Final act

The top pane flew out with a crash. Through the lower window, I saw four officers reach for their side arms as I stepped forward to the window space waving the pistol.

Read Crimson Trail from the beginning

In the excitement, I had completely forgotten Stevie, still standing there. A searing pain exploded though my arm as she careened into me. Falling headlong, I lost grip of the pistol, which slid along the rug. As I reached for it, a hand grabbed my wrist and with one movement flipped the cuff around it. Then a wrench and it joined its partner behind my back.

“Weapon clear!” She shouted toward the window, before growling at me: “You are not getting out of it that easy.”

As the patrol boys burst through the door, Stevie grabbed the cuffs and dragged me up on my feet. A shove from behind sent me stumbling towards a young, nervous looking recruit.

“You take him in. I never want to see him again.” This hurt more than the over-tight handcuffs. I recalled from basic training how women recruits delighted in inflicting pain on their male colleagues. In this case, I guess I earned it.

“I’m sorry Stevie.”

“Are you? I saw the warrant for his arrest this morning. Came a week ago. State Narcotics would have lifted him by now. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

As the officers turned to the door with me, she halted them, before roughly unlocking the shackles, telling the young recruit:

“Use your own damn cuffs!”