M Sellars: Crone’s Moon

“Exactly,” he replied. “So if you don’t smoke the ones that I like, then it makes it kinda hard for me to bum them off ya’ now doesn’t it?”

“Ohhh, now I get it.” I nodded slowly. “You want me to smoke something you like so you don’t have to buy any.”

“Damn straight,” he chuckled. “Cigars are expensive.”

“So quit.”

My friend looked back at me like I had suddenly grown an extra head. “Yeah, right. I already told ya’ once today ta’ quit yankin’ my chain.”

A sickly electromechanical ding announced the arrival of the elevator car. The signal was followed by the scrape and groan of the doors parting down the center with a moment’s hesitation then sliding laboriously open. Looking through the widening gap, we could see the car still in motion as it rose the last few inches and then halted with a clunk and a shudder.

“Oh yeah,” Ben announced. “This looks real safe.”

“You want to take the stairs?” I queried.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe yeah,” he replied.

“The stairs are outside.”

“Yeah, so?”

I held my arms out and glance around. “Hot out there, cool in here. Well, cooler anyway.”

“Lemme see… Hot or splattered? Hot or splattered?” He motioned with his hands as if he were physically weighing the two options. “Considering the conversation we just had, I’m not all about splattered if ya’ know what I mean. Elevator or not.”

“I’m with you on that one.”

He stepped back toward the glass door of the waiting area and tugged it open. At that moment, as if cued by some unseen director, our ears were met with what had to be the single most panicked scream I had ever heard in my life to date.

Training and experience instantly became the primary driving forces behind my friend. With a quick jerk, he flung the door wide and propelled himself through the opening, each of his motions deliberate and purposeful. His head twisted from side to side as he scanned the area. His right hand shifted immediately to his hip and rested on the grip of his nine-millimeter sidearm.

In the few seconds that followed the initial cry, time seemed to expand. Adrenalin injected into my system, this time for reasons wholly unrelated to heights, and in that instant, I experienced a complete lack of coordination. My brain began issuing commands that my body wasn’t ready to accept but was forced to execute anyway. In a series of half-stumbling steps I twisted away from the elevator, aiming myself toward the exit. I reached for the door just as it was swinging shut, only to completely miss it with my hand and drive my shoulder against the metal frame instead. Before I could elicit my own surprised yelp of pain, a second scream echoed through the parking structure.

I had believed that the first wail was the most panicked I had ever heard. Without a doubt, the second one made that assessment null and void.

“Gotta be down!” Ben declared, bolting for the stairs at the opposite end of the elevator enclosure.

I ignored the stab of pain in my shoulder and ran after my friend. I apparently hadn’t struck the doorframe hard enough to do any actual damage to myself, so it was really nothing more than an annoyance anyway. Ben was already rounding the first landing and taking the stairs in fours by the time I arrived at the top of the flight.

I was coming down from the initial adrenalin rush, and my coordination, while far from perfect, was returning. Still, not being possessed of the expanded stride of the giant Indian in front of me, I grabbed the rail and took the stairs in a more manageable two-at-once pace. I heard him come to a stop below as I quickly rounded the landing and shot down the second flight, hitting the bottom just as a third, more muffled scream sounded.

“Goddammit!” Ben exclaimed. “With the fuckin’ echo, I can’t tell for sure where it’s comin’ from!”

Again, a tortured voice cried out, this time with distinguishable words appended to the dire scream. “HELP! Somebody help me, please!”

Ben immediately cocked his head to the side then whipped around and flew by me, shouting, “Next level!”

I stepped back onto the lowest step for a split second to allow him past and then threw myself forward while keeping a firm grip on the handrail, using the momentum to swing me around to the next set of stairs.

Our frantic footsteps were thumping in the stairwell, inciting a disjointed rhythm that resounded through the concrete parking structure. Ben was well ahead of me, and I heard him hit the next level before I even reached the landing. I could hear him shuffling around as he searched for the source of the commotion. A pair of seconds later I bounded off the stairs just in time to see my friend wrapping his large fist around the grip of his pistol and sliding it out of the belt rig.

“Nine-one-one, Row.” He called to me over his shoulder as he started across the yellow-striped concrete. “Tell ‘em officer needs assistance, code one.”

By the time he got the second sentence out of his mouth, he had broken into a dead run.

I pulled my cell phone from my belt and thumbed off the key lock then stabbed in the emergency number. I could hear an immediate click from the device as I placed it to my ear.

“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?” came a tinny, female voice.

It occurred to me that at this point that I wasn’t exactly sure what the emergency was. I looked up and in the direction Ben had run, looking for whatever he had spied. My friend had covered a fair amount of distance in the few seconds that had passed and was still barreling full tilt up the inclined parking lot. Well beyond him, near the opposite corner, I could see an intense struggle going on between a young blonde woman and an individual who was bear hugging her from behind. They were positioned near the back of a vehicle that was parked in the traffic lane with the trunk lid and driver-side door wide open.

They spun in a circle as the attacker slammed the woman against the side of the car, slipping slightly out of view, so I bobbed and shifted to see around the support pylons. The aggressor in the altercation was nondescript enough to defy identification, but based on stature and what few details I could make out, such as hair length, I assumed the person to at least be male.

They made a half-spin outward then back, bouncing against the rear quarter of the sedan. As they turned, I caught a quick glimpse of the woman’s face. For some reason, she looked familiar to me, but at this distance that didn’t really mean anything.

“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?” the woman at the other end repeated, capturing my attention.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” I stuttered and then began spilling the information as quickly as I could. “I’m calling for Detective Benjamin Storm with the city homicide division. He said to tell you ‘officer needs assistance, code 1’.”

“What is your location, sir?”

The old adage about not being able to look away from a train wreck passed through my mind as I continued staring, frozen in place and mesmerized by the crime playing out in front of me. I forced myself to quickly shift my glance to my friend, checking his progress, and then leveled my gaze back on the fight.

Due to the design of the structure, a low wall and cable barrier separated Ben from them. He was still running up the incline and would need to hook around the end before he would be within close enough proximity to confront the situation. He still had several feet to go before he could even make that turn.

My mind raced as I wondered whether or not we should have come at this from the next level up, but it was too late for that now.