Bryan cursed his stupidity and ducked reflexively but the knife sailed by far to his side. After watching William dissect the first man, he would have figured that a weapon thrown by William would hit its mark. Instead, luckily, it clattered loudly against a parked car behind him. He'd obviously been a fool for trusting William. He turned to locate the weapon and saw a man step up, swing something metallic at him. He heard a quick rasp of steel sliding against steel and a collapsible baton lengthened and locked into place as it sliced through the air toward Bryan's head.
He couldn't stagger back fast enough or far enough to avoid the hit, but his arms did a better job. Both rushed up and covered his head. The baton walloped against his upper right arm and slid away, leaving a tear in Bryan's jacket as it went. The pain was immediate and fierce, but Bryan saw that the backhand swing had left the man wide open for a moment and he dove forward.
He hit the man with his forearms, elbows driving into the ribs and hands at his attacker's collar, face, ears, anything he could grasp at until he latched onto the top of his shirt. As he pulled it up into his attacker's face, he saw the fabric ride up the man's arm and expose a cross tattoo with a drop of blood at the center. It was surrounded and filled in with other colors and designs, but the Klan tattoo was still easy to recognize.
Bryan's feet dug at the pavement, fought to keep his forward momentum and drove the struggling man back into a car. Its alarm honked out a useless warning.
The impact, increased by Bryan's arms at his throat, rocked the man's head back, but he kept hold of the baton, brought it up high. Bryan beat it by a fraction of a second with a knee to the groin.
The Klansman stopped: soundless, frozen. With another knee, as fast and hard as Bryan could manage, the baton tumbled to the ground. Bryan released his grip and the man crumpled down as well. After a deep breath, the pain in Bryan's arm pulled him away from the adrenaline. "Ow! Shit!" He cradled it, tested his elbow and shoulder. Both worked, and without any grinding sensation in his humerus. At least the arm wasn't broken.
He had to stop himself from kicking the downed man. "You're under arrest. You know your rights, so lie there." The knife William had thrown at him waited nearby. Bryan kicked it and the baton aside, far from the man's grasp. The knife hadn't been an attack. It had been a warning. He looked up to spot William and saw the couple gaping at him. "Hi, folks. Excuse us."
"You police?" The man asked. Bryan nodded.
"Is that your partner?" The woman asked.
Bryan didn't answer that one. He turned his eyes to William as the next skinhead went down under four punches, almost too fast to see.
From around the corner, four more men, two obviously skinheads, the others not, sprinted toward William, each armed with a baseball bat. There had been a racist presence in the city for years, but Bryan had never seen so many of them in one place before. And he'd never seen men who were obviously from different white power groups work together. He drew his weapon and stepped forward. "Stop!"
But William beat him to it. As the attackers slowed, William ran directly at them, inside the range of their weapons. He sank low at the last step and lunged his weight upward into one of the four, sent the man crashing back into the second row. Without pause, William grabbed the arm of the perpetrator next to him, wrenched it up and twisted it hard behind the man's back. Bryan heard the shoulder snap from half a block away.
The man's baseball bat sailed into the air and tumbled into William's outstretched hand. Bryan stalked forward as one able-bodied skinhead untangled himself from the pile up. "Stop there!" Bryan said. Somewhere overhead, the thump of helicopter rotors echoed through the buildings.
The skinhead darted a look away from William to Bryan, then back to William. Without a word, he spun and ran. "Stop! Now!" Bryan leveled the gun at the retreating figure.
From the corner of his eye, he saw William cock his head as if listening to something. He flipped the bat over in his hand and lobbed it. It caught the runner in the legs and the skinhead tumbled face first into the pavement. The man's forehead left a dark, wet streak of blood as he skidded to a stop on the sidewalk.
The rotors whumped louder against the air. A shaft of searchlight caught Bryan's eye. He turned back to William and caught his eye a moment. William stood there. "Wait. Okay?" Bryan asked. The searchlight caught them both and the helicopter settled in over the rooftops and power lines.
Loudspeakers blared from the helicopter, barely intelligible over the wash of air. "Put down the weapon. Get down on the ground with your hands behind your head."
Bryan eased his handgun down and slowly drew the badge from around his neck. He held it up to the spotlight, then looked again to William.
William turned away, walked toward the nearest alley. "Wait!"
The searchlight followed. "Stop. Down on the ground," the voice said over the helicopter's speakers.
Bryan watched William speed to a jog, then a sprint as the helicopter trailed him. He holstered his gun and turned. The woman's voice reached him as he passed the couple. "...I told you cops aren't all bad."
Bryan stopped, pulled his jacket sleeve down over his fingertips and picked up the knife. He began to wipe William's fingerprints from it as sirens filled the air.
*
(Author's note: Thank you all for reading and also for the votes and comments! Please check out my site, www.bruce-elgin.com and remember to click that star and say hi before going on to chapter 14, where things get a lot, lot worse for William!)
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Schism
Paranormal(Check out the previews at the end!) "Highly recommended!" - Jay Bonansinga, New York Times bestselling co-author of THE WALKING DEAD: THE ROAD TO WOODBURY "Very interesting...very cool." - Scott Sigler, NYT Bestselling author of NOCTURNAL, PANDEMIC...
