Tell Them Katy Did

"You're being followed."

"Huh?" I said, not very brightly. She had spoken in a whisper, but the effect was the same as if she had shouted. The voice, practically in my ear, made me jump. I hadn't heard anybody even approaching me, would have sworn I was entirely alone on the street. A woman, walking by yourself late at night, you needed to be careful. I had thought I was. Where the hell had she come from?

I looked sideways. A stranger, cute, young, white-blonde hair. In the moonlight, her eyes, staring hard into mine, looked fashioned of silver.

"What did you say?" I was still having trouble getting a handle on this. What was going on here?

"Not so loud," she said, still whispering. "I said, you're being followed. No, don't look. If they know you're on to them, they'll take after you."

"They who? And who the hell are you?"

"They're gangbangers, five of them. They've been tailing you since you left The Midnight Oil."

"Why?"

Her smile was mirthless. "Why do you think?"

"Well, yeah, but, Jesus, that's four, five blocks. If that's what they wanted to do…"

A car went by. I saw as it passed that it was a cop car. The guy on the passenger side glanced over at us, said something to the driver. I thought about flagging them down, but by the time I'd had that idea, they were gone, disappearing down the street. Another car went by in the opposite direction, a woman, driving alone, staring steadfastly straight ahead.

"That's why," she said. "It's too public here. They're waiting for you to turn down one of the side streets, where they can do it without witnesses."

"This is crazy," I said. "I live down Adams Street. It's like a tomb there, no street lights, everybody'll be in bed by this time. You mean as soon as I turn down there, try to go home, they'll come after me? What am I supposed to do? Shouldn't we start running now, or something? Try to get away from them before I get to my street?"

"Worst thing you could do. It's like a mountain lion, someone starts to run, it gets the cat excited, he goes after them. That's what they like, these guys, they want to know that you're scared, it turns them on."

I was scared, and getting more so by the minute. Two women, five guys, probably hopped up on something. "What, then?" I asked, my voice going up in pitch, even though we were still whispering.

"Then…this." She gave me a sudden shove. We were at a corner, one of those dark side streets she had mentioned, and before I knew it, we were around it. "Now we run," she said, grabbing my arm to emphasize her words.

We did. I thought I heard a shout behind me, and I wondered if we could really outrun them. I jog, not as regularly as I should—not as regularly as I now wished I did—but it was almost 2 a.m., and I'd had half a dozen beers at The Midnight Oil. I hadn't planned on any track practice.

"Here," she said, pulling me through a tall, open gate, and behind stone walls, thick and ivy covered.

We were in a cemetery, the old Saint Agnes Cemetery, no longer used since they'd built the new one at the edge of town. She tugged, me, breathing a little too hard, behind a big stone angel on an oversized pedestal, the kind of monument no one put up today. I was glad someone had, whenever. I dropped to my knees in damp grass.

Just in time, too. I heard footsteps running past beyond the wall, deep male voices exchanging barely discernable remarks: "…a car down there, maybe she…where'd she…fuckin' bitch.…"

"They'll come back," I started to get up. "They'll look for us. We need to get out of here."

"No," she said, her hand on my leg. "No, they'll give it up, now that you're gone. I know these guys. By now, they're a block or more away. They'll just keep going. It's what they do."