Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

A cruel smile formed on his lips as he moved toward her. His fists hung at his sides, clenched into massive, tight balls.

Katie felt strangely calm. She reached for her pistol, but her hand clutched at nothing. Her fingers searched wildly for a moment before she realized that her holster was empty.

Panic flared in the pit of her stomach, and the man was upon her. His palms exploded toward her, catching her full in the chest. The force drove her backward into a row of metal mailboxes along the wall. Something clipped her on the back of the head. A trickle of hot blood oozed out of the cut.

No gun. What now?

He started toward her again. His anger and arrogance beamed out at her, as if she was nothing more than something to toy with now.

Katie set her jaw.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, sliding her baton out of its holder and pulling it into a ready position.

He paused for a moment, watching as she brandished the metal tube. The smile on his lips spread, exposing his square, yellow teeth. “Fuck me?” he asked, his accent thick. He pointed at the baton. “I fuck you with that, suka .”

“You’re under arrest,” Katie repeated grimly.

He let out a short, barking laugh and started toward her again. He displayed no caution, no defense.

Katie loaded her weight on her good leg and turned to blade her body slightly. She cocked the baton near her body. As soon as he was within range, he lashed out suddenly with a hard right. Katie anticipated the move and launched forward, driving the tip of the baton directly toward his solar plexus, every bit of her weight behind the blow. His huge fist grazed past her ear as she slipped inside his range.

Half a moment later the baton struck and all of her energy combined with his forward motion seemed to impale him upon it. He let out a cry of pain, surprise, and anger. His sour, harsh breath washed over her as both of them toppled to the ground.

This time, Katie landed on top. She scrambled up his body until she straddled his chest. She slammed the tip of the baton into the floor next to his neck, then lowered the baton across his throat. She stopped short of applying anything more than token pressure. Her eyes blazed into his.

“You make one more move and I will crush your throat,” she growled at him. “You’ll choke to death on your own blood. You hear me?”

He stared back at her, saying nothing.

She nudged his throat slightly, causing him to wince. “Do you understand me?” she said, raising her voice.

He gave her a short nod.

“Good,” she said. “Now put your hands straight out to the side. Slowly.”

The man moved his arms in a slow motion until they were in position.

“Turn your palms to the ground,” Katie ordered, staring into his eyes but watching his hands in her peripheral vision.

Slowly, deliberately, he rolled his wrists until his palms were on the floor.

“Good,” Katie said again. “Now just lay there and don’t move.”

As if on cue, Katie heard the thundering sound of heavy boots on the stairway.

“MacLeod!” a male voice called out.

“Down here!” Katie yelled back.

The tramping boots came closer. A moment later, Sully reached the landing. He pulled up short and took in the scene.

“Jesus,” he whispered, then stepped forward and immobilized one of the suspect’s arms at the elbow and wrist, using his knee and one hand.

A moment later, Battaglia appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He took one look at the scene and also whispered, “Jesus.”

“Grab the other arm!” Sully ordered.

Battaglia did so. “You cuff,” he told Sully.

Katie kept her baton in place as Sully retrieved his cuffs from his belt, even though she knew that if the man chose to fight now, she would never use such a desperate technique. Not with Sully and Batts here. But, before, when she’d been alone…

The metallic sound of ratcheting cuffs broke into her thoughts. “Got him, Katie,” Sully said as he secured the suspect’s wrist. “You can move.”

Katie released her dominant position, then slid off the suspect. The adrenaline that had sustained her just thirty seconds ago was already beginning to fade. She could feel the warm, sticky blood in her hair. Her shoulder and arm throbbed with each pulsing beat of her heart. But it was the cold, cutting pain that lanced upward from her ankle that worried her the most.

She slid backward until she backed into the wall, this time below the mailboxes. Dimly aware of a second set of ratcheting sounds while the other two officers took her attacker into custody, she set her baton on the floor, reached down and pulled up her uniform pant leg. She fully expected to see a ragged cut, but was surprised that the boot remained intact. No cut.

Katie stared for a moment, then realized that if the cutting hadn’t occurred out side the boot, then the injury was all in side the boot. Which meant-

“You all right?” Sully’s voice halted her realization.

Katie glanced up at him. “What?”

“I said, are you all right?” Sully repeated, his face darkening with concern. “You look pale.”

Katie swallowed and nodded. “I’m fine.”

Sully gave her an appraising look. He opened his mouth to speak, but Katie cut him off.

“Just stuff him,” she said, her voice sharp. “We’ll talk after.”

Sully’s eyes widened slightly at her tone, but then he nodded in understanding.

“Let’s go, asshole,” Battaglia said, standing the suspect up. Sully took his other arm, and together they escorted him down the narrow hallway and out the rear door.

Katie let out a long sigh and looked down at her trembling hands. She knew that they’d have to walk him to the car in the rear, search him, and put him in the back seat. That gave her about two minutes. Two minutes to get her act together.

She forced herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her right leg. She half hopped, half shuffled toward the stairs, her eyes scanning the dimly lit landing. When she didn’t see anything, she moved to the bottom of the stairs and peered upward. Her eyes searched each step, but she saw nothing.

Katie pulled her small backup flashlight from her belt and flicked it on. She bathed every step with the wavering light, but there was still no sign of her gun. She turned and swept the light beam slowly around the landing. Her heart began to pound again, a different brand of fear growing in the pit of her stomach.

Any cop that loses her gun-

Then she saw it, tucked into the corner of the landing. It must have been torn from her holster as the two of them were tumbling down the stairs, then skittered across the landing into the corner.

Katie limped heavily to the corner, reached down and retrieved the pistol. A quick examination revealed no damage. She slid it into her holster with relief, then shuffled back to the foot of the stairs. The throbbing in her ankle now dwarfed the pain in her shoulder. She eased herself onto the third stair from the bottom and straightened her injured leg.

Katie took several deep breaths to calm herself. Even so, her hands still shook with the after-wash of adrenaline. She wanted to cry. Or scream in anger. Instead, she sat and waited.

A short time later, Sully appeared again. “He’s in the back of our patrol car,” he reported. “Now, are you okay?”

Katie swallowed. “I’m a little hurt. Did you get probable cause to arrest him up there at the apartment?”

Sully shrugged. “Close enough. I’ll need to finish my interview with the neighbor. The wife has a shiner and a split lip, but she’s not saying anything.”

“Well,” Katie said, “you can add assault on a law enforcement officer to whatever other charges you end up with.”