you wanted to discuss the detailed workings of an internal combustion engine or whether the latest Mustang that Ford put out was any good or if I think alternative fuel automobiles are a good idea, then I'm right there with you. I can talk about those things all day long. But inviting somebody to something, or just talking to them on something like this, I don't know."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Back in college, I took all my courses for my degree and passed them with flying colors. I could've graduated a semester early except for one class."

"Let me guess," Lori said. "Public speaking?"

"Yup. If it wasn't for an understanding instructor who told me to speak on what I knew, I might still be taking that class today. It's the only college class I got a C in," Betty said.

"Wow, I did not know this about you, Betty," Irena said, smiling. "First, you have a fear of mud, now you also have a fear of speaking in public?"

"I am not afraid of mud!" Betty blurted out. "I just hate the way it swishes between my toes, all right?"

"Really? That's one of the reasons I'm going into plumbing," Lori said. "When it's real hot, and you've been walking on hot pavement or desert soil all day, you look for the nearest body of water where the dirt is nice and soggy and sink your feet into that. Oh, it feels like heaven, to coin a phrase."

"I recommend the same thing with snow, myself," Irena said, "But mud isn't too bad."

"Where I come from, snow is something you see in the movies."

"Well when the first snowfall hits here, we'll go on a hike, okay?"

"It's a deal."

"I'll have to try that mud idea, it sounds good," Barbie said. "But Betty, you would be talking on something you know."

"I know, but I'm a mechanic with a business degree, not a seminarian," Betty complained.

"You don't have to know all that. As a matter of fact, tonight I'm having an informal seminar on how to witness to people if you never done it before. It's at six if you want to come."

"That sounds great, but I can't make it tonight; Irena and I have other plans," Betty said, ignoring the quizzical look from Irena.

"Okay, I'll be having another seminar soon, so I'll keep you posted. Anyway, we have a few more people to talk to, so I'll talk to you later."

"Pleasure meeting you Betty, and you too, Irena. I'll be looking for you the minute some snow hits the ground," Lori said.

"Count on it, comrade," Irena said.

"Nice meeting you too, Lori. Talk to you later, Barbie," Betty said.

"Bye," Barbie said, as they walked back to her car. As soon as they drove off, Irena turned to Betty.

"Well I can't wait," Irena said.

"Wait for what?" Betty asked.

"These wonderful plans we have for this evening that I knew nothing about."

"Oh, sorry about that. Actually I do have an idea that may help us with finding the elusive Sheila. Since my brother happens to be out of town on a trip with friends, I figured it was a good guess that your plans weren't too pressing this evening."

"No, I just had a nice warm book waiting for me, along with some plans on rebuilding another truck."

"That book will still be there, and before you build yourself another truck, maybe you should get with Loretta to see about building you a garage first so you'll have a place to put it."

"That's a small detail; I plan on selling the truck after I build it anyway. But enough about me, tell me about these wonderful plans you have for us both."

"Okay. You remember those two places that woman told us where she and her friend ran into Sheila?"

"Yes I do."

"Well I thought after dinner, we could go and pay these places a visit. We'll just ask where Sheila is and go from there. If we're real lucky, maybe we'll see her. That wouldn't be too lucky for her though," Betty said.

Irena stared at her for a moment. "You're serious, aren't you?" She said.

Betty smirked at her. "What's wrong, are you "scared?'"

"No, I am always cautious about entering the den of a wolf. Sheila, or her henchwomen challenge us here. When we fight them, it's usually on neutral territory. What you're suggesting is possibly treading on her home turf, where she possibly has friends loyal to her cause."

"Possible, but I'm willing to chance it. And Sheila is not a "wolf,' she's a cowardly steroid-headed moron who won't leave us alone. You also forget some of her "friends' are also looking for her."

Irena ran her finger on top of Betty's desk, and then spoke. "Okay, I'll go with you, but let's do it this way. After we have dinner at your house, and I think judging from the aroma, she's having meat loaf, we'll go to our destination in our separate cars."

"Separate cars?" Betty asked.

"Yes, because we can hit both locations at the same time separately. We'll meet back at our designated meeting place, trade notes, and go home. I have dibs on the pool hall."

"Why there?"

"I have been itching to play a game of pool for a long time since I got here. Besides, you can have good conversations over a good game of pool."

"Good idea. I guess I'll just ask the bartender or someone helpful my questions. This will be a good time to bring my baton; I may get a chance to try it out."

"Comrade, you need to remember that this isn't like that old American TV show, "Gunsmoke,' and you're not Marshall Dillon, or in this case, Marsha Dillon, coming by to "clean up the town.' Just ask your questions, get your answers, and leave."

"Yes mother. I'm sure you'll want to go home and get your pool cue and change clothes, so I'll see you in about an hour or two for dinner, then we'll paint the town red."

"Yes Mr. Dillon."

"What?"

"We'll round up those cattle rustlers in no time."

Betty put her hands on her hips. "Irena, remind me why I keep you around again," she said.

"Other than my expertise with cars? Because your parents love me, and your brother does too," Irena said before she stuck her tongue out as she closed the door on her way out. "And they also love my sense of humor!" She added, referring to the last couple of practical jokes she's pulled on Betty over the last month.

Betty looked at the door shaking her head laughing to herself. "But I like "Gunsmoke,'" she said to herself, "and one of these days, I'll get her back."

After dinner, Betty and Irena got in their cars and drove to a parking lot of a bank. Since it was a Saturday evening, it made for a convenient parking place. Being less than a minute's walk from their target areas, they were even more convenient. Irena wore a sleeveless black dress that extended to her knees. She wore a silver ankle bracelet around her left ankle. Betty wore a plain white T-shirt with black jeans that were cut mid-calf, with a matching black jean jacket. Both were barefoot as usual, however Irena painted her toenails a frost color.

"Well are you ready?" Betty asked.

Irena pulled out her pool cue and opened the case to inspect it. "Ready," she said, then paused as she saw a bulge in one of Betty's jacket pockets. "What's this?" Before Betty could say anything, she pulled out a few of the church business cards that Barbie gave her earlier that day.

Betty yanked the cards back from Irena's grasp. "I'd thought I'd give it a try, okay?" She said.

"Was that before or after you beat them?"

"Very funny. I was thinking I might run into someone on my way to these places, though the people we're seeing probably could use having the fear of God beat into them."

"Okay, just remember; we've already provided our regular requirement of "beatdown' on two women earlier today. We just need to go in, get some information, and get out. No need for additional bloodshed."

Betty gave Irena a strange look. "Why do you keep going over what we're supposed to be doing tonight? That's my main objective for this trip. And what's this about avoiding fights? You sound like that's what I'm looking forward to, like I enjoy it or something," she said.

"Sorry Betty," Irena said, "I just know that this is a rough crowd we're dealing with, and we're landing in their back yard. We just need to be subtle. Besides, you have a title and reputation that's follows you around."

"Oh yeah, my title. Good point, I forgot about that. I'll tell them I gave it to you. Let's go."

And the duet walked toward their separate destinations.

When Betty reached O'Malley's Saloon, she could tell things were going to be a little exciting when she saw someone she knew before she reached the front door. As soon as the man recognized her, he quickly turned around and walked quickly up the street where he came from.

Oh yeah, I remember him now, Betty thought to herself. Someone made a bet with him that he couldn't whip my butt. And they were right.

Shrugging her shoulders, she looked at the sign on the door, which read, "No shirt, no shoes, no service." Shrugging her shoulders again, she opened the door and walked in.

It was like a scene from a western movie. As soon as Betty walked ten steps into the saloon, everything stopped. Everything that is, except for the jukebox, which was playing some country song about some guy who lost his job, lost his wife, and lost his truck in no particular order. A small crowd who was in front of her parted like the Red Sea. She heard the voice of one man who said to his friend, "Who's that? Ow!" who received an elbow in the ribs for his question. Betty looked around, then shrugged and headed toward the bartender. She figured he'd be a good source to ask first.

The room remained silent as she walked up to the bar where the bartender was. However, before she could ask him anything, a female voice said to her right, "She ain't nothing!" She turned and saw a woman, about Betty's size, plus a couple of extra pounds, her brown hair put up in some type of a perm hairdo. She was decked out in a blue jean jacket with a red tube top (pulled down a little too low, Betty thought), blue jeans, and red pumps. She appeared to be slightly tipsy; having drunk just enough alcohol to relax whatever inhibitions she had about speaking up. Her boyfriend or date for that evening was trying in vain to restrain her, but with no success.

"Excuse me," Betty said politely.

"I said, you ain't nothing!" The woman said, taking a few rocky steps toward Betty. "They say you're the toughest girl in town. Well all I see is some hillbilly half-breed rip-off mechanic who thinks she's somebody. You don't make much money; you can't even afford a decent pair of shoes! I'll show you what I think!"

And she slapped Betty, hard. The sound seemed to echo throughout the saloon. Two things started to happen at the same time; those from the back tried to crowd in to see the sight while those who were nearby moved tables or grabbed their drinks to retreat from the fight that was about to ensue.

Betty touched her slapped cheek with her hand and looked at the woman, who was better restrained by her male friend. The woman had a smug look on her face like proved a point.

"I don't want no trouble here," the bartender said. "If you came here to fight, take it outside." People were starting to clear the way to the back door.

"No trouble," Betty said, surprising everybody, "I just wanted some information, and I wanted to ask someone who might know."

The song on the jukebox changed from a country tune to a rap song, where the artist was talking about how everybody was disrespecting (or "dissing") him, so he got even by taking his blade and getting everybody, including a policeman, his girlfriend (or "ho" as he affectionately called her), and everyone else who looked at him funny.

First that country junk, now this rap garbage, Betty thought. If I listened to this on a regular basis, I'd want to fight somebody too.

"I'm looking for a woman named Sheila. She's about six feet, has either red or strawberry blond hair, looks like a bodybuilder, has a facial expression like somebody spit in her Wheaties," Betty said, describing her, but the bartender held up his hand, stopping her.

"You don't need to go any further, I know who you're talking about," the bartender said. "I think quite a few women in this bar are looking for her. She was quite a troublemaker."

"What she'd do, stiff you on your tab?"

"No, she'd paid her tab, but I think that's I may be the only one she'd paid. The rumor is she owes some gals some money for getting together to take care of somebody. Wait a minute, that was you, wasn't it?"

"Yup. As you can see, she didn't succeed."

"Yeah. Then she started making offers to some of the er, rougher women in this place, offering them money if they could take you down."

"Yup. That didn't work either. So when does she usually come by?" Betty asked.

"I would say she'd be here now, if I didn't throw her out a week ago."

"What happened?"

"She started picking fights with the customers here. Man, woman, it made no difference. After she got the person good and riled up, she would try to make bets on how quick she could beat them up. After she tried that a couple of times, I said enough is enough. I told her to get out and don't come back unless she was going to be civil. My place may not be the Hilton, but I try to keep it decent enough so a person can get their drink, and enjoy it in peace," the bartender said.

Betty, realizing she hit a dead end, decided to wrap it up. "I guess nobody here would know where she's at, either?" She asked.

"If they did, it would be front page news. Like I said, a whole bunch of folks are looking for her."

"Well, I thank you for your time," Betty said as she turned to go.

"Sorry I couldn't help you. Oh, before you go, my brother had a classic Chevy, had the car since he was sixteen. Anyway, he told me he took it to your place. He said after you were through with it, the car ran smoother than when he bought it new; and this was after he took it to several other garages. He swears by you, and he's not that easy to impress. That makes you okay in my book. If you ever come by again, the first two drinks are on the house."

"Why thank you," Betty said, flattered, even though she doesn't drink. "That made my night. Bye-bye."

On her way out, she passed by the woman who slapped her. The woman said to her boyfriend and fellow girlfriends, "See, I told you she wasn't all that. Just an Oreo who thinks she can fix cars. She didn't even try anything after I slapped her."

Betty turned to her. "A slap? Is that what that was? I swatted mosquitoes who had more power than that," she said. The woman started to advance on her. "Now this-" out of nowhere, Betty's right hand backhanded the woman, which resulted in propelling her over a nearby table, scattering drinks and people. After the woman hit the floor, the next sound that came out of her was a loud groan. "-is a slap."

To her surprise, she received mild applause. She walked back to the bartender and laid two ten-dollar bills on the counter.

"Sorry about that. That should take care of the damage, and everybody's drinks that got smashed," Betty said.

"Forget about it," the bartender said, handing the money back to her. "I've been waiting for somebody to knock her down a peg or two for quite a while. Thanks again."

As Betty went out the door, the jukebox was now playing some dance tune, encouraging everybody to get out on the dance floor and "freak out." Betty shook her head at the selection of tunes that's been played.

First a song about a man losing his truck, family, and dog, then a song about wanting to stab everybody, now a song encouraging everybody to "freak out" and dance. No wonder the people here are half-crazy, Betty thought to herself.

For Irena, her entrance into Smokin' Joe's Pool Hall wasn't anywhere near as dramatic as Betty's. The atmosphere was much more laid back. Piano jazz music could be heard playing not loudly, but just enough to be noticed over the hall's loudspeakers. There was a small bar in a corner where a few people were seated drinking, but the bulk of people were hanging around the pool tables either playing a game or watching their friends play one. Some tables had people laying bets over the bout of two pool sharks, but that appeared to be the most exciting part of the place.

Irena smiled to herself. She evidently got the better part of the bargain. Here, she could play a quick game, talk to a few people, gather information if any, then pack up and go back home. She saw that there was no sign that dictated dress code on the door to the hall, but the place looked like a decent enough joint where such notification would be necessary. By that same token, her bare feet were not noticed at all. In fact, those who did notice her were customers that she helped back at the garage. They gave her a warm wave as she walked by.

This may go better than I thought, Irena thought to herself as she found an empty pool table, took her pool cue out of its case, assembled it, and prepared to break a few balls. Over the speakers a piano jazz version of the classic pop tune Macarthur Park was playing. She found herself humming along when she was interrupted by two female voices behind her.

"Well look who we have here," the first woman said, "it's the mechanic's little assistant."

"Looks like she got tired of tinkering with cars, and decided to play the little pool shark," the second woman said.

"Comrades, may I help you with something?" Irena said as she turned to face the two women.

They were both brunettes, about 5'6," and slim with dark brown hair that went shoulder length. They both wore blue jeans with running shoes. The similarities ended when it came to what they wore above the waist. One wore a plain white T-shirt that was just tight enough to let people, men particularly, how well endowed she was. She covered this up with a blue jean jacket. The other woman wore a black tank top that shown things off a little as well. Over that she wore a black leather jacket that contrasted with her fair complexion. She wore glasses with a tortoiseshell frame.

"I wonder how she acts without her mechanic buddy to save her," the woman with the glasses said.

"Excuse me, "save' me?" Irena said. Being considered second banana between the two didn't bother her, but as a veteran of cage fights in Russia, carrying a black belt in Sambo, and currently taken lessons in Krav Maga, someone suggesting she needed protection rankled her a little.

"Oh look, she's not wearing shoes," the woman in the blue jean jacket said. "You know, it's a good idea to wear shoes in places like these, you don't know what may happen." She then proceeded to place her right running shoe on Irena's left bare foot and press down with her body weight. After ten seconds, she lifted her foot up.

If Irena was bothered by the encounter, she didn't show it. Instead, she said, "Look what you've done to my foot, you did a boo-boo! I think you need to do what is recommended for taking care of boo-boos."

"What's that?" The blue jean jacketed woman said.

"You need to kiss it and make it feel better."

As the woman started to object, Irena, with her left hand, reached toward the woman's right hand that was resting on the pool table, grabbed her thumb, and twisted. The woman yelped in pain.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. I asked you to kiss it and make it feel better."

As the woman slowly bent down to fulfill Irena's request, the woman in the leather jacket said, "Leave her alone!" and grabbed some of Irena's hair and started pulling it.

Irena, undeterred by this, simply took her right hand and grabbed the woman's throat and squeezed. The woman had a shocked expression on her face as she gasped for breath.

"It may be a good idea for you to let go of my hair," Irena said.

The woman, being no dummy, quickly realizing that yanking someone's hair is not worth the price of losing oxygen, opened her hand, allowing Irena's hair to fall loose. For good measure, she quickly smoothed it down, putting it back in place.

"Thank you, comrade; I'm glad we understand each other . . ." Irena said, then paused as she heard a soft, smacking sound; then she realized that it was coming from below. She started jerking the other woman's hand upward.

"Get up, get up you pervert!" She said. "I told you to kiss my foot, not make love to it!"

The woman stood up with a sheepish grin on her face. "You have pretty feet, I couldn't help myself, sorry," she said.

Irena wasn't sure rather to shudder in revulsion or to take that same pretty foot and kick her in the face with it. Instead, she let it pass and said, "So who are you two? I've never seen you before in my life. Why are you messing with me?"

"We're good friends of Julie," the woman with glasses said. "You remember, you fought her and her other friends some time ago."

"From what I remember, I fought some of her friends," Irena said. "I was told all she did was stand there and stare at me. It was Betty who knocked her out."

"Oh, that's right," the woman with the blue jean jacket said. "We had it mixed up, sorry."

"It might be a good idea to ask before you start stepping on other people's feet," Irena said. "So do you two have names?"

"I'm Mimi, and that's Heather," the woman with the blue jean jacket said.

"Now that I think about it, she did give a good description of you. I can't believe we got mixed up; we thought you were Betty."

"Who described us?"

"Well we got descriptions from Julie and that other woman, what's her name, Sheila. We were going to get even with you if you were Betty. You fit Julie's description better than Sheila's," Heather said.

Irena sighed. A nice little game of pool was all she wanted. Instead, she received a not so welcome greeting from two of Julie's friends who didn't look like they were fellow alumni of their high school's Honor Society. Well since the possibility of information of Sheila's whereabouts was here, she might as well see what she could find out.

"To begin with, Betty is a little taller, about your height, and a little darker. I'm surprised you didn't pay more attention to Julie's description, since she spent more of that fight staring at me. Second, if Betty was here instead of me, she would've delivered a right cross and a kick in the teeth for what you just did. These days, she's not too tolerant of that stuff. Third, have you given any thought to who started this mess in the first place?" Irena said.

Seeing the two women look at each other gave proof to Irena's suspicions.

"In fact, the woman who started it is the one that Betty and I are looking for. We ' is there something wrong?" Irena noticed the two women looking at her strangely.

"I was just thinking that Julie's description doesn't do you justice," Mimi said, with Heather nodding her head. "Can we buy you a drink?"

"No, no thanks," Irena said, fighting another wave of revulsion and the urge to commit random violence. "Perhaps your boyfriends would like one."

"Oh, we don't have any right now," Heather said. "Besides, most of the men around here go to the redneck bar across the street. Over here, you have a better class of people."

"Besides, men tend to get a little boring after a while," Mimi said, as she glanced down. "You really do have pretty feet."

"Have you seen Sheila?" Irena interrupted. "We need to find her so we can put an end to her sending people after us."

After she asked that question, Irena considered herself thankful for several things. One was that she met the right people. Lately, it seemed like everybody else outside of customers and her friends at church either want to fight her or date her, or in the case of one opponent Irena fought some time ago, both. Another thing was that she had a wonderful boyfriend in Billy, Betty's brother. The third thing was that she had the self-control to carry a civil conversation with these two ladies without having to beat them to a pulp, though the temptation was still there.

"We saw her two weeks ago," Heather said. "She came by to see if Julie was around. She heard that some woman named Crimson beat her up."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Irena said, not revealing to them who "Crimson" is, or giving away any details about her "happy hunting ground." "Do you know if Sheila said where she was going or if she gave any details of what she planned to do or anything?"

"No, she was asked to leave that night for raising a racket. I think she was trying to start a fight with one of the pool players about something," Mimi said. "That's all we know, sorry."

"Okay; well thanks anyway."

"You're welcome," Heather said in a low voice, as she looked Irena over from the top of her head down to her bare feet. "You sure you don't want a drink? We owe you for the little misunderstanding we had." She put a little extra emphasis on the word "owe."

"Yeah, we can have a little fun," Mimi said.

Irena quietly but tightly gripped her pool cue. Oh, she wanted to smack these two women so hard! But she still wanted to play some pool, and she didn't want to get thrown out, despite the immediate satisfaction that laying these two out would give her.

"No thanks, I just want to shoot some balls," she said. "And comrades, I already have a boyfriend."

"Oh wouldn't you know it! All the good ones have a boyfriend!" Mimi said.

"In case you'd like to change your mind, or anything else, we'll be over here," Heather said, pointing towards the bar.

"Yeah, bye," Irena said, feeling a little relieved and proud of herself that she defused a situation without having to fight anybody.

As Irena racked up the pool balls on the table, she glanced over her shoulder. She saw Mimi and Heather talking with another woman. All three were staring in her direction. If she didn't know how to handle herself, she might start to feel concerned.

Betty, you owe me big time, Irena thought to herself. The next time you want to try this again, perhaps I can go to the place with the bad music while you can come here and have these harpies stare at you for a while.

Despite being watched from afar, Irena at least got what she wanted, a quiet game of pool.

Meanwhile, Betty was wondering about the merit of her idea. All she got for her trouble was hearing how big a troublemaker Sheila was (she could've told the bartender that firsthand), the offer for a free drink, and her ears assaulted by music that she wouldn't let her dog hear, much less another reasonable human being. The only moment of satisfaction she got was backhanding that woman who smarted off at her and tried to start something by smacking her. Maybe she'll hold her tongue next time someone comes in.

As she left the front door and stood in the parking lot, she wondered if she should just walk over to where Irena is at or just go back to her car and wait. Perhaps she should apologize to her for thinking up this crazy idea, but this business of sending all these people to fight her and her co-worker has got to stop. After standing for a few moments, she decided to just walk back to her car and wait. Maybe Irena has something going, and she doesn't want to ruin the moment by wandering in.

She reached the edge of the parking lot when she became aware of five men standing by a parked car on the street. Betty recognized them as the bar's customers. They must've followed her out. From the looks on their faces, it didn't look like they wanted to contribute anything helpful.

"Well look who we have here, boys," a man with short reddish hair and a reddish mustache said. "Betty, the toughest girl in town."

Betty sighed. She was really starting to hate that title. On the other hand, the oncoming exchange would be a nice way to work out her frustrations.

"Yes, that's me," she said, "but I really don't care anything about the title. I know a few people who could kick my butt."

"You made a mistake showing up on our turf," the second man said, he had a balding scalp with dark brown hair and an accent that indicated that he was from someplace a little south of the Midwest. "We don't like people on our turf."

"You're right, it was a mistake; I didn't learn a thing." Betty looked at the second man a little closer. "Don't I know you?"

"No, it was my twin brother you hauled off and hit with all that kung fu junk. He almost lost his teeth from one of those kicks of yours."

"Oh I remember now; your twin brother, who came to my garage, my turf, and threatened to kick my behind for thinking I was so tough. Your brother should be lucky he still has his teeth. I've done more damage for less stuff than that. And by the way, it's Tae Kwon Do."

"Like what you did to me?" A third man said. He was black, with a more than ample belly. His button-down shirt looked like it was ready to burst, the buttons straining with every breath and movement.

"Who are you?"

"Oh you haven't tangled with me, not yet; you beat up my sister, Brooke."

And the fun just keeps on coming, Betty thought. "Does she have a gold tooth?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"She attacked me the other day for no reason. She jumped out of the bushes, screaming like a banshee; almost made me jump out of my skin. I was on my way to my Krav Maga classes. Didn't she figure the last thing she needed to do when facing a martial artist is startle them? I could've killed her by accident."

"Who's Craig Marsha?"

"It's a martial art created in Israel, and it's Krav Maga."

"What?"

"Never mind. The fact is your sister attacked me first. My guess is she was trying to collect that "bounty' on my head. There's safer ways of earning $75; like a day's work for example."

"Well we're not interested in money, just your hide," the fourth man said. He was skinny as a beanpole, except for a fat head. Betty wondered if his bones would break just as easy.

"So which one of your family or friends have I beaten up?" She said.

"None of them, I'm just here for the rush."

Terrific. Betty looked over at the fifth man, who didn't say anything about anybody Betty may have fought in the past. He just started giggling uncontrollably. Betty decided if anyone were going to get their teeth knocked out, it would be him; that giggling grated on her nerves.

As if hearing an unknown signal, all five men got into battle positions, or in the case of some of them, got into a pose that looked a little fearsome. The second man flicked open a switchblade, the steel edge catching the light of the streetlamps that beginning to turn on, signifying the start of dusk. Betty unimpressed, pulled out her baton and flicked it. All eighteen inches of the weapon appeared, the light shining off its gunmetal black features.

This became a sudden cause of concern for the five men, who knew of Betty's reputation of her fighting the most fearsome foes around open-handed and barefooted. An expandable baton, similar to what the police used (as some of them can recall with painful memory) made her even more fearsome.

The fourth man, still eager to get his "rush," rushed Betty with a rebel yell, and overcome with excitement. That excitement ended with a left side kick to the solar plexus. To add insult to injury, Betty bopped him "lightly" on the head with the baton, right behind his right ear. The man fell down and went to sleep.

For an added affect, Betty twirled her baton, keeping the others at bay and distracting them so she could conduct her next attack. The third man stood back, waiting for an opening and attempting to circle around to get behind her. After she thought she distracted them enough, Betty struck out with a lightning-quick roundhouse right kick to the first man's chin, sending him bouncing off a car door before he landed to the pavement. Continuing that momentum, she fired her left fist into the third man's bloated stomach, more specifically in the solar plexus. As she expected (she also couldn't resist such an easy target on the guy), the man collapsed, holding his belly, hoping the contents of the evening along with what he had for dinner didn't decide to make an appearance.

The second man saw his chance. With Betty's attention diverted, now he could take care of her. He raised his knife hand and made a slashing motion, which was intercepted by Betty's baton. It was the move Betty expected.

In a clash of weapons, switchblades, despite their reputation, aren't that fearsome a weapon in the grand scheme of things. Even though they are effective at stabbing and making quick cuts, in the end, you still have a weapon with a thin blade that will break easily. Batons on the other hand, whether they're made of hardwood, metal, or dense plastic, are about as durable as a baseball bat if not more so. Even in the case of an expandable baton, a thin bladed knife would still be no match for it in terms of toughness.

This explains why the second man found himself looking at the handle of his switchblade, while the blade part was five feet away from him in the parking lot. Betty with a grim grin on her face, folded her baton, put it away, and advanced toward the guy, intent on solving this with her bare hands and feet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the giggling man wasn't giggling anymore. Instead, he backed up and became the running man, almost tripping over his comrades to find safety.

The man desperately threw his right fist with all his might at his female foe, and it might've made a difference if it made contact instead of empty air. Instead, he got a bare sole in his face for his troubles, courtesy of Betty's left foot, that staggered him back against a car door, where the handle dug into his back. Betty was there upon him, with the first two fingers of her right hand lightly touching his Adam's apple.

"I can break bricks with my bare hands," Betty said calmly, "so you can imagine what I can do with these two fingers against your bare throat. Do you understand?"

The man, afraid to nod his head or do anything else that might cause Betty to thrust her fingers, made some type of sound that sounded like a "yes."

"Now what should I do with you?"

She pondered just giving him a whack across the head and being done with it, chalking him and the other men up as another group of punks she had to deal with. Then her eye noticed the bulge in her jacket pocket, and she had an idea.

"Please let me go," the man pleaded, "I won't bother you no more. I'll make sure my friends don't either."

"There is something I want you to do," Betty said. "Let me ask, are you married? Do you have kids?"

"Yes, yes I do. Please don't hurt them."

"Where are they?"

"At home."

"So they're at home while you're here at the bar drinking it up and attacking people in parking lots." Betty put a little pressure on his throat.

"I'll go home, I won't cause anymore trouble," the man pleaded.

"This is what you're going to do. You are going to go home to your wife and family, and then tomorrow morning, you're going to get up, wake up your wife and kids, and go to church. Once you're there, as soon as the pastor finishes his sermon, you're going to take your family, drag them down that isle, and join the church."

"Wh, where-"

"You're going here," Betty said, thrusting a card at him. You'll be going to the second service. Here are three more for your friends. You will tell them the same thing I told you. I will expect all of you with your families to show up tomorrow. If not, I will personally hunt each one of you down, and give you the biggest whack across the head that you've ever seen. I will knock your head so far around, you'll have to look in a mirror to pick your nose, do you understand me?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now that giggling man who just ran away from me, do you know where he's parked?"

"The beige four-door at the bank's parking lot across the street. It's a Dodge."

"Thank you. I'll see all of you in the morning, don't be late."

"Yes ma'am."

Betty started trotting across the street in search of her victim.

The giggling man, who had now recently became the running man, made it to his car, a four-door beige New Yorker that looked like it has seen better days. His wife threatened to give him bodily harm if he took the newer Dakota out to have a drink with the boys. She would find it strange to see him home so early, not that would be no problem to explain, he thought. Just tell her things were boring and she never has to know how close he came to having bodily harm done to him by someone else. Serves you right, she would probably say. Well the less she knows, the less flack he'll get.

Looking both ways, he tried to unlock his door. When he realized his hands were shaking, he stilled them enough to open it on the second try. It's not often he got spooked like this, but that woman was as dangerous as people said she was. He wasn't planning on doing anything but see Betty get what was coming to her, but she didn't know that. As soon as he gets going and reaches home base, he won't have to worry about a thing.

He started the car. Before he put on his seat belt, he realized the sudden sprint he took made him a little hot. It was too cool to turn on the air conditioning, so he rolled down his window. He prepared to rest his left arm while he used his right hand to grab the seat belt; then the world suddenly became topsy-turvy over the next five seconds. As he placed his left arm on the door, he suddenly found himself flying through the open car door window. Next thing he knew, he saw the pavement rushing up toward his face at a fast speed before he found himself stopping just a foot or two from the ground. His belt got stuck on a part of the door saving him from certain harm but placing him in an awkward position at the same time. He was rocking back and forth, like those cars in those action movies when they're at the edge of a cliff, and one little nudge could send them over to certain doom.

He didn't have time to scream as he saw his new surroundings. He saw something out of the corner of his eye and carefully turned his head to focus on it. He saw ten cream colored toes in front of him. He looked up slowly and carefully to the ankles, the legs, the waist, then finally the face of Betty staring back at him.

Oh no, he thought, I'm doomed.

"If you know anything about me, one of the things you should've remembered is I don't like people running away from me," Betty said, addressing the person who could now be known as the teeter-tooter man. "Now what should I do with you?"

"Uh, let me go?" He said. "I wasn't going to do anything, I was just going to watch, honest."

"Oh, so you were going to watch four men beat up upon a defenseless young female, huh?"

The man wanted to scoff, but he was literally in no position to argue. There was nothing about this female that qualified as "helpless." She was also stronger than he thought. Any woman who could yank him through his car window is someone who should be respected.

"I just wanted to see you in action, really," he pleaded.

Betty bent down to address him face to face, and tapped her finger lightly on his forehead to stop his rocking.

"So you wanted to see some cheap entertainment, huh?" She said.

"No, it's not like that, really!"

"Here's what I saw. I'm in the parking lot minding my own business when suddenly I see these four guys talking smack to me and a fifth guy behind them who giggles like an idiot. This fifth guy, the giggling moron, does nothing while I'm being attacked, but giggle. Furthermore, after I finished defending myself, what does this giggling man do? He runs for his life like policemen were chasing him; you know, what they usually do with guilty people? So tell me, "giggles," if you were me, what would that look like to you?"

The man couldn't find any way to win this argument, but perhaps if he could appeal to her kinder nature (if she had one), maybe he can walk away untouched.

"You're right, that did look kind of bad. Sorry about that," he said.

As far as Betty was concerned at the moment, considering the man's precarious position, his head reminded him of a football and she was thinking about going for a punt. In fact she was wondering if she could kick him back into the car just to see if she could do it. She was keyed up now, and had this primal urge to unleash ten fingers and ten toes worth of "kick butt" on somebody. However, giving this guy a good whack across the head would not only be cruel right now, it would be too easy. Even if he wasn't halfway hanging out of the car, she'd finish him in ten seconds before she really got started. Then she glanced down at that bulge in her jacket pocket again. She sighed and pulled out another card and handed it to the man.

"Okay, you got off easy this time, but there's a price to pay," she said. "Tomorrow morning, you are to get up, grab the wife and kids, throw them in this car or hopefully some better means of transportation, and take them to the second service. I'll be there waiting and looking for you. If you're not there, I will hunt you down and find out if you can giggle without teeth. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

"What?"

"Yes, we'll be there. I don't have a suit, what will I-"

"All you have to wear are clean clothes. I thought women were the ones who fussed about that. God doesn't care about that, and it's not worth getting beat up over, don't you think?"

Seeing the veiled threat, the man nodded his head; stopping himself when he realized he started himself rocking again. Betty nodded, then walked away.

"Betty?" He pleaded.

"Yeah?"

"Could you help me back into my car?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Does your family have another car?"

"Yes, a Dakota."

"That's a relief, I hate to see them toted around in this thing," Betty said as she lifted and pushed the man back into his car. "What did you do to this car anyway?"

"Well I, uh-"

"That's what I thought. You need to take better care of your car. Drop by my garage Monday and I'll see if this heap can be saved from the junkyard."

"Er thanks, but I don't know if this car can-"

Betty poked her head through the car window looking the man in the eye. "Are you doubting my mechanical abilities?" She said.

"No, no, I didn't mean to, really," the man said, pleading again.

"Good, see that you don't. Seeing abuse done to classics like this is enough to make a mechanic cry, or make one angry. See you tomorrow."

As Betty walked away, she overheard the car start (her assumption was right, the car needed a tune-up bad), and the squeal of tires as the man tore down the street back home. She headed toward where her car was parked to wait for Irena and her report.

Betty would later find out the following Sunday that there was a small prize, a dinner for two at a family restaurant for the person who brought the most converts to her church. It turned out that no one in the following three weeks would top what she did the following Sunday morning. The men and their families she "invited" all showed up that day, a few sitting at the very front of the church. Almost before the pastor gave the final words of his sermon, and before he gave the invitation, the men would stand and almost literally drag their wives and kids to the front of the church. A few reluctant ones would stubbornly sit in their pews, but when they saw the stern look on Betty's face, they joined the rest in grabbing their families and joining the church. A few repented of every sin they could remember up to the night before (one man confessed that he wet the bed until he was thirteen years old). When asked later how she did it, Betty just said she just got serious with them. She couldn't tell them that she threatened to beat them within an inch of their lives if they didn't come.

As Betty walked toward her car, she debated again if she should just meet up Irena at the other place. She finally decided not to, figuring if things got too bad, she would call her up on her cell phone. Hopefully she wouldn't have to wait too long, she was starting to feel bored.

Irena was playing her third solo game of pool. By this time, more people have filtered in, to take in the smooth jazz music that was piped in, and to play a few games of pool. As she noticed the new clientele coming in, she realized that this place was nothing like its neighbor across the street. The music was better, the atmosphere was better, and the people were much more civil. She couldn't imagine Sheila in a place like this. Irena would have no problem coming here or bringing her boyfriend over every once in a while. I wonder if William plays pool, she thought.

The three women at the bar were watching the only thing that didn't make her feel too comfortable. Despite the influx of attractive men and women who entered the establishment, they watched her like a hawk. In the course of playing, she made it a point not to have her back facing them (so they wouldn't have a "better view"). She actually would've better if they were sizing her up for a possible fight later on, but instead it looked like they were debating which one would get to take her home with them.

"Good evening," a voice said behind her.

Irena almost launched into attack mode until she realized it was a man engaging her in a cordial greeting. Upon a second look, she realized it was one of their regular customers.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the man continued, "but you got this place confused. You go across the street if you want to get attacked."

Irena laughed in embarrassment. "No, I'm sorry. I thought you were, you might be, oh never mind," she said.

The man glanced toward the bar. "Oh I see, you've been visited by the "Three Vultures' this evening," he said.

"The "Three Vultures?'"

"Yeah, if you're by yourself, out in the open, and look available, they try to make their move on you. It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman, just as long as you're breathing, they'll take you."

"But I told them I already have a boyfriend," Irena explained.

"So, is he here with you?"

"No."

"Then you're fair game. I'm Aaron by the way, one of your regular customers just in case you don't recognize me."

Irena took and shook Aaron's hand when it was offered to her. "I remember; you come in for our general maintenance specials as soon as we advertise them," she said. "So these "Three Vultures,' why are they over here hitting on people? Why don't they go across the street to try their luck?"

"Because even the Three Vultures have taste."

They both laughed.

"Actually, I'm surprised you're here at all in a place like this."

"Normally I'm not, but Betty and I are looking for somebody and I decided to look here. Besides, I don't know where all the pool tables are in this town," Irena explained.

"So that means Betty is across the street." Aaron whistled. "Your partner must live for excitement. I'm surprised I didn't here any breaking of bottles or furniture when I walked by there."

"She's trying to keep a low profile."

"Half the people in that bar are those she beat up. I think they still remember."

"How did you know?"

"When it comes to local fights, Betty is a household word around here. Oh, you are too, no offense."

"No problem, it's not my name on the garage and I'm not the one pegged with the title of the toughest girl in town. I just help out every now and then. And may I ask, what brings you here?"

"Me? Why it's the pool tables of course. I come down here every so often to play a few games. This place has the best tables. As a matter of fact, I came over to ask if you wanted to play a few games. You look like you know what you're doing, and it'll be nice facing a new challenge," Aaron said. "Besides, it'll help keep the Three Vultures off your tail."

Irena, a little tired of playing by herself was planning to agree, but the added bonus of having the eyes of those women off her back quickened her decision.

"It's a deal," she said.

During the course of the next four games they played, which ended in a split of two wins each, Irena asked in the course of casual conversation about Sheila. Aaron told her that she came by the place every now and then, sometimes causing a ruckus and asked to leave. She would flirt with the men she found attractive, and proposition the rough-looking ones if they wanted to fight a certain someone. However, unlike the bar across the street, the customers, men or women, were not willing to fight anybody at the drop of a hat, or for a specific fee. When she found that out, she spent almost all of her time at the other bar until she was thrown out. At the moment, no one knows where she hangs out. Rumor had it that she'd talk to a few people on the street, offering them some money if they're willing to beat up Betty and Irena.

"I don't know what you two supposedly did to get her mad at you, but she seems to be determined to go out of her way to get you two taken care of," Aaron said.

"Some people have nothing better to do with their time," Irena said. "Well I must be going; I need to meet up with Betty."

"Anytime you want to play that tie-breaker, I'll be ready."

"I'll hold you to that. Could you do me one more favor?"

"What's that?"

"Walk me to the door. The Three Vultures have sensed I'm leaving, and I'd like to spend a nice evening without having to beat anyone up."

"Sure."

Walking back to her car, Irena was processing the new information about Sheila and wondering how it could be used to find her when she saw a group of four black men around her car. They appeared to be examining it. If they were planning on stealing it, they wouldn't spend that much time, but still. Sighing to herself on the possible extinction of a violence-free evening, she came forward and addressed the men.

"What is going on?" She asked.

"Is this your ride?" One of them asked.

"Yes, this is my "ride,'" Irena said cautiously.

"Where did you get it?" Another one asked.

"The junkyard. I rebuilt it."

"You rebuilt it? That's cool! Wait a minute, you're one of those mechanics at, at, what's the name?" The third one asked.

"Barefoot Betty's Garage," Irena said, a little relieved. Car thieves do not spend time talking to car owners, especially about rebuilding classic cars.

"Hey, I have an old caddy, a Cadillac, late 60's. Could you fix it up?" The fourth one said.

"No problem, just make an appointment and we could talk about it." Irena handed each of them a business card.

"Is it just you, or do both of you fix these cars up?" The second one said.

"We both do. You may have seen the classic Porsche one of the city officials drive."

"You did that?"

"No, Betty did, but I have a few out there."

"Cool, we'll give you a call, okay? I hope we didn't care you or anything; we just wanted to check out your ride," the first one said.

"No problem, I'm glad you like it," Irena said. "I'll be expecting to hear from you."

As they walked off, Irena felt glad that a seemingly threatening situation turned into an opportunity to generate more business for the garage. That, along with a few tips about Sheila, plus being able to play a few games of pool, made the evening more profitable after all. From the darkness she saw Betty trotting towards her.

"I just saw four guys surrounding your car," Betty said as she arrived. "I didn't know what they were up to,"

"Oh they were just four possible customers checking out my baby here," Irena said as she rapped the hood with her right knuckles. "One of them has a late 60's Cadillac he wants "fixed up.' Pretty kind gentlemen."

"Sounds cool. I never rebuilt a Cadillac before."

"And you won't this time either, they came to me first. You have enough projects as it is."

"You can't blame a girl for trying," Betty giggled. "And perhaps I could get some of these projects done if a certain person would stop sending people after me. I got next to nothing about Sheila, except she seems to cause trouble everywhere she goes."

Irena relayed all the information she received on Sheila. "Oh by the way, the pool hall is a nice place. Too nice for Sheila in fact; but if you like playing pool, it's a good place to go," she said.

"I haven't played pool in a long while. I might consider that."

"Yeah, there's a few people over there who are dying to meet you," Irena said with a devious grin.

"Really? I'll have to check that out. What are you grinning about?"

"Oh nothing. Did you run into very much trouble at the bar?"

"Just a woman who wanted to engage in a slapping contest inside the bar, and five guys who wanted to play with me when I was outside the bar. Not too much trouble."

"Things were nicely pleasant over at the pool hall. Good thing, I never thought I would say this, but after having all these catfighters sent after us on almost a regular basis, I'm tired of fighting. On that note, I'm going to go home and retire. I have a good book waiting for me, and I still have to pick out my outfit for church tomorrow. You look a little keyed up; you may want to go over to that pool hall and play a few games to relax."

That time Betty didn't catch Irena's mischievous grin, but she had noticed that she suggested going to the pool hall twice in so many minutes. Maybe she just likes the place, she thought to herself, and dismissed it.

"Yeah, I just might go, I'm not ready to turn in yet. I'll see you at church tomorrow," she said.

As Irena pulled away, Betty was considering quite seriously going to the pool hall. Then she wondered if this was one of Irena's practical jokes. She pulled them on her before, and she still needed to get her back for the first one. After some thought, she decided to forego the pool hall altogether. Like Irena had said, she was feeling keyed up, and somehow she didn't think a few quiet games of pool would do the trick.

She got in her truck and drove around. She considered doing a late workout on her Bowflex# machine and performing a couple of katas, but that didn't sound pleasing either. Finally after driving around for twenty minutes, she found herself drawn like a moth to a flame to a park nearby the city's university. The park had a reputation for drawing unsavory characters during the late evening. Betty parked her truck, got out and went for a walk.

Fireflies, crickets chirping, and other insects playing under the glow of the streetlights were the only signs of life that Betty saw as she wandered around the park. Finally she saw two men who appeared to be there for reasons other than exploring the nocturnal habits of nature. The men were two black men, each around six feet in height, and of a slim build. They both wore black hooded sweatshirts with their blue jeans and one wore running shoes while the other wore tan construction boots with the shoelaces untied. Betty was several yards away when she saw them, and she hung around just long enough for them to see her before she started walking away at a leisurely pace.

When it looked like they were following, Betty kicked up her pace just a little bit to make it look like she was in a hurry to go someplace safe, but slow enough so her pursuers wouldn't think she was panicking. After a minute, Betty picked up her pace even further, her bare feet taking her into the middle of the park. She suppressed a giggle at the trap she was about to land. When she thought they were close to the middle of the park, and the two men had almost caught up to her, she stopped abruptly and turned around, surprising the two men.

One of the men, trying to keep the conversation at a normal level before they got down to business, said, "Hey, do you know what time it is?"

Betty gave them a strange look. "Couldn't you come up with a better line than that?" She said. "If you can't come up with something original, at least say what you're really after like "I want all your money,' or "let's have some fun,' or something decent."

The other man (with the running shoes) replied, "Okay, how about we say both; we want your money and we want some fun."

"Yeah, that's more like it," Betty said as she got into her fighting stance. "Now this is the part where I say I'm going to give both of you a whack across the head."

The two men were surprised again; they weren't used to their victims preparing themselves to fight back. Nevertheless, the man with the construction shoes recovered and said, "Sure, let's get it on."

"Let's do it," Betty said. As they prepared to face off, she considered bringing out her baton, but decided on just using some punches and a couple of lethal kicks to finish this fight. She prepared to charge them when the unexpected happened.

Out of the bushes (or from a nearby tree, Betty couldn't say for sure), a tall black woman, between 5'10" and six feet, leaped in-between the two men. She was wearing black sports bra and black bicycle shorts. As she literally leaped into action, Betty noticed the tremendous muscle definition on her stomach, her arms and her legs. Her hairstyle wasn't bald, but it was what could be amounted to as black "peach fuzz" covering her scalp, as if she was bald recently and had just started to grow her hair back. Completing her outfit was a domino mask, a tiny mask that just covered the eyes, similar to what some superheroes wore in comic books. She announced her presence with a war cry, similar to what Betty seen and heard from watching a few National Geographic specials. The cry startled all three parties, freezing them in place for a moment.

That moment was all that the mystery woman needed as she landed, her bare left foot landing against the jaw of the man with the construction boots. The force propelled him into a clump of nearby bushes. He landed and didn't get up.

The other man recovered enough to throw a right punch at his new attacker. The woman brushed his punch aside like one would shoo away a fly and then delivered a straight punch into the man's face. Blood flew as her fist made contact with his nose. The man backed away holding his nose, yelling in pain. The woman who seemed bored by the whole affair ended the man's cries and his hold on consciousness by a plain right kick to his jaw. He fell to the ground and lay still.

Betty just stood dumbly in her fighting stance, both surprised and disappointed. These two were mine, she thought to herself. I had to circle around the park a good part of the evening before these two showed up. This wasn't fair!

The woman brushed off her hands and turned to Betty. "Well, I don't think these two men will be bothering you anytime soon, madam," she said.

"Thanks," Betty almost mumbled. "Who are you?"

The woman had a slight grin. "You can call me Artemis. I have been looking for these two for a while. I'm glad I finally found them. You know, you shouldn't be taking walks in the park this late at night, it could get dangerous," she said.

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," Betty said. Later, she would have a few questions to ask her if she ever saw her again, but right now at the moment, she was too stunned to say anything. "Well, I'll see you later."

"Miss, one more thing,"

"Yeah?"

"I like your outfit, it looks good on you."

"Thank you," Betty said as she walked off. Wait until Irena hears about this. No, if she told Irena or anybody about this, then the next question would come up on what was she doing out here late at night in the first place. That could get ugly. Realizing her plans for the night were shot along with everything else, Betty resigned herself to going home and having a late workout. She worked out for about an hour and a half before collapsing into bed.

On Wednesday of the following week, the workday ran a little slow. Irena walked into the garage after she finished her last repairs of the day, greeting Betty, who was leafing through an automotive catalog for a particular part.

"And here she is, Betty Conrad, the greatest evangelist since Billy Graham," Irena said, giving her boss a mock salute.

"Oh please Irena, don't you start," Betty said.

"You seemed to have become a celebrity overnight since last Sunday. The pastor wants you to give your testimony on how you did it, the Sunday School teachers want you to speak for their class, and Barbie thought what you did was so great, that you should help her lead her seminars on evangelism. Right now, me and the girls, Susan, Janelle, Kim, your sensei, and even your brother have been wondering how "the toughest girl in town' suddenly became a super-evangelist overnight. Since it's just you and me, tell me, how did you do it?"

Betty looked at Irena and shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I just put the fear of God into them," she said as she went back to her catalog.

"The "fear of God,'" Irena repeated, then the revelation hit her. "Oh no, Betty, you didn't threaten them, did you?"

"Maybe a little."

Irena's jaw dropped open. "Betty, you're supposed to win converts with love, not violence."

"It seemed to work for them."

"What was your "evangelistic appeal,' repent, accept Jesus or receive a whack across the head?"

"Not in those exact words, but close, I guess. I think I threatened them, then gave them a card or the other way around."

"You're not going to teach those classes and-"

"No, no, I'm not going to do that, that's crazy! I've been telling them I'm too busy, that seems to be working so far."

As Irena exhaled in relief, Betty decided to turn the tables. "So Irena, how many people have you invited to church?" She asked.

Irena dumbfounded, tried to give her answer.

"You know, my methods may have been orthodox, but they worked, plus you know that saying about the Lord working in mysterious ways. I like to see how your methods are doing so far," Betty said.

"I think I hear another customer coming in; I'll go out and check," Irena said.

"Yes, you do that."

Gotcha! Betty thought. The "new converts" were actually being rather active in church activities since Sunday, and one of the wives even joined Barbie's evangelism team. Perhaps later she'll tell her friends how it happened in the first place, but for now, why argue with success? In a strange way, Sheila could be thanked for this; if it wasn't for her and Irena trying to find her, none of that would've happened. Maybe she could drop by the two joints again, make a few more converts, and maybe find Sheila. The question would be should she give her a card first, then threaten to beat her up, or beat her up, then give her a card, or give her a card and beat her up anyway? Betty smiled over the possibilities.

Betty just sat down at her desk to check out her computer's database for the elusive part when Irena came back with two ladies behind her. One was wearing a long sleeve white blouse with straight leg blue jeans while the other was wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt and black jeans. If this was her response to my question, she works fast, she thought. Irena appeared to have a frustrated look on her face.

"Betty, this is, uh," Irena began.

"I'm Heather, and that's Mimi," Heather said. "We're friends of Julie's; you know the woman you knocked out some time ago."

"Okay, that's it," Betty said as she rose from her chair with a sigh. Another one. "My parents are still out, we'll just go around the back. We'll make it real quick."

As Betty walked near the back, all three women yelled at her to stop. Betty slowly turned around with a "what?" expression on her face.

"We didn't come here to fight," Mimi said.

Betty relaxed some. "Oh. Sorry about that. What can I do for you?"

"Since you two are looking for Sheila, we figured we could help you look; be your undercover agents, sort of. Look, we even dressed the part," Heather said pointing down.

Both women were barefooted.

"Now I see why you two do it," Mimi said. "My boots and pumps always hurt my feet, especially after I dance all night."

"Rocks are a problem though," Heather replied.

"You get used to it," Betty said. "Now that you mention it, that sounds like a good idea. It saves us the trouble of having to go down there when I have better things to do."

"Yeah, that way we get to let you know if Sheila is nearby, and we'll get to see more of you guys," Heather said.

"Is that so?" Betty said, suspiciously.

"Yeah; Irena, we missed you at the pool hall since last Saturday. We wondered if something happened to you."

"At the pool hall, huh?"

"Yeah, Irena plays a real good game of pool; we were watching her Saturday," Mimi said with awe in her voice.

"I see," Betty said, noticing how the two women were talking and how Irena seemed to be squirming slightly. Suddenly this conversation has started to become enjoyable.

"I've been busy," Irena said. "Hey, have you seen her, Sheila, I mean since Saturday?"

"No," Mimi said, "but since we're starting out as undercover agents, Heather and I thought all of us should get together so we could be appropriately briefed on the situation."

Betty was standing, watching the interaction between Irena and the other two women with a widening grin on her face. She found the exchange rather entertaining until she saw Heather looking at her, or rather looking at something on her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have attractive feet?" Heather said.

"I'm going to go back to the garage," Betty said abruptly. "Irena will help organize the operation from here. She's now in charge."

As Betty walked back to the front of the garage, she heard Irena calling her name, trotting in her direction.

"Where are you going?" Irena said.

"Me, I'm going back to the office to look up that part for that Ford SUV I'm working on; you, you need to go back around the garage to meet with your two new friends. You know, the friends you've made at the pool hall, where you can play a few quiet games of pool?" Betty said teasingly with a smile. "These must be the two who were "dying to meet me,' right?"

Irena, who realized her latest attempt at a practical joke was found out, backpedaled a little bit. "Okay, it was a joke, but no harm was done, right? I knew you weren't going down there."

"I almost did. So what do you want me to do now? If you like, I'll call Billy and cancel your plans for this evening so you three can get properly "briefed.'"

"No, no! Do not do that!" Irena said. "I just want to know how we can do this "undercover' thing."

"Well first, "we' aren't going to do anything. I'm going to look for this part, order it, then go home and watch TV. You I guess will need to figure out how to get together with these two and with Billy in a way that won't make either one jealous. Hey, I know, why don't you invite all of them to a nice quiet game of pool? That should do it."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"For all those jokes you've pulled on me, you betcha. Finally, I get to see you squirm," Betty said, laughing.

"All right, I give up," Irena resigned. "But now what? I don't want to beat them, and they might come up with some vital information about Sheila's whereabouts."

"I think a nice dinner may be in order."

"Betty!"

"Or, I know what; why don't you hand them a few of those church cards Barbie handed you since you haven't used them yet? Maybe they'll go to church with you. It worked for me. Maybe you can win them over with "love.' They seem to be rather smitten with you, I'll bet they'll follow you anywhere, a good-looking stud like yourself."

"Betty!"

"Oh there you are!" Mimi said as her and Heather came from around the back of the garage. "After Betty left, you suddenly ran off. Is everything okay?"

"Sure, everything's fine," Betty said, smiling even more widely. "Irena was just checking to see what other plans she had this evening. I think she'll be able to pencil you in for tonight. I have other plans, so I regret I won't be coming."

Irena glared at Betty with eyes wide open and her mouth to match.

"Great!" Heather said. "I know a real nice restaurant where my friends and I go quite often."

"I'll let you three get things straightened out. I'll see you tomorrow Irena, don't stay out too late," Betty said as she turned to leave, barely able to keep from laughing. As she got back to her office, she could hear Irena yelling, "Betty! Betty!"

Betty closed the door (so she couldn't hear Irena), propped her bare feet on her desk and leisurely searched through her computer's database to find that part, which only took five minutes. She peeked out the door to see Heather and Mimi take (or was it drag) Irena to their car so they can get better acquainted. Betty couldn't contain her laughter. Her employee may not talk to her for a few days, but it'll be worth it. She'll need to ask her brother how their scheduled date had went, if Irena can pull herself away in time. They'll cool off when they find out her doors don't swing that way, maybe.

"Well I guess something good came out of the last few days," she said, then closed up shop and left.

For comments, suggestions, or story ideas, send email to shrewsberry@juno.com.