Blake Pierce - Cause to Run

An iron bat was on the ground.

She picked it up and swatted him in the head.

Desoto instantly went limp.

Two of his men were already down, including the little brother. A third – who’d been watching her battle with Desoto – widened his eyes in surprise. He drew his gun. Avery swatted his hand with the bat, spun with the momentum, and clocked him in the face. He crashed into a wall unit.

The last two men had overtaken Ramirez.

Avery swung the bat into the back of one man’s knees. He flipped up. She brought the steel down on his chest and kicked him hard in the face. The other man punched her in the jaw and followed with a screaming tackle onto the poker table.

They crashed down together.

The man was on top and rained down blows. Avery finally caught a wrist and rolled. He fell off and she was able to spin and trap his arm in a submission hold. Avery lay perpendicular to his body. Her legs were over his belly and his arm was straight and hyper-extended.

“Let go! Let go!” he cried out.

She lifted a leg and kicked him in the face until he passed out.

“ Fuck you! ” she yelled.

The room was silent. All five men, including Desoto, were out cold.

Ramirez groaned and got to his hands and knees.

“Jesus…” he whispered.

Avery spotted a gun on the floor. She grabbed it and pointed it at the basement door. No sooner had she aimed than Tito appeared.

“Don’t you lift that gun!” Avery howled. “You hear me!? Don’t you do it.”

Tito glanced at the gun in his hand.

“You lift that gun and I shoot.”

The scene in the room was impossible for Tito to believe; his mouth practically fell open when he saw Desoto.

“You do all this?” he asked seriously.

“Drop the gun!”

Tito aimed at her.

Avery fired two shots into his chest and sent him flying back into the staircase.

Outside the coffee shop, Avery held a bag of ice over her eye. Two nasty bruises were throbbing beneath it, and her cheek was swollen. It was also hard to breathe, which made her think she’d fractured a rib, and her neck was still sore and red from the tight squeeze of Desoto.

Despite the abuse, Avery felt good. Better than good. She’d successfully defended herself against a giant killer and five other men.

You did it, she thought.

She’d spent years learning to fight, countless years and hours when she was the only one in the dojo, just sparring with herself. She’d been in other fights before, but none against five men, and certainly none against someone as powerful as Desoto.

Ramirez sat on the curb. He’d been on the verge of collapse ever since the basement. Compared to Avery, he was in bad shape: face riddled with cuts and swollen spots and constant dizzy spells.

“You were an animal down there,” he muttered. “An animal…”

“Thanks?” she said.

Desoto’s diner was in the heart of A7, so Avery had felt obligated to call in Simms for backup. An ambulance was on the scene, along with numerous A7 cops to take Desoto and his men in for assault, weapons possession, and other small infractions. Tito’s body – wrapped in a black bag – was brought up first and loaded into the back of the emergency vehicle.

Simms appeared and shook his head.

“It’s a mess down there,” he said. “Thanks for the extra paperwork.”

“Would you have rather I called my own people?”

“No,” he admitted, “I guess not. We’ve got three different departments all trying to pin something on Desoto, so at the very least this can help shake the tree. I don’t know what you were thinking going into that place without backup, but nice work. How did you take all six of them on your own?”

“I had help,” Avery said with a nod to Ramirez.

Ramirez raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“What about the yacht murder?” Simms asked. “Any connection?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Two of his men robbed the store twice. Desoto was surprised about it, and pissed. If the two other clerks corroborate the story, I think they’re in the clear. They wanted money, not a dead store owner.”

Another cop appeared and waved at Simms.

Simms gave a light tap on Avery’s shoulder.

“You might want to get out of here,” he said. “They’re bringing them up now.”

“No,” Avery said. “I’d like to see him.”

Desoto was so large he had to dip out of the front door. Two cops were on either side of him, and one was at his back. Compared to everyone else, he looked like a giant. His men were brought up behind him. All of them were led toward a police van. As he drew close to Avery, Desoto paused and turned; none of the cops could make him move.

“Black,” he called.

“Yeah?” she said.

“You know that target you were talking about?”

“Yeah?”

“Click, click, boom ,” he said with a wink.

He stared at her for another second before he allowed police to load him in the van.

Idle threats were part of the job. Avery had learned that a long time ago, but someone like Desoto was the real thing. Outwardly, she stood her ground and stared back at him until he was gone, but on the inside, she was barely keeping it together.

“I need a drink,” she said.

“No way,” Ramirez muttered. “I feel like shit.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Any bar you want. Your choice.”

He instantly perked up.

“Really?”

Avery had never offered to go out to a bar that Ramirez wanted. When he went out, he drank with the squad, while Avery chose quiet, low-key bars around her own neighborhood. Ever since they’d been a sort-of item, Avery had never once accompanied him out, or had a drink with anyone else in the department.

Ramirez stood up too fast, swooned, and caught himself.

“I got just the place,” he said.

“ Fuckin’ A! ” Finley roared in a drunken stupor. “You just took out six members of the Chelsea Death Squad, including Juan Desoto? I don’t believe it. I don’t fuckin’ believe it. Desoto is supposed to be a monster. Some people don’t even believe he exists.”

“She did it,” Ramirez swore. “I was right there, man. I’m telling you, she did it. Girl is like a kung-fu master or something. You should have seen her. As fast as lightning. I’d never seen anything like it. How did you learn to fight like that?”

“A lot of hours in the gym,” Avery said. “No life. No friends. Just me, a bag, and a lot of sweat and tears.”

“You’ve got to teach me some of those moves,” he pleaded.

“You were doing pretty well there yourself,” Avery said. “You saved me twice, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s true. I did do that,” he agreed so that everyone could hear.

They were in Joe’s Pub on Canal Street, a cop bar only a few blocks away from the A1 police station. At the large wooden table was everyone who’d been on Avery’s previous Homicide Squad: Finley, Ramirez, Thompson, and Jones, along with two other beat cops that were friends with Finley. Homicide supervisor for the A1, Dylan Connelly, was at another table not far away, having a drink with some men that worked in his unit. Every so often, he glanced up seemingly to catch Avery’s eye; she never noticed.

Thompson was the largest person in the entire the bar. Practically albino, he had extremely light-colored skin, with fine blond hair, full lips, and light-colored eyes. A drunken gaze turned sour at Avery.

“ I could take you,” he declared.

“ I could take her,” Finley snapped. “She’s a girl . Girls can’t fight. Everyone knows that. This must have been a fluke. Desoto was sick and his men were all suddenly blinded by chick-beauty. No way she beats them cold. No way.”