William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“I feel guilty, Angel,” Travis said, clasping her hand tightly. “In a few minutes we’ll be at Adamson Park. They have a great merry-go-round. We should have brought Staci.”

Angela tossed back her luxurious, waist-length red hair. “Staci will be fine.” She touched the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Besides, after June, she’ll be seeing you every day.”

He squeezed her hand. “I guess that’s right. Any clues yet how she feels about me?”

“She adores you, Travis. Isn’t that obvious? You two are buddies.”

“Yeah, she adores me as a buddy. But what’s she going to think of me as a daddy?”

Angela poked him in the ribs. “You’ll do fine, you insecure twerp. You couldn’t be any worse than the creep who fathered her.”

“Staci may feel differently.”

“She won’t. She barely knows Alan. Neither of us have heard from him in years. You’ve been much more of a father to her than he ever was.”

Travis thought about that for a while. “Think Alan will come back?”

“No chance. Well, not unless I come into a large inheritance or win the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes.” She threw her arm around his shoulders. “We both love you madly. So just relax, okay?”

He grinned. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

They rounded the corner and saw a crowd of people huddled in the middle of the street. Travis slowed, holding Angela back with one hand. What was the big attraction?

As they came closer he realized it was some kind of disturbance. A man in his late thirties or early forties with a gray-flecked beard was standing in the street, shouting obscenities, grabbing at people as they passed. He was big, broad-shouldered, frightening. His tone was hostile; he seemed to be on the verge of exploding.

Angela tugged on Travis’s arm. “Let’s go back the way we came.”

Before she could steer him away, the owner of the corner pawnshop approached Travis. They recognized each other; Travis regularly patrolled this neighborhood.

“Travis!” he shouted. “Can you help?”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s that crazy bastard in the middle of the street. I don’t know if he’s drunk or high or what, but he’s driving all our customers away.”

“Probably just a vagrant who wandered over from the park,” Travis said. “He’ll likely move on in a few minutes.”

“Are you kidding? He’s been here for almost half an hour. And he gets more violent every minute. We need some help here. This part of town is dangerous enough without this kind of crap scaring everyone away.”

“Why don’t you call Morrison? He’s supposed to be cruising this beat today.”

“I called. Nobody came.”

Travis groaned. That was Morrison. He probably found a jaywalker to occupy his time so he could ignore his radio for an hour or so. “I’m really not prepared—”

“You are now.” The pawnshop owner slapped a .38 into Travis’s hand. “I took it off the top shelf. It’s loaded.”

“Great. Well, let me see what I can do.”

Angela held tight to his arm. “Travis—this is your day off.”

“I know, honey. It’ll just take a minute.”

“You promised we would spend the day together. Just you and me.”

“I know, Angel. And we will.” He removed her hand and plunged into the thick of the crowd.

The gray-bearded man was becoming increasingly abusive. “Goddamn satanistic sons of bitches!” he cried at the top of his lungs, his face upturned toward heaven. “It’s a plague. A plague on us and our children.” He pointed into the crowd. “There’s a fornicating whore. I can tell by the way she stands! And there’s another!” He rushed into the crowd, sending a teenage girl running. “Repent, sinner! Jee-sus God Almighty!”

Travis reluctantly approached the man. “Okay, padre. Show’s over. Why don’t you come with me?”

The man’s eyes opened wider than Travis would’ve thought possible. He flung himself at a young woman, ignoring Travis completely. “God is coming for you, whore of Babylon! He’s coming for all of you!”

Travis steeled himself. Of all the loonies he came into contact with on a regular basis, he hated the religious loonies worst of all. “It’s time for you to go to confessional, your holiness. At the county drunk tank, most likely. Come along.”

Suddenly the man reared up, raising his hands clawlike above his head, like some kind of wild beast. He glared at Travis, literally snarling. “Get thee behind me, Satan!”

Travis blanched. The man’s distorted visage was horrifying. “Look, don’t try to get rough—”

The man growled at him. “ Get away from me !”

Travis drew his gun. Technically, this was a violation of regulations—his life wasn’t in immediate danger. But it wasn’t his gun anyway and he wasn’t taking any chances with this nut. He leveled the gun, chest-high.

The man’s eyes blazed; his teeth bared. He looked as if he were suddenly possessed with a demonic fury. “Would you threaten me, pimp of Satan?” He crouched low and rushed toward Travis.

Travis fired into the air, but it had no effect. The man slammed into him like a bull hitting a matador, sending Travis careening across the street. Several people screamed; most of the crowd scrambled to get out of the way.

Travis tried to grab the madman by the neck. He was strong, almost inhumanly so. Travis could feel his breath on his shoulder. The man was trying to bite him! His teeth were extended like fangs; drool dripped from his mouth. Either this man was insane, or he was doing a hell of an imitation.

Bringing his right hand around, Travis clubbed the man on the top of the head with the butt of his gun. The man grunted, wavered. Travis hit him again. He fell to his knees.

The man’s entire body relaxed, as if the demon had been exorcised. His eyes receded; his expression became flat, placid. Travis grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. The man from the pawnshop brought him a pair of handcuffs. Travis snapped me cuffs over the lunatic’s wrists.

The man shrieked at the restraints. “You’re hurting me!”

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to sample this week’s designer drug, asshole.”

“I mean it. You’re killing me! I got a pin.”

Travis frowned. “A pin?”

“Yeah, a pin. A big one. In my arm. Got it in Vietnam. I can’t stand to have my arm twisted back like that. Feels like it’s gonna snap.”

Travis grabbed his wrists and pulled the man to his feet. “Sorry, jerkface. Protocol.”

“Cuff me in the front, man. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

That was contrary to standard procedure. But the man did appear to be in extreme agony.

“All right, you whiny little perp.” Travis brought the man’s arms around and snapped the cuffs in the front. He grabbed the chain between the cuffs and began to lead him away.

They had barely traveled ten feet when Travis heard a tremendous clanging noise, followed by what sounded like a round of gunfire. It seemed to be coming from the warehouse across the street, the building the crowd had been blocking for the last half hour. Before he had a chance to investigate the shots, he heard a scream from behind.

“ Travis !”

It was Angela. She was at the front of the crowd, waving her arms desperately. “ Look out !”

Travis turned too late. Before he could stop him, the man had reached under Travis’s jacket with his cuffed hands and snatched his gun.

“Sinful sons of bitches!” the man bellowed, waving the gun wildly in the air. “Hellspawn of Satan!” The crowd scattered.

“Put that down!” Travis commanded.

“Yes, Jesus! I will slay thy enemies!” His voice rose in pitch to a crazed squeal.