John Lutz - Darker Than Night

But he wanted this asshole to actually enter her room and make it official, wanted him nailed in the courtroom the way Campbell was about to hammer him here in the bedroom.

He took up position in a corner, close to the wall the door was on. When the sick fuck entered- if he enters-if he even comes to this apartment — Campbell would be like God Himself meting out rough justice.

When the elevator had risen several floors, Fedderman pressed the button to bring the other elevator down to the lobby from where it was high in the building.

The elevators were the old, slow kind, and the one containing the Night Prowler suspect was still rising when Quinn and Pearl entered the building. Quinn looked tired but alert. Pearl looked so eager she reminded Fedderman of a wirehaired terrier he’d owned long ago. Better not tell her that.

Quinn looked at the glowing elevator button, then glanced up at the floor indicator light. The rising elevator was only a few floors below Claire’s.

“He had a building key,” Fedderman said. “Didn’t even hesitate opening the inner lobby door and coming in.”

“Maybe one of the tenants,” Pearl suggested, not believing it.

“We’ll have a better idea in a few seconds,” Quinn said.

The indicator light stopped at twenty-nine. Claire’s floor.

“Jesus!” Pearl said.

Quinn glanced toward the street door, which he’d left propped open. “The uniforms are on the way.”

“So’s the other elevator,” Fedderman said, staring up at the falling indicator light, “but it’s slower than a damned diving bell.”

In the bedroom’s quiet darkness Campbell heard only Claire’s even breathing.

Then he stood straighter. He’d heard what had to be the front door’s dead bolt snick, then the door open and the faint click of the latch. His mouth was dry cotton and his drumming heart was the loudest sound in the room. He worked his fingers in and out of fists and smiled thinly, not surprised to realize he still enjoyed this. It was what he was about.

Claire moaned in her sleep, then rolled onto her side.

Not now! Don’t wake up now!

She wasn’t breathing as deeply and evenly, perhaps rising toward wakefulness. Campbell was getting worried. But didn’t something always go wrong?

It was a well-built apartment and the floors didn’t squeak. He couldn’t be sure of the location of whoever had entered. He stood staring fixedly at the bedroom door, which he’d left open about six inches.

C’mon in, asshole. Come right on in.

And the intruder did come in. Quickly and quietly. He seemed almost to float across the room, then stood motionless at the foot of the bed.

Campbell held his breath and watched. Fuckin’ creepy.

The Night Prowler stared down at Claire in the dim, buzzing silence. Almost as if he were offering a prayer.

For someone about to die.

Then he turned toward Campbell.

The figure at the foot of Claire’s bed was on Campbell in a second. The veteran cop had no time to react. He felt a burning sensation in his left arm. One he’d felt before.

Knife!

He knew he was cut.

Instinctively he grabbed the knife arm of his assailant and bent it back. Not easily. He was shocked by the man’s physical strength. Campbell head-butted him, gave the arm an extra twist, and the knife dropped to the floor.

Something slammed into the side of Campbell’s face. The Night Prowler’s fist. Other goddamn arm! He moved in close and the two men began to grapple. Campbell knew he must be losing blood, but the wound couldn’t be serious or he’d feel a greater loss of strength in the arm that was cut. Still, this asshole was powerful. The Night Prowler wrenched his arm free from Campbell’s grasp, gave the veteran cop a bear hug that lifted him off the floor, then flung him halfway across the dark bedroom. The nightstand toppled and the lamp on it went flying.

The Night Prowler was struggling toward the door now, with Campbell hanging on and trying to trip him up, drag him down. A small, pale hand clutched Campbell’s opponent’s throat, surprising Campbell. Claire! Awake and in the fray! Jesus! No!

Campbell felt the Night Prowler’s weight shift and saw the man’s open hand slam into the side of Claire’s head. She fell back into dimness and he heard her body hit hard against a wall. Campbell didn’t think she was badly hurt, but in the corner of his vision he saw her slide to the floor, stunned.

Then he felt something behind his left knee, pressure on his left shoulder, and he was on the floor himself with a jolt. Pain! Base of the spine.

The Night Prowler was loose and darting toward the living room, the door to the hall, and escape.

Never, dammit!

Campbell scrambled halfway to his feet and launched himself after the fleeing dark figure. He managed to grasp an ankle and hold on as he was dragged across the floor. Frantically he tightened his grip, until his fingers ached as if they might break or his nails might bleed.

They were in the living room, where it was darker than the bedroom. Campbell reached up with his free hand, clutched the fleeing suspect’s belt, and hauled himself to his feet. For his effort, he was punched in the stomach, grabbed beneath the arm, and spun around. Strong! I’m getting old or this is one powerful guy.

As they clung to each other and fought to control the fight, they turned in a clockwise circle. Furniture bumped and scraped the wall. A lamp crashed to the floor. Neither man spoke, but they were breathing hard and grunting in their battle to gain the upper hand. It was almost as if they were locked in a mad dance, but the direction was steadily toward the door.

Campbell was losing, and he knew it.

In the hall, Quinn, Pearl, and Fedderman heard the struggle. They ran toward the apartment door, and Fedderman was about to put a shoulder to it when Pearl reached out and turned the knob.

The door opened to the living room and the two powerful figures grappling in the dark.

Quinn went in first, feeling the others close behind. He heard the door bounce off the wall and slam shut again behind them, cutting off even the dim light from the hall.

No time for that now!

He led the charge.

Campbell’s breath whooshed out of him as something drove hard into his left side. He was forced back and away, losing his grip on the Night Prowler and collapsing to the floor. He was in a three-point stance, his knees and one palm rooted to the carpet.

He knew what was happening. Help had arrived and made the wrong guess as to which of the struggling shadows was the Night Prowler.

Not me, damn you! Not me!

But Campbell could only scream the words internally. He was still trying to inhale before his heart gave out, when someone grabbed his injured arm. Somehow a yelp of pain made its way out of his gaping mouth.

Apparently, it was enough. The arm was released and a voice in the dark said, “Campbell?”

Campbell finally gasped and drew in wonderful oxygen.

Still unable to speak, he blocked out his pain and managed to get to his feet. Around him in the dark he could hear a lot of movement, but not as if there was a struggle. Lucky fucker’s gonna make it outta here!

Campbell had lost. A sense of hopelessness and defeat rushed through him so forcefully that he felt like weeping.

The lights came on.

Pearl, groping over rough plaster, had found a smooth plastic wall switch and flipped it up.

In the almost blinding brightness, everyone stared wide-eyed.

Standing with his hand on the knob of the door to the hall, staring back at them, was Jubal Day.

Campbell tried to take a step toward Jubal but couldn’t get his body to respond to his will. You didn’t make it out, you bastard. I beat you!