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She turned her head, trying to find him.
And then she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye—someone running out of the shadows and down the slope of the park toward the street.
It appeared to be an enormous human figure, with a mop of dreadlocks.
Then she heard him scream again. The tone was one of sheer terror, and she could now make out exactly what he was screaming.
It sent a chill through her.
“They’re here! They’re here! Save me!” he screamed.
When she turned, she saw that the enormous human, despite the bitter cold, had absolutely no clothes on.
Then she screamed as the enormous naked male suddenly ran in front of her Prius.
She slammed on the brakes.
The tiny car shuddered when the man bounced off the front bumper, then slammed across the hood.
In that instant, she saw the terror in the man’s eyes, and the heart and peace symbol tattoos on his face, and, finally, the Family tattoo across his throat.
And then he hit the windshield, and it shattered, and then began to become coated in red.
Everything went silent.
Piper Ann began sobbing.
X
[ ONE ]
Word of Brotherly Love Ministry
Strawberry Mansion, Philadelphia
Saturday, December 15, 10:02 P.M.
Matt Payne found the doors locked on the Police Interceptor, leaned against its front right fender and turned up the collar of his suit coat in a futile attempt to block the icy wind. He surveyed the smoldering blocks-long scene while waiting for Tony Harris to catch up—What the hell’s taking him so long? I’m freezing—then noticed a strong smell.
“Jesus!” he said aloud.
And then he realized the source: His clothing reeked of everything that had been set afire, especially the heavy odor of burned rubber tires.
Another good reason to get the hell out of this suit . . .
—
After ducking under the yellow crime scene tape when they’d first arrived in Strawberry Mansion, Matt Payne thought that he might have been a bit overly critical—Okay, so I was more than a little bit, but screw ol’ Raychell—since his tailored suit and tie was just as sartorially out of place in the hood as the pearls and high heels he had just mocked the Action News! brunette reporter for wearing.
Consequently—worse—the suit also turned him into an obvious target.
There may as well be a blinking neon sign above me with an arrow pointing at my back: LOOK! PUBLIC ENEMY #1 RIGHT HERE! SHOOT ME!
Those death threat postings are probably coming from chickenshit keyboard warriors.
But all it takes is one bullet from some emboldened bastard to ruin your day.
Walking toward the red front door of the mission, he scanned the area and felt some comfort in the fact that there were uniformed officers all over the scene.
