Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society, R.D. Hunter [good english books to read txt] 📗

crowd of onlookers had been growing steadily and were paying close attention to what transpired. Nor did I want to just swoop in and put myself between the two, expounding upon the elements of truth and justice while challenging Bulldog to fisticuffs. That was just stupid. So, I cheated.

At my right foot, was a long, rusty nail. It had probably been dropped there by a construction crew or the transportation department. It was about four inches from head to tip, and was just what I needed to turn the tides of this fight in my favor.

I snatched it up and gripped it between my right thumb and forefinger. Then, before Bulldog could let fly with that ham-fist of his, I came up behind him and delivered a front kick to the back of his knee. It buckled almost instantly, causing him to collapse to the dirt, putting the top of his head just below eye level. I darted in before he knew what’d happened, pressing the point of the nail into the soft flesh on the right side of his neck. He froze instantly.

“Feel that?” I said as menacingly as possible. “That nail is less than an inch from your carotid artery. Three more pounds of pressure, and you’ll bleed out before you can get that sandwich unwrapped.”

“This ain’t got nothing to do with you, Bitch,” Bulldog said, staying very still. “Just walk on.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. See, I despise a bully. And that’s what you are. You hang around, using your size and fists to impose your will on these people who have so little. You make them give you whatever they have for the pleasure of simply existing in your presence. It ends, here and now.

‘Now, I’m going to step back, let you up and you’re going to walk away. And if I ever hear or see you bothering these or anyone else ever again, you and I are going to have a really big problem.”

I gave him one last jab with the nail to show how serious I was, and stepped back, centering myself into a wide stance. Bulldog got to his feet, rubbing his throat with one massive hand. There was no blood, but the murderous gleam in his eyes promised revenge in a staggeringly violent fashion.

He balled up his fists and took a menacing step towards me. I pulled back my jacket, revealing the badge and sidearm that were on my hip. He froze immediately, like it was a cobra with its hood raised.

“How much heat you wanna bring down on everybody?” I asked in a cold, quiet voice. “Because if a detective with the Special Criminal Cases is assaulted or killed while investigating a homicide, I can promise you an army of pissed off uniforms will descend on this and every other homeless camp in the city like one of the plagues of Egypt. No one on the streets will be able to wipe their ass without someone with a badge handing them some toilet paper and asking to see their I.D. And it’ll be all your fault. What do you think will happen then?”

We both knew the answer. He’d be ostracized from the rest of the homeless population. No one would talk to him, share news or resources, and no one would pay him. He’d be completely cut off, which could be a death sentence if things got tough.

Bulldog seemed to come to the same conclusion I had, because the fire in his eyes went out and his fists unclenched.

He pointed one finger at me and said in a low tone, “That badge ain’t gonna protect you forever, Bitch.”

“Right now, this badge is protecting you, not me,” I said evenly. “Now, make tracks.”

He spat on the ground in front of me to show his contempt, then shambled off. I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I wouldn’t really have deflated him with the nail, nor would I have pulled my firearm over the rights to a half-smushed sandwich, but he had to believe I was ready and eager to do all those things, or it could have got really bad, really quick.

I helped the kid up off the ground, who continued clutch his sandwich and make strange mutterings under his breath. His eyes darted around sporadically, like he was tracking several somethings that only he could see.

“You okay?” I asked, brushing off his jacket. He glanced at me for a second before giving a quick nod.

“They said I could have the sandwich,” he said. “They said.”

“I know. That’s what they said. You didn’t steal it.” He shook his head sharply.

“No. Didn’t steal it. They said I could have it.”

A good portion of the homeless population had some kind of mental illness. Often times, it was left undiagnosed or untreated and just became another demon for them to fight. That was obviously the case here, but maybe I could do something about it.

The crowd around us had dispersed, by this point. Everyone was going about their business, taking great pains to give us a wide berth, lest they incur Bulldog’s wrath upon a later date. Perfect.

I reached for the wellspring of magical power inside me. It was the source of life every living being possessed, but few knew how to harness. Of those who could access it, everyone said it felt different. For some people, their energy was a ball of comforting warmth. For others, it was like an orb of electricity, charging everything around it. For me, it was a glowing pool that bubbled and rose to the surface upon the command of my will, allowing me to channel it into a spell, like I did now.

I placed two fingers against the Kid’s forehead, who flinched and pulled away slightly, before allowing the gentle touch. Then I spoke.

“Peace be of mind

Voices be stilled