Porter Island Chapter Nine (standard:adventure, 1551 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Feb 10 2025	Views/Reads: 44/14	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Super-Agent Betty McCloud is coaxed out of retirement for her toughest assignment yet.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

other, dark eyes on fire. “Fancy your chances?” 

The guy didn't. He about turned and fled. Betty sighed, drew breath,
tossed her curly long black hair over one wide shoulder, and glanced at 
her two victims.  The one she'd punched in the stomach lay clutching 
his waist, the other she'd held in a headlock and applied sufficient 
pressure to immobilize him looked up from the floor in a daze. 

“You gonna talk, or do I force it out of you?” Betty reached down,
bunched her fist around the man's shirt, hauled him up and held him, 
feet dangling off the ground. “Who sent you? And how do you know my 
name?” Betty carried him across the ramshackle room, pinned him against 
the wall. 

A scampering sound behind made her turn. Her second accoster was on all
fours, trying to find his feet but failing as he crawled out of the 
room. 

No matter. He was beaten, so no problem. But she needed answers. Betty
scowled, turned back to the one in her clutches. “Now, you've seen what 
I can do; you've felt it. But believe me, I can break every bone in 
your body, and right now, you're cheesing me off. So I'll ask one more 
time ... who sent you?” 

The guy shook his head, trying to match Betty's searing gaze. Betty bit
her lip. “You're challenging me.” Betty shifted her stance, placed her 
arms around the man's midriff, squeezed harder and harder until a 
scream rang through the stale air. “Believe me now?” 

“Castleford,” the hoodlum croaked. “Edward Castleford engaged us to ...
to follow you ... find out ... find out what you were up to ... and ... 
and the official in the registry told us your name.” 

“I see.” Betty's eyes blazed at him. “You're coming with me, and don't
try to run. I assure you that I'm quicker and many times stronger.” 
Betty shoved him toward the door. “Now, where is this lousy shack 
located, where's my phone, and what's your name?” 

“Phone's on the kitchen table, or was when I last saw it,” came the
mumbled reply, “and my name's Logan.  “We're on Long Reach, about five 
miles from the center. “Look,” he raised his hands, swung toward her. 
“Let me go, and you won't see me for dust.” 

“That's what bothers me.” Betty swung Logan around again, pushing him in
the back, hard. “Not a chance.” As Logan had said, her phone was on the 
kitchen table, and she could see at a glance it'd been tampered with. 
But no matter, nothing contained in it gave away her true objectives. 
Her next task was to contact the sheriff, whom she wasn't at all sure 
she could trust. But then that summed up just about all the characters 
on this damned island. 

With a powerful hand on Logan's wrist, Betty used the other to call 911,
briefly relaying details of her situation. Around ten minutes later, 
three patrol vehicles arrived, and a stout middle-aged figure wearing a 
shield-shaped badge marked deputy sheriff headed a group of officers 
making their way toward the porch. 

Betty, dragging Logan behind her, met them on the step, looking out onto
a coarse, undulating landscape marked by sand dunes and high grass. 
“Sounds like you got yourself into a whole loada trouble, here Miss ... 
er ... Thornton,” the deputy began. “I'm Deputy Wills; the sheriff is 
out on business, I'm afraid. But he'll sure be wanting to know what's 
been goin' on if you'll kindly elaborate.” 

Betty sighed, scanning the deputy and surrounding officers. “I was out
jogging when three men accosted me.” Betty indicated the man by her 
side, standing with his head down. “Says his name's Logan. The other 
two got away. They ambushed me, shot me with a poison dart, bound me to 
a bed here, but I broke free and overpowered them. Effectively, I was 
kidnapped, and Edward Castleford instigated the incident, who hired 
them.” Betty used her thumb to indicate Logan, “According to him.” 

The deputy frowned, held his hat in his hands, glanced at his
accompanying officers, then returned his gaze to Betty and Logan. 
“That's quite an accusation. Mr Castleford is an upstanding citizen, 
ma'am. I find that hard to believe.” 

Betty thrust her hands on hips, eyes beginning to burn into the deputy.
“I'm aware of that.” 

“And ... and you say you overpowered three men?” Betty gritted her
teeth, glare intensifying. “Yes. Ask him,” she snarled, casting Logan a 
sideways glance, “and you'll find what was a weapon on the floor in 
there.” 

“What was a weapon? The deputy asked, frowning.” 

“Yep, let's just say I applied a little hand pressure to deactivate it,”
Betty said matter-of-factly. 

The deputy nodded to one of his colleagues, who walked into the shack
and returned with the mangled metal. 

“You did this?” he asked, mouth dropping open. 

Betty folded her arms. “I just said so. That a problem,” she asked, dark
brows raised. 

The deputy shook his head, clearly bewildered. “No, I don't guess it is.
“What she says is true,” Logan mumbled, and Deputy Wills grunted at 
Logan's reluctant nod. “So, I'll need to take the ... er ... accused 
into custody for interrogation, and the sheriff will no doubt require a 
full account of what has ... er ... transpired from your good self.” 

Betty simply nodded, crossing the harsh landscape along with the
officers and her assailant. She'd expected as much. Now came the much 
more difficult encounter, she supposed, with Sheriff Shriver.  


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