Deadly Decisions - A Natalie North Novel



                 She sensed someone following her. Natalie glanced over her shoulder; nobody there, picked up her pace through the full Beverly Center Mall parking structure, a Macy’s bag in her left hand, her purse strap slung over her shoulder, a loaded gun inside. Something’s off kilter. She slipped her right hand in her handbag, gripped a .38-caliber revolver. Up ahead she spotted a parked security cart.

                “Hey, miss,” a man’s voice said.

                Natalie wheeled around. A white male ran up, shaved head, trench coat. No pants, no shoes, black socks with the coat buttoned. Oh boy, here it comes.

                “How’d you like some of this?”

                The idiot ripped open the coat, buttons popped off, his manhood ready to salute the flag. Natalie looked straight in his eyes, held a stare. This flasher messed with the wrong girl.

                “What would your mother say?”

                She thought to make light of the sleazy incident, tell him she’d seen bigger, must be a cold day, kick him where it hurts. Better not push this whack job over the edge. She wasn’t going to give him the look of shock he craved. From the cheesy grin on his face, he liked to show off his junk. Natalie pulled out her gun, aimed the weapon at the pervert’s chest. She believed the power of the revolver caused his dingis to droop, didn’t need to check it out. If this creep got his rocks off by scaring her, she’d beat him at his own game, leave him shaking. If he’d planned on having his way with her, she’d shoot the attention-seeker in the heart.

                “Hands in the air!”

                The pervert did what she said. Good boy. Good old gun.

                “You have two choices. You wait here while I call the cops, or I blow off your manhood.”

                “You look hot holding a gun. Too chicken shit to use it.”

                She curled her finger tighter on the trigger.

               “Pow, pow, bang, bang. Catch my drift?”

                The flasher’s eyes grew bigger, ready to burst out in tears.

                “You should see your face. Far more entertaining than the little guy you showed me.”

                She hoped the man didn’t charge her, try to grab the gun. What a difference a few minutes make. When she entered the parking structure, she mentally pieced together the new outfit she bought: flared dress jeans, baby blue angora sweater, four-inch black stilettos. Moments later, she had to pull a gun on a full-fledged flasher. She heard a car engine, relieved when the security cart pulled up, parked, uniformed driver behind the wheel. Saved her a call to the cops. If she were a policewoman, she could make the arrest. A PI? Didn’t have the power to take someone into custody. Not yet. Had to conduct a citizen’s arrest, hold the guy until a sworn officer showed up.

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Murder Can Be Messy