Moving right along
I am now at 13,234 words for NaNoWriMo. Sarah gets credit for giving me the idea of what to do with today's bit, which is below the break.



"You are about to see an opera for beggars. Because this opera is so magnificent that only a beggar could have imagined it and because it had to be so cheap that even a beggar could afford it, we call it The Threepenny Opera.

"The shark has such teeth, dear
And he shows them pearly white.
But just a jackknife has MacHeath, dear
And he keeps it out of sight."

A nineteen year-old Shelley Cassotto sat in the theatre next to an empty seat. So much for the "new friend" her mother had wanted to go with her. She did feel relieved, though. The last thing she needed was her mother meddling and trying to set her up with an older man.

In the audience, another man watched her - a man who would follow her through the night and try to kill her before morning.

# # #

"Here are your options, Miss Cassotto," said Chief Driver in the present. "You can go home if you want, but we recommend that you spend a night or two somewhere else, just to be on the safe side. We can assign an officer to keep an eye on you temporarily until you can afford a bodyguard. We have several agencies we can contact if you're not sure where to start. Overall, though, I don't think you have much to worry about."

"So three people trying to kill me in my home is an isolated incident?" Shelley squirmed in her seat and folded her hands. She stared at the silver ashtray on Driver's desk and wondered why someone would have such a thing in a building that didn't allow for smoking. At least fill it with candy, she thought.

"We've looked into all the evidence, and I don't think they were trying to kill you - not initially, at least. In fact, I don't think it was three people, either." The chief straightened his tie and brushed a hand past thinning gray hair as he waited for Shelley's response.

"You think the guy in black was with them."

Driver nodded. "All three of the ones we've identified have a criminal record, but none of them have any connection with your family - no grudges, no reason to want to commit murder. It's more likely that the break-in was planned as a burglary. The one that got away seems to have betrayed the others, and that's when the bloodbath started. Maybe the one who threatened you planned on using you as a hostage or bargaining chip."

Shelley frowned and remained silent. Driver shifted uneasily as she focused those sharp black eyes of hers on him.

"Whatever the intent, we have only one survivor among the gang that broke in. Unfortunately, even your report about what he looked like is vague, but we'll be tracking him down. We don't expect him to return, and even if he does we'll have someone close by if he threatens you."

Shelley had to put extra effort into maintaining her frown. She wanted to smile at the notion that the "burglar" wouldn't be following her, and doubly so at the idea that he would be hindered by police officers. No one seemed to have noticed him slipping into a heavily-guarded hotel the night before.

"Like I said, if you want extra protection, I can give you a list of several security agencies that would be able to assign a bodyguard to you. But you should be safe, Miss Cassotto. This is a random act of violence, not your old life coming back to haunt you."

"It's not 'my old life,' sir. My father was a criminal. It's not like I was born into the mafia or something."

"Of course not. I didn't mean to imply anything."

Shelley stood up. Her hand slipped into her pocket, touching the cell phone Mack had given her. "Don't bother giving me a list of names. I don't need a bodyguard."

# # #

She heard a gunshot ring out. At nineteen, it wasn't a familiar sound, but it was close enough to home to make her worry. She had been shot at twice in her life - once accidentally, once on purpose. Both times, she had worried less about her own fate and more about her parents. Given the choice between living and dying, she wasn't sure if she wanted the former if her parents weren't around to watch over her.

She picked up her pace as she climbed the hill toward the Cassotto family home. She would have run except that the stupid high heels her mother had told her to wear left her barely able to stand. It didn't matter how fast she moved, though, because she saw the scene as soon as she reached the top of the hill.

The two men had begun close to her driveway. One of them looked like he had even been in the garage - he held a tire iron, which seemed to put him at a disadvantage over the other one, who had a gun. Yet the man with the gun was the one retreating.

"This is all a mistake," said the gunman. "Back off and I'll go on my way."

In the light of street lamps, Shelley saw only a pair of silhouettes. The one with the tire iron continued moving toward the one with the gun. The gunman cocked his pistol threateningly.

"I said stop moving!"

The man waved the gun around carelessly. He had already fired a shot. Who had he been aiming at? Shelley made the split decision to ignore the battle in the streets, instead heading toward the house. She had a new nose piercing that she wanted to hear her father yell at her for, and she still needed to accuse her mom of setting her up with a deadbeat who didn't even show up. Again, though, heels limited not only her mobility but also her stealth. As she started toward the door, the gunman looked in her direction.

"You!" he shouted. The barrel of the gun whirled around toward her. Instinctively, Shelley threw herself to the ground, cutting her chin on the curb.

Both of them seemed to have forgotten about the other figure, who didn't seem to appreciate it. He had stopped, but not the way the gunman expected. Instead, he set his feet to throw the tire iron like a hammer. As the gunman turned his attention toward Shelley, the other man threw the iron. It caught the gunman at the wrist, causing him to give a yell of pain as he dropped the gun. The man who had just thrown the iron kept moving, crashing into the attacker and knocking them both into the yard across the street.

"Inside," Shelley ordered herself. "Get inside." But her limbs didn't respond. Her mind stayed locked on the battle in front of her. Two men literally brawling in the streets. Lights going on up and down the block as people tried to find out what was happening. The gunman punched his foe, knocking him back a few paces before scrambling for the weapon that had fallen in the grass. The other man didn't follow immediately, instead pausing to pick up a length of garden hose he had almost tripped over.

The gunman picked up the weapon, but didn't get enough time to turn around and fire. Before he had even gotten off his hands and knees, the other silhouette slipped the hose over his head, pulling back as though the rubber tube was an overly large garrote. The gunman's arms flailed wildly, but the other man didn't yield. Finally, when the struggles started growing weaker, he let go of the hose. He grabbed the gunman by the wrist, raising the weapon to his foe's temple.

Shelley looked away and shuddered. She heard the gunman yell out, "No!" seconds before a shot rang out. She looked up only once. The victor stood over the fallen corpse. He looked at Shelley, his eyes shining in the dark like a wild animal's. Then he turned and started running down the hill, trying to stay one step away from the approaching sirens.

She didn't care who got caught and who was found guilty. She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. She didn't move again until two sets of arms were around her. When she finally looked up, she saw her parents - both of them, hugging her. Both okay.

"No more," said her father, tears running down her face. "It won't happen again, I promise you." Shelley didn't know if he was talking to her or her mother.

"Are you guys okay?" she asked.

Her parents looked at each other, then back to her. They nodded. Red and blue lights bounced off their faces as they held their daughter. For some reason, Shelley couldn't help but smile.

"Mom, that play you sent me to sucked."

# # #

The red door opened, and a bald man with a goatee stood on the other side. Kurt Harris smiled and stepped away, letting Shelley inside.

"How's Chris?" she asked.

"He's been a ball of energy for most of the day, but I just put him down for a nap. Will you two be staying with me, or have the police decided to whisk you away to a new safe house?"

"The first one, if you're okay with that."

"Of course. I hope you don't mind me ordering out, though. The Fire Marshall made me promise not to try to cook anything anymore."

"Anything will be fine."

"So they think you're safe?"

"They think I was a victim of a burglary gone bad. The man in black betrayed his partners in crime and ran off."

"You sound skeptical."

"Let's just say that I don't have a lot of faith in where my tax dollars are going anymore."

"Did you tell the police that?"

"No. It doesn't matter, anyway. I know something they don't know."

"And what's that?"

Shelley touched the phone in her pocket and remembered those shining eyes. What was really the difference between a guardian angel and an avenging angel?

"Chris and I are safer than anybody knows."