Out of the Black - Lee Doty [63]
Ping wheezed and ached. His right knee was broken from the fall. After a few seconds he could breathe; after a few more he got his aching arms beneath him and pushed up enough to see Good Cop. "And I... suppose... this means you've got a wee pot o' magic gold somewhere too." He gasped.
"Shhhhh!" Garvey hissed, raising his finger to his lips.
The floor, ceiling, floor, blurred before Ping's eyes, followed by a painful impact with a fresh piece of the ceiling. His breath went out in a groan. "Ow."
"Indeed!" Garvey was so pleased with himself Ping thought he was going to give himself a little medal. His laughter seemed only a little forced.
"So..." Ping choked out "This is when you... lay out your entire nefarious plot, right?"
More laughing. "No, detective! This is when I squash you like the bug you are, then I think I'll pull the woman's arms off... then maybe I'll lay out my 'nefarious plot' for Mr. Ahmed... probably during the torture, I think. I don't think he'll be capable of really appreciating it afterward."
Ping was almost sure he heard Rae say "Ahhh... crap." from back in the shelves, but he might have imagined it. Either way, it made him smile.
The pressure on his chest and legs intensified. The ceiling wasn't giving. Breathing became impossible, but he wasn't going to asphyxiate. Nope, this was to be a bug-squashing. Garvey's face was a mask of sadistic triumph. He was taking it slow, relishing.
Now this was exactly like family counseling, Ping thought- helplessly watching as the wrong thing happened- a conductor on life's train wreck. Ping preferred the more satisfying job of the policeman: wading through misery that you knew wasn't your fault, looking for justice.
He felt a rib crack, then snap. Purple starbursts filled his vision and an electric static filled his ears. Before his mind's eye, he saw the familiar face of a young girl, innocence amplifying the accusation in her eyes. Fury burned hot around the pain, but it was an embracing fury, welcoming the pain.
2. FIRE
Faces of the Dragon
The exploding glass caught everyonff guard. The thick tempered glass of the library archive door had kept the minimal sounds of quick, brutal death outside, so the grunts had no warning when the corpse parted the door's unbreakable glass like a curtain of plastic beads. Deep in the folds of the Loom, Garvey arguably should have seen it coming, but like so many times before, he'd become immersed in the thrill of the moment. He'd been looking forward to killing the little Asian detective since he'd seen him this morning.
The detective's limp body fell from the ceiling as Garvey's focus shifted to the shattered door. "It's Bower!" one of the Grunts shouted, looking at the corpse that had come to a rest perhaps three meters inside the doorway. They'd left Bower guarding the door into the archive, but he'd obviously blown it. The Grunts took up defensive positions around the jagged opening, bracing themselves for an assault.
Beneath the small, inward-facing floods of the emergency lights around the exit sign, the dark breach framed with the remains of the shattered door took on some of the essence of a dragon's cave; it's consuming darkness seeming to shroud only deeper and more terrifying black. There was a slight stir in the shadows, then an unimposing man with short bristly hair stepped through the destroyed door and paused beneath the exit sign. His attitude was casual, his stride easy. "Hi!" He said into the stunned silence. The voice was friendly, amused.
He gave a quick nod of acknowledgement to the assembled killers. "Anyone know where the cooking section is? I'm halfway through a cake when I realize I can't remember if I need to whip or stir the batter. I tell ya, spoon or mixer... it's these details that make all the difference."
With a shout, one of the Grunts charged, twin knives flashing. The newcomer didn't flinch, didn't move at all until the tip of the first knife was half a centimeter from his throat.