Free Fly Away Home by Vanessa Del Fabbro Page A

wounded on the side of the road, and taken her to the hospital, she would have died.
    Francina relayed Monica’s warning to Hercules, and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Francina reminded him that they could ask for police help if they thought they needed it.
    â€œI doubt they’d waste manpower on a search for a woman who has not been taken against her will,” he said.
    He was right, of course, but this was the only way they’d get their daughter back.
    Monica was correct about the neighborhood; the Victorian facades of the buildings were covered in colorful graffiti and the little park at the corner was overrun with weeds and filled with rubbish. Francina tried to imagine elegantly dressed women strolling down these sidewalks in a different era. Some would say a gentler era, but not those who’d lived in poverty and oppression, without any rights in their own country.
    Hercules drove slowly down the street, looking for numbers on the buildings, but most of them had disappeared.
    â€œWe can ask someone,” ventured Francina.
    There was not a soul about.
    â€œStop at that corner shop.”
    Hercules parked the car outside the store and insisted on going inside with Francina.
    There were bars on the windows. A loud bell sounded when he pushed open the door. A petite Indian man behind the counter asked if he could help them.
    As soon as Francina mentioned the name of the hotel, the shopkeeper shook his head. “That closed down two years ago,” he said. “Someone set fire to the top floor. The owners were charged with insurance fraud, but the case was thrown out because of a lack of evidence.”
    Francina’s heart sank as she saw their only lead come to nothing.
    â€œThere are still people living there,” added the shopkeeper. “Legally, illegally, I don’t ask questions.”
    Buoyed by the prospect that their search might not be in vain, Francina looked around the shop for something to buy so as not to appear ungrateful for the man’s assistance. She selected a packet of butterscotch drops and took two cold drinks from the fridge. After paying and thanking the shopkeeper, she and Hercules got back into the car and drove slowly down the street, looking for the building with the burned out top floor. It did not take long to find it, but Hercules drove straight past when a group of young men who had been walking down the sidewalk stopped outside. There appeared to be an argument going on; eight youths were shouting at once. Hercules stopped the car a block away from the building, and he and Francina turned and watched.
    A punch was thrown and the group jostled into a circle to give two combatants a stage.
    â€œWhat if one of them takes out a gun?” asked Francina.
    â€œThen we drive away as fast as we can,” replied Hercules.
    But that didn’t happen. The cries grew louder and louder, and then Francina realized she was hearing a different voice, that of a woman. On top of the short staircase leading to the front entrance of the hotel, an elderly woman was waving a rifle at the young men. The two youths who had been fighting stopped rolling on the sidewalk and stared at her in astonishment. The group grew silent and Francina and Hercules were able to hear what the woman was saying. Her language was crude, but her meaning was clear: if the youths didn’t go away she would shoot them.
    The young men on the ground picked themselves up and the whole group skulked off. When they were several yards away—in line with Francina and Hercules’s car—they shouted obscenities at the lady and promised they’d make her sorry for threatening them.
    The old woman took aim, and the gang took off, running. Francina watched her go back inside the building, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
    â€œShe’s the one who’ll help us,” said Francina.
    Hercules let out a slow breath as he turned the car around and drove back to