The runner was maybe fifteen feet from me and a mere ten from the gate that represented his freedom. Time to make the move. I stopped running and took aim.
Exhale. Squeeze. Boom!
Rock salt exploded from the gun in a starburst. Some of the rocks pinged off the gate’s boards and metal fittings. The rest embedded in the perp’s shirtless back like shrapnel. Small red pockmarks covered the dirty bare skin not covered with tufts of dark hair. He stumbled, but he didn’t stay down.
Instead, he leaped up the gate and his hands grasped the top edge. A narrow opening between the gate and the upper concrete stood between him and freedom.
“Shit!” Frustration and indecision made my muscles yearn for action. My only choice was to take him down.
Speedy already had his head and an arm through the opening at the top of the gate. I surged up and grabbed his ankles. Lifted my feet to help gravity do its job. We slammed to the ground and rolled all asses and elbows through the dirt and grass and broken potion vials.
The impact momentarily stunned us both. My arm stung where the glass shards had done their worst, but the pain barely registered through the heady rush of adrenaline.
Speedy exploded off the ground with a growl. I jumped after him, my grip tight on the salt flare. I still had one shell left, not that I expected it to do much good after seeing the first one had barely fazed him. In my other hand, I held a small canister of S&P spray. “BPD! You’re under arrest!”
The beast barely looked human. His hair was long and matted in some patches, which alternated with wide swaths of pink scalp—as if he’d been infected with mange. The lower half of his face was covered in a shaggy beard. The pale skin around his yellow eyes and mouth was red and raw. His teeth were crooked and sharp. Too large for his mouth to corral. Hairy shoulders almost touched his ears like a dog with his hackles up.
If he understood my command he didn’t show it. That intense yellow gaze focused on my right forearm where a large gash oozed blood. His too-red lips curled back into a snarl.
I aimed the canister of salt-and-pepper spray. The burning mixture of saline and capsicum hit him between the eyes. He blinked, sneezed. Wiped a casual hand across his face. No screaming. No red, watery eyes or swollen mucus glands.
His nostrils flared and he lowered his face to sniff the air closer to me. His yellow eyes stayed focused on my wound. An eager red tongue caressed those sharp teeth in anticipation.
For the first time, actual fear crept like ice tendrils up the back of my neck. What kind of fucked-up potion was this guy on?
I don’t remember removing the Glock from my belt. I don’t remember pointing it at the perp’s snarling face. But I remember shouting, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
One second the world was still except for the pounding of my heart and the cold fear clawing my gut. The next, his wrecking-ball weight punched my body to the ground. My legs flew up and my back crashed into the metal gate. Hot breath escaped my panicked lungs. His body pinned me to the metal bars.
Acrid breath on my face. Body odor and unwashed skin everywhere. An erect penis pressed into my hip. But my attacker wasn’t interested in sex. He was aroused by something else altogether—blood. My blood.
My fear.
The next instant, his teeth clamped over the bleeding wound. Pain blasted up my arm like lightning. Sickening sucking sounds filled the night air. Fear burst like a blinding light in my brain. “Fuck!”
The perp pulled me toward the ground and pinned me. The impact knocked the weapon from my hand, but it only lay a couple feet away. I reached for it with my left hand. But fingers can stretch only so far no matter how much you yearn and curse and pray.
The pain was like needles stabbing my vein. My vision swam. If I didn’t stop him soon, I’d pass out. If that happened he’d drag me into those tunnels and no one would see me again.
Fortunately, elbows make excellent motivators. Especially when they’re rammed into soft temples. At least they usually are. In this case, my bloodthirsty opponent was too busy feasting on my flesh and blood to react. Finally, in a desperate move, I bucked my hips like a wild thing. He lost contact with my arm just long enough for me to roll a few centimeters closer to my target.
I reared up, grabbed the gun, and pivoted.
The pistol’s mouth kissed his cheek a split second before it removed his face.
Backup arrived thirty seconds too late.
Chapter Two
I limped into the precinct a couple hours later. A huge white bandage glared from my right forearm and a black eye throbbed on my face. My blood-soaked uniform had been confiscated by the team that arrived shortly after my tardy backup to investigate the shooting. They’d also taken my service weapon, salt flare, S&P spray canister, and shoes. Which left me feeling naked despite the blue scrubs I’d been issued by the wizard medics.
After sewing up my arm in the back of an ambulance while I’d answered the shoot team’s questions, the wizard had slammed a syringe full of saline and antibiotics into my ass. The shoot team had waited until they’d gotten a good eyeful of my rear bumper before they declared me free to go. I knew better than to believe I wouldn’t be hearing from them again. Especially after they’d warned me to stay within Babylon city limits.
I’d just dropped by the precinct to grab my things before heading home. I’d called my neighbor, Baba, from the ambulance to let her know I’d be later than usual. She’d said it was no problem staying late to keep an eye on Danny. Luckily, she’d been too wrapped up in the show she’d been watching to question me about the reason for the overtime. If I were even luckier neither she nor my brother would notice the bandage on my arm when they saw me, but it would take a miracle to miss the black eye.
My feet felt like they were encased in lead boots instead of flip-flops as I made my way toward the locker room. I caught my reflection in the glass of one of the interrogation rooms and cringed. My one good eye looked unnaturally blue next to its swollen purple twin. I’d managed to get all the smears off my face, but my brunette hair was still matted in spots with Speedy’s blood. I needed a hot shower and a stiff drink—preferably at the same time. But first—
“Prospero, get your ass in here!” Captain Eldritch yelled from his doorway. The entire squad room went silent as cops paused to gape at the unfolding drama.
With a heavy sigh, I dropped my duffel bag at my desk and performed the walk of shame. My colleagues didn’t bother to cover their curious stares and smirks. For the next few hours, this scene would be replayed and analyzed around the watercooler along with the leaked details of the shooting. Cops were worse than housewives when it came to gossip.