Page 813 of Filthy Elites

We head there, and while Dawn fills a cart, I try to track down the owner. It takes me a few tries to find an employee who will direct me toward his office in the back.

A short, balding man who seems to be handling things well even as three different employees come up to him to ask for his assistance with matters that he easily rectifies without moving from behind his desk, Arne Montel isn’t at all what I expected, although I’m not sure what exactly I expected from the owner of a store called New Age Grocery.

“Mr. Montel? May I have a word with you?” I ask from the doorway once his office is finally cleared.

“You are?”

“My name is Brooke Adams. I…” I hesitate and then decide to opt for the truth. “I should have notified you previously, but I had been a victim of a mugging attack in your parking lot.”

“I am very sorry to hear this. When was this? I can try to scan the security footage,” he says, but he’s grimacing. “I don’t know how he does it, but he almost always has his face obscured at all times, as if he knows where the cameras are. I even tried to move them, but I suppose he knows to look for them.”

“He was wearing a baseball hat.”

“Which naturally doesn’t help to show his face.”

I tell him the date and time, and he jots that down.

“I will be in contact with the police if I find anything on the footage,” he says.

I feel like such a moron for not coming forward earlier. I hadn’t even thought about security footage, but I push aside my regret and hand him a flyer.

“I’m part of a local dojo, and we are organizing a woman’s self-defense class. A one-night event. I was hoping I might be able to post a flyer here or leave some with the cashiers.”

He grins. “I love this. Something to give power back to the women. I have to say that I haven’t been sleeping much since this first started, and to learn that the mugger is moving on to other places has not helped matters any. I want him off the streets!”

“You and me both, Mr. Montel.”

“How many do you—Leave me the stack. We’ll hand them out. Thank you for coming to see me. Brooke, yes?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I walk out of there feeling like I accomplished something.

But the next morning, there's yet another mugging. This time, the woman ended up with a concussion because she had been pistol-whipped.

We have got to nail that sucker!

* * *

I’m notthe only one handing out flyers. In fact, Declan came up with his own flyers, and I hate to admit it, but his looks better than mine does.

“I made a few flyers for the dojo over the years,” he explains. “Don’t worry about it.”

I roll my eyes, hating that he can so easily read my face.

We just finished going through the class’s demonstrations. The adult class is about to start, and I’m already exhausted, but I push through. We do sparring this week. I’m given boxing gloves to borrow, and I don’t have full gear yet. When you’re a yellow belt, you have to buy equipment like shin guards, a mouthpiece, foot guards, and some other pieces too.

After taking a front left front kick to my stomach, the wind is knocked out of me. I stagger back, and I see the hunger in my opponent’s eyes. He throws a hook punch, but I duck beneath it, maybe bending forward too much, but I shoot in and slam a glove into his gut. Now that he’s the one staggering back, I feel much better.

“Not bad,” Declan says as he walks around, watching everyone.

Is he talking about me? I turn to see, leaving myself vulnerable, and I get clocked right in the jaw.

“Alex! What the hell! I told you this is her first time sparring, she doesn’t have all of the gear on, to take things slow, and you are not supposed to ever hit in the face anyhow!”

Alex is just a teenager, maybe a year younger than I am, all long limbs that he hasn’t seemed to master yet.

“My fault,” I say after working my aching jaw a bit. “I shouldn’t have been distracted. Come on. Let’s go.”

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