Buffalo Soldier

Tiffany stepped out of the noise, quickly wrapping her scarf around her neck. She rubbed her hands together and took out a cigarette. Holding it between her lips, she fumbled around in her purse for a lighter when a dark, nimble hand emerged from the shadows with one.
“Allow me,” it said, with a cool South African accent. The lighter came to life and she lit her cigarette.
“Thanks,” Tiffany said, after exhaling a cloud of smoke. The icy night air mixed with the smoke to make a huge cloud, which hung in the air for a moment before drifting off with a cold breeze.
“No problem,” said the voice. Its speaker came out into the light, revealing a dark, narrow face, bearing a wide smile. “Calls me Buffalo.”
“Buffalo?” Tiffany asked, blowing out more smoke.
“Buffalo Soldier. Dread lock rasta” He held up a lock of his hair, which was tightly wound around itself. Tiffany smiled, shyly.
“Well, where are you from, Mr. Buffalo?” she asked, taking another drag on her cigarette.
“Stolen from Africa,” the man said, grinning.
“Oh, I get it,” Tiffany said. “Big Bob Marley fan?” The man chuckled.
“I do love the Bob,” he said. He came all the way into the light, revealing the rest of his hair, which fell around his shoulders, where he wore a tight red leather jacket, which zipped around a black button down shirt. A pair of shorts came down just below his knees and on his feet, a pair of white Nikes.
“You get cold with those shorts on?” Tiffany asked, raising an eyebrow. The man smiled and looked down at his feet.
“Nah,” he answered. “I usually move around a lot.”
“Oh, like at work? What do you do?”
“Y’ask a lotta questions, miss…Didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, gosh. I feel so stupid. I’m Tiffany.” The man paused for a moment, looking inquisitive.
“Tiffany Wells?” he asked. Tiffany’s face lost its color. She took a step back.
“How do you know that?” she asked, nervously.
“Seems we have common friend,” the man, said taking a step toward her. “A man calls himself “The Heathen.” You know him?” Tiffany didn’t say anything. She walked backward, stumbling through the gap between a marble column and the building. She fell down the stairs, breaking one of her shoes, landing in an icy puddle. She looked up as the man followed her. He stood between the building and the shaft of the column, hiding his face in the shadow.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Ya fell down. I’ll give ya a headstart.” He unzipped his jacket and from within he produced a small blade, which glimmered unmistakably in the light as he held it out. Tiffany pulled herself up and ran off. The man sighed.
“We don’t need…no more trouble” he said. He spun the blade around in his hand, and headed after her.
Tiffany, limping slightly from her fall, ran through the parking lot, searching desperately for her car. Her pursuer came around the corner, singing more loudly.
“Baby, baby we’ve got a date!” He kicked a large SUV and the alarm began to go off. “Baby, baby, don’t you be late.” Tiffany fumbled for her keys, trying to get a hold of her remote. The pressed the panic button and found her car, its horn blaring and the lights flashing. Ducking behind a truck, she scanned around for the man and his knife, but couldn’t see either of them. She ran across the aisle, taking refuge behind a smaller car. Keeping her head down, she crossed another aisle, then another, finally coming up to the last. As she peeked out from behind a minivan, she watched in horror as her assassin stood in front of her car, the hood open. He disconnected the battery, and the horn fell silent. Then, he slammed the hood down and hopped up on top of her hood.
“I wanna love you” he sang. “And treat you right,”
Tiffany fumbled through her purse. She found a book, one she’d never intended to read, and threw it across the parking lot. It hit a sports car a few yards away. The sound caught the attention of her hunter and he hopped off the hood of her car. He walked toward her, his eyes on the sports car. Tiffany held her breath as he passed by her and walked across the lot. When he disappeared behind a truck, she sprang for her car. She wrenched the door open and threw her bag inside, quickly inserting her key and turning it. Nothing happened. Panicking, she popped the hood, hoping the man wouldn’t hear. She looked around, and didn’t see anything. Then, as silently as she could, she moved around to the front of the car and lifted the hood. Using her nimble fingers, she slowly reconnected the battery with the dangling cable. The horn returned, just as loud as before, the lights flashing as well. With a quick look back, she watched the man and his knife cut between a few compact cars, making his way toward her. She slammed the hood down, abandoning discretion and jumped in the driver’s seat. She thrust the key back in and turned it, bringing the car to life. The horn stopped and she skidded out of the parking lot. She watched as the man grew smaller and smaller in her mirror. She sighed with relief, but when she looked back to the road, she was greeted with the thick trunk of an old tree. Her car smashed into it and everything went dark.

A few moments later, she slowly opened her eyes. There was a cut on her forehead, probably where it hit the steering wheel and the front of her car was completely destroyed. She fumbled around in her purse for her phone and pressed a few buttons before holding up to her ear.
“Hi, honey, it’s me,” she said. “Look I got into an accident, can you come pick me up…maybe take me to a hospital? No, I’ll explain later, when can you get here? Half an hour? Great. I’ll be here.” She hung up the phone and tossed it in the back seat. A second later, it came back, bouncing on the passenger seat. Her blood turning to ice in her veins, Tiffany looked in her rear-view mirror and was greeted with a smile.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” a voice said. There was a sharp pain in her back and as everything started to go black, it said “Cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”