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Benny saw the cab drop. Half a block away, he waited. Donnelly
and the skinny jerk. Donnelly wanted Sue. Wanted to bed her, and Benny’s
temples swelled, and his face darkened. All because Benny knocked up Sweet Bottom
Donnelly, Mike’s sister. All the agents trained in the belief they were
America’s only shield. They were beaten into believing they were the world’s
top studs. For Mike, to use Sue would be an act of revenge.
He started walking again. Behind him, the man in black moved on
silent feet.
Benny neared the cab. Sensing strangers, a cold voice buzzed,
stating the cab was the property of the government and protected by Lord Penn.
“Any attempt to destroy or otherwise take control of either
this vehicle or its driver and the perpetrator’s pheromone ID will be reported
to Lord Penn.” Warning lights on the top flashed and it drifted up, then was
gone in a wave of hot air and carbon dioxide fumes.
Donnelly reached the tavern door and pounded on it. He shouted
something, and the door screen flashed. Jason’s face appeared in it. The
Jamaican grinned, and the door opened.
The empire’s agent rushed forward with a sap, bringing it
down on Benny’s head. He crouched over the slumped kid, watching, waiting. As
the door closed he pulled elastic straps from a sleeve to bind Benny’s arms
and legs.
With a small grunt, he stooped, throwing an unconscious Benny
over one shoulder and trotted down the street.
Scowling and half-sick at the murder, Carl huddled in his
prison of sparks.
You could o’ took a
dog. If you gotta feed like that, then why not a dog?
The demon ignored his presence.
Keeping to the shadows, the shon:gili
trotted in the direction of the courthouse.
A steel and concrete guard shack seethed with heat and the
presence of several men. As they stared into monitors, he nosed around iron
pylons and hollowed places where armor-piercing bullets chipped and shattered
the guard shack wall.
His ears picked up a noise. Trotting around the front, he saw
the door slide open an inch. A clatter of noise came from the shack, but the
loudest was of a man complaining about another letting in the damp air.
Tendrils of mist slid from the ground. The shon:gili ignored it.
“Bull, Michaels. It’s meat. My old lady said to get some or
she’d petition the courts for a dude who could.” The voice took on a note of
pleading. “Come on. You can have some. You can all have some.”
The angry words fell silent, and the door slid back. A smiling
man in black body armor was holding out a hand.
“Hey, boy.” He squatted and gave a low whistle. “Where
did you come from? I never saw a stray as big as you.”
The second man came up behind him. “Or as ugly.”
“Yeah, well, they all taste the same, yo?”
“Looks like a bear, you ask me.”
Still squatting before the shon:gili,
the first man grinned.
“Yeah, a bear. Geez, but what’s a bear doing loose in the
city?”
“The zoo, you pinhead. Maybe he got tired of eating the
court’s leavings.” The man took a deep breath and glanced around. The others
looked away.
Holding out a hand, the man offered a moist chunk of grayish
meat that dripped slime. The part of the shon:gili
that was still Carl recognized it as soy pork. The animal’s muzzle twisted,
aping Carl’s feelings about the meat.
“Guess he don’t like you, Carter. Show him a real
wienie.”
“Screw you. Hey, boy. Come on. It’s good.” He bit off a
piece and chewed.
With a grunt, the shon:gili
reached out to sniff. Carl gagged. Head cocked, the shon:gili frowned. There was a darkness about the guards. An unclean
thing. He made a questioning whine.
One gloved hand inched to a holster. “Come on. Please?” The
holster opened and the hand gripped the half of a pistol. The sweet perfume of
gun oil and a musky one like mushrooms came from the man. His voice deepened. It
grew silky from the delight of killing.
Carl was silent. The shon:gili reached forward again and grabbed the guard’s hand,
ripping the man out of the shack
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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